The Professionals Circuit Archive - Rules	  Rules

 

by PFL 

  
 *Part I: Rule of Law*

By 21:00, Bodie had cleaned and oiled every gun in his flat. The Browning
first, then the Colt, then the Ingram. After that, he had started in on
the older rifles and handguns--the Lee-Enfield, the Webley, and the Luger.
And found he still hadn't settled, so he went for the silver, wrapped and
buried deep in the trunk at the foot of his bed. 

He set the pieces out on the kitchen worktop, lined them up with
meticulous care, then found an old cloth and an even older pot of silver
polish. Setting to with a will, he scrubbed at the tarnish covering the
saltcellar. 

He had learned the trick of it from Cookson in Angola. The night before
battle and Cookson had ordered him to peel potatoes. Bodie had been clumsy
and impatient but there had been no getting out of it. By the tenth potato
he'd got the hang of it; by the thirtieth his mind had cleared and
settled. Attained focus. The fact that they never got a chance to eat the
promised stew was immaterial. Lesson learned.

"Whatever it is you must do, you must find a way to do it," Shusai had
told him. He must find a way through the complications and divided
loyalties. Find a way to act. Clarity in action had always come easily to
him, had always been his advantage. He would set his objective, plan his
tactics, and execute. Distraction was unaccepted, unallowed. 

A silver bowl gleamed in his hands. Bodie set it aside and lifted a
serving spoon.

Motive and action. He thought he'd achieved that earlier in the day--the
car door smashed in one fluid movement of action and destruction. The
moment had been his, just as Shusai had promised. But failure had
followed, focus lost as he had exulted in his control and allowed it to
show.

Concentrate on the moment, he told himself. Thinking brings hesitation and
hesitation is failure.

"You blew it *again*." Doyle's voice rang in his mind. He banished it.

He had never been so intimate with failure before. Bodie placed the spoon
aside and picked up a candlestick.

His mother had always kept the silver polished, ready for celebrations
that never came. He had no use for these pieces, should have got rid of
them long ago. But then, he was a man of duty and she would have been
pleased by the remembrance.

Duty to the dead and to the living; to whom did his loyalty belong? Keith
had the older claim but Cowley the stronger. If he acted he would, most
likely, be out of CI5. And there was Doyle. Ray would never understand if
he followed his heart in this. Rule of law was Doyle's mantra. But the law
had already ruled--an open verdict and a case that was closed in all but
name. Without Cheryl's testimony, there was no reason for the police to
pursue their inquiries. Where was Doyle's justice in that?

Bodie set aside the candlestick and picked up its mate. Carefully, he
removed the tarnish to reveal the delicate pattern underneath. He'd need
to use a toothbrush there later, for the fine lines. Polishing for peak
performance--jungles and dining rooms alike benefited. He set the
candlestick next to the first. A matched set.

Doyle had turned forbearing today: "Oh, dead again, sunshine." Of one
thing Bodie was certain--he was safer in this when Doyle was angry and
frustrated.

Justice without law was still justice, wasn't it? 

A large tray was the next item on the worktop. Bodie rubbed it with the
cloth, taking satisfaction in the results. Satisfaction was acceptable
where elation was not.

He thought about calling Jennifer. Decided against it.

Work the polish in. Concentrate.

Consequences were unpredictable, outside of the immediate objective. To
think of them was an unnecessary distraction. Keith didn't deserve to be
beaten to death by a gang of yobs.

Till death do us join.

Why, then, was he hesitating? Why was his mind unfocused? Why couldn't he
settle to one single plan? 

Motive and action are one. Practice.

The flat's buzzer sounded and Bodie looked up from his task, surprised to
see that it was nearly midnight. He wiped his hands on a towel and went to
the door to push the intercom button.

"Yeah?" 

He didn't expect to hear Doyle's voice in reply. After hesitating a
moment, Bodie pressed the release to let Doyle into the building. 

Deceptively casual, Doyle nodded when Bodie opened the door for him, and
then, with a flourish, he presented a wrapped parcel to his partner.

"What's this then?" Bodie waved Doyle to the drinks cabinet, noting that
Doyle was dressed in the same jeans, leather jacket, and T-shirt he'd been
wearing earlier in the day. He was also carrying.

"Your shirt and tie." Doyle helped himself to a portion of Bodie's best
scotch. He downed it completely, the liquid serving as distraction for his
nerves, if only for a moment. He'd come for answers tonight.

"Cleaned already? I'm impressed." Bodie's eyes narrowed as he observed
Doyle's movements, sharp and jerky, lacking the languid fluidity that was
his gift. 

Doyle coughed. "Needed it."

"I'm even more impressed."

Doyle ignored that in favour of refilling his glass. He looked an enquiry
at Bodie, who nodded, then walked over to accept the offered glass. Doyle
took his own up and began roaming around the room.

"Surprised to find you alone--thought you were seeing Jennifer tonight."

"Took her home. Seemed a good idea to make an early night of it. Jack said
I only have five lives left."

Doyle turned his head to look at his partner. "Yeah, I do remember."

Bodie took refuge in his glass.

"What the hell is this?" Doyle's wandering had brought him to the kitchen
doorway.

Bodie grinned, set his glass down, and strolled over to Doyle. "It's
called silver, you heathen."

"Oh is it? Thank you very much! What'd you do, break into Garrards?"

"Belonged to me mum, that did." Bodie brushed past Doyle and took up the
polishing cloth again.

"You've got to be joking."

"Come on, might as well make yourself useful." He held out the pepper pot
and the cloth to Doyle, and tried to look suitably hopeful.

"You have lost your mind, haven't you?" Nevertheless Doyle accepted the
task. "Ross will have a field day with this."

"Good. She'll be pleased with me then." Bodie found another cloth for
himself and started in on the tray again.

"Oh, part of your campaign to win the mouse, is it?"

"A good cat always knows how to tempt fate."

Doyle snorted. "You haven't any lives to spare."

"Only need one for the purpose. Could die a happy man then."

"Don't mix your metaphors. Oi, what does this stuff do to your fingers?"

"Eats them like acid. Why?" 

Doyle rubbed his hand across the top of his thigh. "Thought you were
supposed to watch out for your partner. I'm sure it's in the contract
somewhere."

"Ah, you should read the small print sometime. There's an exclusion for
silver polishing."

"Like there is for assessments?"

Bodie's fingers stilled but he kept his attention on the silver in his
hands. "I thought we were through with that."

Doyle's response was immediate. "We will be if you don't shape up."

"There's nothing wrong--"

Doyle set the pepper pot down with a bang. "Don't give me that."

"It's true."

"Christ, Bodie!" Doyle threw the cloth down on the worktop and stalked out
of the kitchen and into the living room. Bodie put aside his own cloth and
followed him. 

Doyle was by the drinks cabinet again but turned towards Bodie as soon as
he crossed the threshold. "Cowley came to see me the other night."

"Oh yeah? What'd he want then? Have you been naughty, Raymond?"

Doyle was having none of it. "What do you think? He asked me about you."

"Must've been an interesting conversation." He moved forward into the
room, feeling the weight of Doyle's gaze following him.

"Oh, it was. He actually thought that, as your partner, I might know
what's the matter with you." Doyle watched the blankness sweep over
Bodie's face, as he'd watched for over a month now.

"What did you tell him then?" 

Doyle turned back to the drinks cabinet. "I told him you were fine." He
filled his glass and another for Bodie.

"Well then, I'm fine."

"Bollocks." 

Bodie sighed. "Look, Ray, what do you want me to say?"

Doyle brought the glass of scotch over to him. "Whatever you want to say,
as long as you tell me what the fuck's wrong with you."

Accepting the glass, Bodie studied it. "What's this then? Trying to loosen
my tongue with drink?"

"Do I need to? I thought you were fine. Got something to hide?" Doyle
turned and settled himself on the sofa, putting his untouched drink down
on the table.

Bodie stayed where he was and sipped the whisky. "Did Cowley accept it?"

"No." 

Bodie sipped again and met Doyle's calculating look with as much
equanimity as he could muster. He wouldn't ask. He needed Doyle
off-balance if he was going to keep him out of this. If he was going to be
free to act, whatever his decision. And he could easily outwait Doyle in
conversation.

Familiar with Bodie's tactics, Doyle played his own trump. "He said he was
disappointed in me."

"What?" Bodie demanded. "Why?"

"We're fucking up the assessments."

"Yeah, but--" Bodie broke off. Forced himself to stop speaking.

"Yeah, but," Doyle mimicked him. "We all know who's doing the fucking,
don't we?" He jumped up and walked towards the window. "His next brilliant
idea was that you're over the hill."

Bodie snorted. "Is that right?"

Doyle wasn't laughing. "Yeah, that's right. I think Jack agrees with that
one." 

It stung when it shouldn't have. "I'm not."

Doyle smiled charmingly. "So what are you, then?"

"Bored with the questions, mate." Bodie took another drink.

Pure frustration brought Doyle across the room in a few swift strides.
"I've had it, Bodie. I want some answers. I've asked you to tell me what's
wrong. I've shouted at you. I've ignored you. I've waited it out. Tell me
why I shouldn't ask Cowley for a reteaming."

Bodie looked away. "Maybe you should."

Forcing himself to breathe, to ease the clenched knot in his stomach,
Doyle said, "No. Why the fuck won't you tell me what's wrong?"

"Doyle...." Bodie moved back a step.

"I've wondered if you're bored. Ready to move on."

He hadn't thought of that. "Maybe--"

"Oh no," Doyle interrupted. "I rejected that idea."

Despite himself, Bodie smiled at that. Trust Doyle. "Why? You know I don't
stay long anywhere. Never have."

Doyle nodded, his eyes never leaving Bodie's. "Yeah. Only one trouble with
that theory."

Bodie looked an enquiry.

"You wouldn't go out like this. Not your style, is it. Go out on top you
do--not by failing assessments you could walk through."

"Thought that was the trouble." 

"It is. I just don't think it's deliberate. You're distracted, not dogging
it. You aren't focused." He looked at Bodie speculatively. "Whatever it is
that's bugging you, you haven't made up your mind about it yet. Have you?"

He'd already blown it. Searching for a distraction, Bodie said, "Is that
what you told Cowley, then?"

Doyle looked away. "I didn't tell him anything. He didn't ask. I don't
reckon he was looking for answers from me. He was looking for something
else."

"What then?"

"Loyalty. Testing our partnership. I passed, by the way. You didn't."

He wasn't expecting that. Failure where he was most vulnerable. "Fuck
this. You're not my keeper, Doyle. If you've got a problem with me, or my
performance--"

"That's why I'm here! Christ, Bodie, give me a clue! Something's got you
so distracted you can't handle a simple assessment. If we'd been out on
the street--"

"We aren't. I can do my job."

With cold precision Doyle repeated the words. "If we'd been out on the
street, you'd be dead. Me too." 

"We aren't on the street, we're safe in Jack's little world." He drank the
rest of the scotch in his glass.

Doyle shook his head. "With you trying to decide something that's got you
torn up inside--"

"What the fuck do you know? I'm fine."

"Yeah. Fine," Doyle repeated derisively. "Seeking help from Shusai."

That stopped him cold. "What?"

"Do you think Cowley wouldn't have you followed?"

Bodie knew he'd been followed but he thought he'd lost Wilson. Had there
been another? The mere fact that he didn't know shook him.

Doyle moved in closer, his tone gentling as he sensed his advantage.
"Look, mate, I'm not prying here, it's your business. But it can't go on.
Cowley's talking about pulling you."

"Let him," Bodie said. His mind was running through alternatives--he had
to make a decision now.

Doyle grabbed his shoulder, shook him. "Dammit, have you listened to me at
all?"

Bodie looked at Doyle's frustrated face, read the anger, and found that it
calmed him. It worked that way with them, sometimes, their emotions
balancing each other. For once it was working in his favour. He needed
time to think and he wouldn't get it unless Doyle was rattled and backing
away.

The motive and the motion are one, Shusai said.

Bodie reached to Doyle, slid his hand to the back of his head, and leaned
in to take possession of his mouth. The kiss lasted longer than he
expected, long enough for him to begin to feel Doyle responding. And then
Doyle pushed him away, backing up a step. But only a step. 

Doyle stared at him, his eyes wide. Bodie couldn't read the expression in
them. It, too, wasn't quite what he had expected. 

"That it, then?" Doyle asked, his voice low and tense.

Bodie took a moment to track the question, unsure--and the plan he had
been seeking fell into his brain with the ease of certainty. "Yeah," he
said. "That's it. Now you know why I wouldn't talk to you about it."

Doyle stilled. He grew so still that Bodie couldn't see that he breathed;
he'd never seen Doyle like that before. In all his emotions--anger, fear,
hatred, even love, Doyle was a man of motion. He felt his stomach
twisting, and hesitated, torn between moving a step forward, and moving a
step backward, away from Doyle. 

And then Doyle was the one moving forward and they came together, mouth
meeting mouth. Bodie caught fire, his arms surrounding Doyle's heat, his
tongue tasting Doyle's mouth. He heard and felt the moan that escaped
Doyle as he pressed closer, making his desire known. 

Doyle again was the one to break it, although this time he didn't move
away. And this time Bodie understood the hazed look in the green eyes that
stared at him. 

"I want you," Bodie said, and watched the effect the words had on Doyle.
He bent his head to claim Doyle's lips again.

"Wait," Doyle muttered. His hands clutched at Bodie's arms, seeking
balance. "I'm not--"

"No," Bodie cut him off. He began licking, then biting at Doyle's neck,
hearing the breath catch in his throat. He lifted his head and whispered
into Doyle's ear. "Don't tell me you don't want it. Not when you turn on
like this." His hand outlined Doyle's erection through his jeans.

Doyle hissed at the contact, pushing forward. "I...."

Bodie drew his hand away, knowing he had already won. He grasped Doyle by
the shoulders. "Your choice." 

Staring at him, unable to speak, Doyle fought to bring order to the chaos
Bodie had created within him. Desire, finally loosed, was sharp and
overwhelming, chasing the fear that would save him from this. 

"Ray?"

With the bitter thought that loss was inevitable, Doyle moved forward
again, closing the gap between them. "Yeah. All right." 

Bodie revelled in the emotions filling him as he kissed Doyle's mouth, as
he touched him and began guiding him towards the bed. Satisfaction.
Elation under control. He had found his way.

They paused only to undress, and even then Bodie kept in as much contact
as possible with Doyle, helping him and taking advantage all in one. There
was nothing unexpected in the sight of an aroused Doyle, but everything
was new when it came to being touched by him. And Doyle, whatever his
previous experience, was taking every opportunity to explore him as well.
They fell together on to the bed, his mouth seeking Doyle's skin while his
hands held on tightly enough to bruise.

It was going to be quick this time--too quick--but there would be other
times. Oh yes. He'd make sure of that.

Doyle was alive under his hands, gasping and moving urgently, seeking only
the release that had become a necessity. Bodie moved down Doyle's body,
taking his cock into his mouth and bathing it in heat and wetness, knowing
exactly what it would do to him. One hand settled at the base of Doyle's
cock, the other on his hip, retaining some control over Doyle's strong
thrusts. Once, twice, and then Doyle was coming, the sound of his shout
echoing in the room.

He rolled off Doyle, giving him time to recover, but his own cock demanded
more attention and his hand moved to its aching hardness. He began
stroking himself, his mind's eye bombarded by images of Doyle helpless
beneath his touch. And then other hands were there, pushing his own away.
He fell back on the bed, gave himself up to Doyle's hands, and he was
coming with a fierce joy, hard and fast.

They lay next to each other, breathing heavily out of rhythm. Hot and
sweaty and a mess but the clarity was there now for Bodie. He knew what he
would do, how he could do it. How he might satisfy both Keith and CI5. The
lure of the gamble was singing in his blood.

He felt the touch of Doyle's hand, hesitant, then more sure, rubbing along
his thigh. Then Doyle turned towards him, the one hand falling away as the
other settled on Bodie's stomach. Bodie waited.

"How long?" Doyle asked quietly.

Bodie turned his head to look at him, then rolled, pushing through Doyle's
slight resistance until he lay again on his back. Bodie brushed his lips
along Doyle's cheekbone, delighting in its irregularity.

"How long what?" He moved down and nibbled on Doyle's ear.

Doyle squirmed. "How long have you wanted this?"

"Long enough." Bodie found the juncture of neck and shoulder particularly
appealing. He fastened his mouth there, nipped and then soothed. Doyle
jerked in his grasp and Bodie slid his leg over Doyle's, the better to
hold onto him. 

"Didn't know you swung both ways," Doyle said breathlessly.

Bodie grinned and ran his hand the length of Doyle's body, relishing the
shudder he caused. "When the temptation is great enough. You're hard to
resist."

Doyle arched, turning his face away. "Been told that before."

"Not surprised." He felt the tension strumming through Doyle, pleased at
his response to his touch. His thumb brushed over a nipple, encouraged its
rise to hardness.

Anguish, both physical and emotional, stabbed through Doyle, and he
struggled to speak. "What is it for you, Bodie?" 

"Trust me," Bodie whispered, before settling his mouth on Doyle's.

A moment's hesitation and then Doyle's mouth opened to his. Bodie set out
to light up every nerve in Doyle's body. Using soft, brushing touches one
minute, stronger strokes the next, he moved over Doyle, biting and kissing
and licking. When Doyle's hands threatened to take the initiative from
him, he captured them--pinning one between their bodies, and holding the
other above Doyle's head, while his mouth rampaged across his chest. He
felt Doyle's surrender by degrees, from tension to participation to
abandonment. Groans turned to curses turned to pleas.

And Doyle allowed it, released himself from the control that was second
nature, learned through hard experience. He responded to Bodie's touch as
though he'd known no other, as though there would never be another. He
held nothing back, with no thought for the future. 

Heart pounding, blood surging, Bodie wanted to be in Doyle, wanted to
pierce the hot body that clung to his, moved against his. He craved it,
needed it. But a clear part of his brain showed him another path. Do the
unexpected, keep the advantage.

He reached to the bedside table and retrieved the tube he kept there. His
gentleness a deliberate contrast, he spread the lubricant on Doyle's cock,
easing the pressure when Doyle bucked, giving him a moment to calm. 

Doyle, lost to everything but sensation, sought out his partner's eyes.

"Want you in me," Bodie said simply. He stretched out beside Doyle.
"C'mon, then."

Doyle was on his back in a second, pressing against him, and Bodie braced
himself. But Doyle had obviously had some experience in the past, for he
took the time to prepare him before moving to take possession. He could
feel Doyle's fingers trembling as they gripped his hips.

Bodie held his breath as Doyle entered him, releasing it as Doyle began to
move. The first touch on his prostate sent a spark through his body and he
growled and shoved back, needing more contact. Doyle responded, thrusting
powerfully.

Reaching back, he pulled one of Doyle's hands around and placed it on his
cock. Doyle rubbed and squeezed him, timing the movements to his thrusts,
stringing Bodie out on sensation. He thought of Ray's hand on his cock;
Ray's hand squeezing the trigger during a firefight.

He came, shouting, and felt Doyle's release a moment later. They fell
together, collapsed on the bed, entwined. Bodie's nerves were sparking in
reaction, little shudders of sensation that kept him immobile.

Too few minutes later, he felt Doyle's weight leave the bed but he didn't
have the energy yet to find out what he was about. And then he felt a warm
wetness on his back. He opened his eyes to see Doyle beside him. Doyle
kissed him with surprising gentleness, then used a cloth to wash him with
careful intimacy. Suddenly needing to move, Bodie pulled away and sat up. 

Doyle was watching him, one hand resting on Bodie's thigh, the other
holding the cloth. Bodie glanced away, then leaned forward, kissed Doyle
quickly, took the cloth and left the bed. "Sheets are in that drawer
there," he called over his shoulder as he headed for the loo.

He returned a few minutes later to find the discarded sheets on the floor
and Doyle stretching the bottom sheet to fit on the bed. He went to the
other side of the bed to help.

"I've been thinking," he said to Doyle, briskly efficient.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Feel up to a bike race?"

Doyle paused in his task, gazing at him. "Maybe." When there was no answer
to that, he continued. "What have you got in mind?"

Bodie straightened the sheet and deftly tucked in a corner. "I know some
bikers who could use taking down a peg or two." He looked Doyle up and
down and grinned. "It'd be worth something, having it come from you."

Doyle made a wry face. "Oh, ta very much." He tucked in the bottom corner.
"You really want me to do it?"

Reaching for the top sheet, Bodie said, "Yeah. Wouldn't ask otherwise,
would I?"

Doyle caught his side of the sheet and straightened it. "All right."

Bodie smiled at him and energetically tucked the top sheet in. "You'll
like it, Ray. They'll get right up your nose."

"No doubt. When?"

"Saturday. We should be free."

Doyle considered him, frowning slightly. "Assuming you do well enough on
the assessment."

"I will," Bodie said confidently. He reached for the blanket and spread it
on the bed. 

"Because of this?"

He looked at Doyle and couldn't suppress another smile, or the truth from
slipping out. "Feel better than I have for a long time, Ray." 

Doyle straightened the blanket carefully. "I have a date with Sally on
Saturday." He looked up. "Could call her."

Luck, it seemed, favoured him. "No, bring Sally along. Be a treat for her
to see you beat those bastards."

Doyle held his eyes for a moment, keeping his expression neutral. "Think
so?" 

Sure of himself, Bodie was breezily reassuring. "Oh yeah. Good triumphing
over evil--great stuff." He gathered the soiled sheets and put them in the
laundry bag, then turned back to the bed to find Doyle collecting his
clothes. "You can spend the night, if you want."

Doyle studied him, trying to read Bodie's mood, the thoughts behind
guileless eyes.

"Might as well," Bodie said. "We can go in together--stop by your place to
pick up anything you need tomorrow morning." 

Doyle looked away, uneasy and floundering in it.

"You'll enjoy me waking you up in the morning," Bodie cajoled.

Trust Bodie. The one constant in his life. Doyle tilted his head to look
him up and down. "Will I?"

"Can guarantee it, mate."

"I'll hold you to that." And he grinned at Bodie, feeling the tension
ease.

Bodie grinned back, light-hearted. While Doyle settled into bed, Bodie
walked out for one last check of the flat and double-locks before joining
him. He pulled Doyle close against him, wrapping his arms around him.

"Do you know what time we have to get up tomorrow?" 

The irritation in Doyle's voice was so familiar that Bodie found himself
smiling again. "Today, actually."

"That's my point."

"Then go to sleep." He nuzzled the back of Doyle's neck. 

"If you have another round up the spout I'm going to flog your body to
science. Either that or on the street. Could make me fortune."

Bodie laughed and moved away, shifting onto his back. After a moment Doyle
turned over and edged in close along Bodie's side, one arm tucked around
his. 

Listening as Doyle's breathing eased into the deep rhythm of sleep, Bodie
smiled into the darkness. It had all come together so easily. He'd have
Doyle ride against King Billy and his boys. Doyle would win. Doyle would
take one look at that lot and he'd want to win. Very predictable
sometimes, Doyle was.

He could also count on Doyle losing his temper--he'd hate the unfairness
that was Billy's stock in trade. It'd be a simple thing, then, to get
Doyle out of the area, he'd want nothing more than to be shut of that
crowd. Give him Sally to keep him occupied. And Bodie would have a clear
run at King Billy and a chance of pulling it off without losing CI5. Or
Doyle.

He could do it. Keep Doyle off-balance and he could do it.

******

Doyle watched, trying to keep his mind blank, as King Billy and his boys
were escorted by the police to the waiting van. If he thought about it now
he was going to lose control. Later, it was for later. He had to get Sally
home first. She was doing what she could for Cheryl, offering a reassuring
normalcy. He wished she'd never come. Bodie had wanted her to come, of
course.

Cursing, Doyle turned away, only to be confronted by Bodie yet again.
Bodie, who had taken every opportunity to stay close to him in the
aftermath. Couldn't have got rid of him faster earlier, could he, but now
Bodie wanted him close. No sense of self-preservation; he was going to
kill the bastard.

As Cowley would have killed him. 

He had to get away. Before the rage and the confusion and the grief broke
through. Before he betrayed himself.

Bodie had used him, that was clear enough. He'd needed a clear run for
what he'd planned for King Billy and he'd known exactly how to get it.
Christ, he'd given it to him on a platter, hadn't he? He'd been the one to
tell Bodie that Cowley's attention was on him. Easy enough to reckon
Cowley would order Doyle to keep an eye on him. Bodie had needed the space
to act, and it'd been Doyle who had supplied the means.

The shame of it choked him. Give him his due, it hadn't been Bodie who'd
seduced him. No, he'd been the one to leap to the brilliant conclusion
that Bodie's distraction stemmed from him. As Bodie had said, it was his
own choice. And from that moment, he'd been lost. Stupid bloody fool that
he was.

"Doyle!" Kate Ross was calling to him, urging Sally towards him. He could
take her home now. He started forward only to be stopped by Bodie's touch.

"Ray."

He glanced at him, into blue eyes that told him nothing. He was deceiving
himself if he ever thought he could read them.

Bodie took a deep breath, absorbing Doyle's lack of expression. This
wasn't the place. 

"I've got to go," Doyle said, gesturing towards the approaching Sally. 

"I know. Just--" Bodie looked around, stepped closer. "Tonight. Come to my
flat?"

No question that Bodie had enjoyed the sex, no doubt he wanted to continue
it. Couldn't blame him, could he? He'd asked Bodie what it meant and Bodie
had shown him. Well then, no reason why he couldn't take as Bodie had
taken. Might as well get that at least. Might as well.

"Yeah." And he was gone, striding away to meet Sally, banishing from his
mind's eye the smile on Bodie's face. The bastard.

Bodie watched Doyle go, relief coursing through him, heightening the
triumph he felt. It'd be all right. He'd won. Keith would get his justice,
Cheryl her peace of mind. And he had CI5, had Doyle.

Bodie went to join Cowley and Ross, an evening of reports ahead of him and
a barrage of questions that he would answer as it suited. And tonight?
Tonight he would have Doyle in his bed again, with no distractions. All
that intense sensuality his to use and command and experience. The anger
he sensed in Doyle would be burnt out in passion. He couldn't keep the
exuberance out of his smile, ignoring the gaze of Dr Ross. By God, he'd
done it.

For Doyle, the day passed all too quickly. Sally wound down halfway home,
her chatter effectively squelched by his inability to reciprocate. They
finished the ride in silence. Doyle saw her off with some regret, knowing
he wouldn't see her again. She hadn't deserved to be caught in the middle
of all this.

Back to HQ and his own debriefing by Cowley and then Kate Ross. He saw
Bodie in passing but kept away from the rest room. Then home to his flat,
putting the bike away, and out again to a pub for food and a drink. He
couldn't settle.

The pub provided company but Doyle kept to himself, nursing his drink,
prisoner to his thoughts. He'd gone to bed with Bodie because he'd wanted
him, had wanted him for a long time. The touch of him, the feel of him,
but more than anything else, being with him. He flinched as he recalled
how he'd responded to Bodie's touch, how much he had revealed. Stupid to
have forgotten so quickly the reasons why he hadn't taken Bodie to bed
before. He'd been caught, though, hadn't he? Believing that Bodie would
leave if it wasn't resolved; believing that Bodie would leave once the
mystery of the attraction was sated. 

Will leave.

He'd known, in the end, it would happen, would go this way. He just hadn't
expected it so soon. Ah, be honest, he hadn't been through playing his
games, had he? He'd been enjoying it too much, playing with Bodie's
unacknowledged desire for him. Stoking it. Keeping him interested but just
short of open admission from either of them.

Not a pretty game. And it'd blown up right in his face. But then Bodie had
had his own agenda, hadn't he? Could he blame him for it? Mourn something
that had never been real? All that was left were the finishing moves in
this game they played. Take what pleasure he could from it. Admit defeat
but only to himself.

At 9.00 the R/T bleeped and he knew Bodie was home. By 10.00 he was
standing outside Bodie's flat, waiting as he'd waited the other night.
Then he had come for answers, now he wanted only to forget them. A drizzle
had started to fall, coating the steps with wetness and adding a tang to
the night air.

Bodie let him in, looking tired but undiminished. Still flying high from
his victory over King Billy and Cowley and Doyle himself. And all the
anger Doyle had settled within himself earlier rose up in rebellion, an
immediate contrast to Bodie's mood. 

Bodie grinned. "About bloody time, mate." He stepped aside to let Doyle
in.

Doyle walked past him into the room. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"And cheerful as ever. Beer or whisky?"

"Beer." Doyle wandered over to the window and looked out at the street
below. It might have been better if he hadn't come here tonight. Safer,
certainly. But then he wasn't very good at safe. Wasn't very good at happy
either. He clamped down on the thought.

He saw Bodie's reflection in the glass as he approached from behind. Stood
still as Bodie bent his head and kissed the back of his neck. He shivered.
Damn him. Unfair advantage.

"Your beer," Bodie said, stepping back and holding out a can to Doyle.

He took it, and moved back into the room, sitting on the sofa. He was
unsurprised when Bodie settled down next to him, thigh to thigh. So bloody
normal. He felt the coldness settle a little deeper within him.

"Cowley decided to keep you on the squad, did he?" He took a gulp from the
beer.

"Yeah. Gave me a dressing down, of course."

"Of course. Blue-eyed boy. Anyone else...."

"I know I was lucky." 

Doyle shook his head. "Lucky!"

Bodie took a long pull from the can. "And good."

There was nothing to say to that. Nothing civil. "Cheryl give her
testimony?" 

"Yeah, all neat and proper. It's up to the courts now."

"Going to do it for them if they don't convict?" Doyle asked mockingly.

Bodie took another long drink before answering calmly. "I already did my
bit. Did what was necessary."

"For your army mate."

"For Keith, yeah."

Doyle leaned forward to set his beer down on the table. The can was still
half full. He rested his elbows on his knees, his eyes on the table in
front of him. "Tell me about him."

"Nothing to tell," Bodie said neutrally.

Doyle turned his head to look back at Bodie, then away. "You were willing
to sacrifice everything for him."

"Not everything." He reached out to lay a hand on Doyle's back.

Jumping up, Doyle walked away, across the room. "Seemed like it to me."

Bodie set his beer on the table next to Doyle's and stood to follow him.
"It's over, Ray. Finished. No reason to dwell on it." He moved in close
behind his partner but didn't attempt to touch him.

"No reason, eh?"

"No." Bodie grasped Doyle's shoulders, turned him around, pleased when he
met with no resistance. He wanted nothing more than to take Doyle into his
arms, to share his victory.

"You used me," Doyle said, looking into the face that he was once certain
he knew.

"To get to King Billy, yeah; to keep you out of it, yeah. I'd do it again.
But it doesn't touch you and me."

"Doesn't it?"

"No. It's the one good thing that came out of this mess. Finding you."
Bodie leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and pressed his lips
to Doyle's.

Feeling his resistance crumbling, Doyle pulled away, needing the space to
untangle his emotions. He stopped by the sofa to look back at Bodie,
registering the expression in his eyes. Oh yes, he did have an advantage.
It wasn't all in Bodie's court. He wouldn't forget again. Slowly, he
removed his jacket and holster. "Finding me? Are you going to tell me now
that it came as a surprise to you? You're the one who kissed me. Before
you lied about why."

Bodie smiled, moving forward, more confident now after that kiss. "It
wasn't a lie, just didn't realise how much truth was in it." He stopped in
front of Doyle, his eyes travelling over him as his breathing quickened.

"Want me, do you?" Doyle unbuttoned his shirt. 

"You know I do." Bodie observed the large bruise that was revealed as
Doyle took off his shirt. He reached out a hand to touch it gently.

Doyle stepped back, evading the contact. "Left your mark on me."

"I was trying to keep you out of it." 

"You were trying to keep me from stopping you," Doyle countered
aggressively.

"Maybe." Bodie stepped forward, grasping Doyle's open shirt, pulling him
close. "Enough of this, Ray. You want it as much as I do. I know you're
angry, can see it in your eyes. Can see the desire, too. Which is going to
win, eh?" One hand sought out the firmness of Doyle's groin. "Not hard to
guess."

No, not difficult to guess--he'd never had much of a defence against
Bodie's touch. He'd have none now that Bodie knew it. Going under, he
asked more than he should have. "What is it you want from me? Is it worth
buggering the partnership?" 

"No, it's going to be fine." Bodie's hands reached for Doyle's zip and the
clasp on his jeans. His mouth roved over Doyle's face, lingering at his
mouth before pulling back a few inches. "Going to bugger you, though."

"Thought you did that."

"You'll know it when I've done that." 

Bodie kissed him again and Doyle felt the familiar rising tide of lust.
Take what he could get then. He brought his hands up to push hard against
Bodie, freeing himself. Then, all cool provocation, he finished undressing
and stood before Bodie's avid gaze. "Prove it," he said, bracing himself.

Bodie, with a feral light in his eyes, came for him. They fought their way
to the bedroom, Doyle evading Bodie's attempts to have him there, on the
floor. No words were used, no tender touches, just hot, hard bodies and
limbs. Driving need, fuelled by hunger and anger. 

Bodie grunted as Doyle's teeth sank into his shoulder, marking him as
surely as he had branded Doyle earlier. And Bodie twisted, taking that
mouth for his own, forcing his tongue in to make possession complete. His
hands moved mercilessly over Doyle, pinching and stroking by turns,
reaching for his cock to grasp him even as Doyle struggled to free
himself.

Useless attempt. Bodie's hands drove everything from Doyle's head but the
need for completion, crying out against Bodie's mouth as he was finally
allowed release. And then Bodie turned him, readied him with spit and
semen, and entered him in one hard thrust. Pain mingled gloriously with
pleasure, raising Doyle off the bed. He shoved back as Bodie pushed
forward, working together, driving himself to exhaustion, emotions feeding
muscles feeding an aching void in a wild joining. 

Bodie came, his shout deafening, and Doyle came again, with him, sobbing
and cursing. They lay together for a moment, Bodie heavy on him, and then
Bodie rolled away onto his back, chest heaving. Doyle stayed as he was,
ears ringing, heart slowing by degrees. He felt Bodie's hand settle on his
back, rubbing.

"Christ, Doyle."

He couldn't say anything. Stretching, he eased away from Bodie's hand, and
then the bed. Walking into the loo, he quickly washed himself, looking
into the mirror at his own impassive face. He detoured to the living room
to collect his clothes, then returned to the bedroom. Bodie was as he had
left him, although he had pulled the sheet up over his legs. His eyes were
closed.

For a moment Doyle stood there, watching him, feeling the distance within
him grow. The beginning of separation. He'd have him for a time and then
Bodie would be gone. He walked forward, bent down, and kissed Bodie. A
fleeting touch of tenderness, like flowers on a grave.

Bodie's eyes opened, widening as he saw that Doyle was dressed. "I thought
you'd stay."

"No, best if I leave. What time does Cowley want you in?"

"Nine."

"I'll pick you up."

"All right." Doyle turned to leave and Bodie found himself reaching for
him, disturbed without knowing why. "Ray--"

Doyle paused, then came back to the bed, his eyes unreadable in the
half-light in the bedroom. 

"It's all right, mate. I'll see you in the morning. Set your locks for you
as I go, right?"

Blinking, feeling slightly bewildered, Bodie said, "Yeah. Cheers." 

Bodie watched him leave, then turned to his side and settled into the bed
only to find sleep elusive. When had the triumph of the day turned to this
chilling uncertainty? It was ridiculous to be feeling this way. No reason
for it. It was just like Doyle to put a dampener on the celebration, he
thought irritably.

Shifting onto his back, he thought back to the sex he'd just shared with
Doyle, to the passion. It'd been good. Yeah. And Doyle would be back. He'd
said everything was fine; he'd certainly enjoyed it. Bodie smirked and
stretched, feeling a pleasurable ache in his muscles. Natural enough that
they'd need a bit of time to adjust to the changes. Nothing to worry
about. He'd won it all, hadn't he?

Smiling, attributing his unease to the events of the day, Bodie turned his
head into the pillow and drifted off to sleep.

******

*Part II: Rule of the Jungle*

Sitting at a table where he could keep an eye on the door, Jamie Michaels
took a long pull from his pint and thought about Bodie. It wasn't the
first time he'd wondered what had happened to the man since Angola, but it
was the first he'd have a chance to see for himself. Cusack had already
filled him in on some of the details: enlisted in the paras, seconded to
the SAS, and then to CI5. On the side of the angels Bodie was now--that he
would like to see.

He swallowed more of the beer and wondered if Bodie would see any changes
in him. If Bodie would even care that there were changes. Well, he'd
agreed to the meeting, he must have some curiosity, even if the hook had
more to do with the job than old friendship. It was useful that Bodie was
with CI5 now. Even if it turned out that the arms he'd found were
legitimate, or a matter for the police, it'd serve Garrety right to have
CI5 nosing about the place.

Reaching again for the glass, he paused as he saw Bodie walk through the
door, behind a young couple. Changes, yes, but surprisingly few; he'd have
recognised him anywhere. The same cropped dark hair, blue eyes that roamed
over the crowd in the pub, handsome face cool and unrevealing even in
laughter. His skin was paler and his body had filled out, reminding him
that he'd only known Bodie as a youth. He watched as Bodie located and
then walked towards him, his movements showing the familiar, leashed power
of old. Always in predator mode, Bodie was. He admired him for it.

"Jamie." Bodie sat next to Michaels, automatically moving the chair to
place his back to the wall. Old habits.

"It's good to see you, Bodie." He smiled and pushed the other beer glass
across to Bodie.

"Ta." 

Michaels drank from his glass, noting that, as always at first, Bodie's
smile didn't reach his eyes. "It's been a long time."

Bodie looked at him, seeing Angola in his mind. "Are you still at it?"
Michaels didn't have a tan and his blond hair was darker than Bodie
remembered.

"Yeah. Well, I've been here for about half a year, relaxing."

"Recuperating?"

He grinned. "Yeah. Spent some time in a South African hospital, then came
here. The money's run out so it's time I went back."

Bodie took a swallow of the beer. "There are other ways to earn a living."

"But none that suit so well."

At that Bodie smiled genuinely and relaxed back into his chair. "Still the
same, aren't you?"

"Older but no wiser. You know it's me that trains the new ones now."

"Taught you well, didn't I?" Bodie raised his glass.

"Kept me alive, at least." Michaels clinked his glass against Bodie's and
they drank.

"So what is it you wanted to see me about then?" Bodie placed his glass
down.

"I've been staying with my sister, near East Grinstead. She has an estate
cottage, lives there with her kids, along with some other families. You
know the story, rented out farm land and cottages."

"Jamie...."

"I'm getting to it. The family sold out to a new bloke. American. He said
he was going to keep everything the same but now the rent's gone up twice,
driving the families out. Expenses, he says. Peg's the last one left and
she's out at the end of the month."

"So?"

"So I went looking around a bit. I got to wondering about this bloke
Garrety."

"Nosing in where you don't belong." 

"Right."

"And?"

"And I found an arms stockpile--sophisticated stuff. Bomb-making materials
as well. A regular workshop. I doubt if any of it is legal."

"Rang the police, did you?"

"Not likely. I thought of you."

"Ah, charmed."

Michaels shrugged. "It's your patch now, isn't it? And there's more." He
reached into his pocket and unfolded a piece of paper, then handed it to
Bodie.

"And this is?" Bodie waved the paper gently.

"Registration number from a car that has been there a few times. With
diplomatic plates."

Bodie looked up, eyebrows raised.

Michaels nodded. "Yeah. I won't deny that I want to cause trouble. I'd've
let it lie if they hadn't pressurised my sister. But as it is...seemed
like you might be interested."

Pocketing the piece of paper, Bodie looked around the pub. "Might be. Give
me a moment to make a phone call."

He sat back in his seat. "Take your time, sunshine. I'm enjoying my pint."

The telephone was located close to the door of the pub so he was able to
keep an eye on Bodie as he made his call. He had once made a practice of
studying Bodie's expressions, trying to decipher the man who had
represented everything he'd wanted to become. Bodie, only a few years
older, but vastly more experienced in the ways of the violent world they'd
inhabited. He'd learned how to survive and then how to succeed in that
world, and it had begun by being able to read Bodie himself.

The years had altered him, but the tell-tale signs of tension were the
same--the stiff stance and the lack of expression on his face revealing
his frustration with the conversation. Hanging up the receiver, Bodie
paused for a moment, eyes down, before he started back to their table. He
was, as Michaels expected, nearly cheerful as he arrived. Bodie was a
master at re-directing emotions.

"All set." Bodie picked up his glass and drained it, needing it. "Come
on."

Michaels stood up. "Where?"

"We're going to pick up my partner and then go and check this stockpile of
yours." And, he thought, Doyle had damned well better co-operate.

"Partner?" He followed Bodie out of the pub.

"It's CI5, mate, most of us work in two-man teams."

Michaels snorted "And how long do they last with you?" They'd reached a
silver Capri.

"I've only had one," Bodie said evenly, then he unlocked the door and slid
into the car, reaching across to unlock the other door.

"Worth the trust, is he?" He settled into the seat, fastening the seatbelt
as Bodie accelerated into traffic.

"Obviously."

Picking up something odd in Bodie's tone, Michaels pressed on. "Still?"

Bodie glanced at him. "He's fine."

"Yeah? What's his background?"

"Copper."

Michaels grunted. "Must be training them better than they used to." When
Bodie had no answer to that, he continued, "You taught me a lot about
trust."

"It's a tool like anything else. Control is essential." Bodie shifted
gears to speed up. "Have you seen Baffert since you got back? Do you know
he's in York?" 

Allowing the conversation to be diverted, Michaels responded easily to an
exchange of information on old mates and enemies. Bodie had indeed taught
him the value of trust, and how to do it without becoming involved,
without losing the self-sufficiency that meant survival. He'd learned the
lesson well in Angola. 

They arrived at a block of flats, parking a street away and walking back
to the entrance. A short time later they were buzzed into the building and
hurried up a flight of stairs. Bodie pushed open the door to let them in
to his partner's flat.

"Ray Doyle, Jamie Michaels," Bodie introduced them coolly.

Michaels looked across at the man lounging at his ease against the wall
and made sure to keep the surprise from showing on his face. Slender and
compact, the man didn't look like a fighter but he'd met the type before
and knew how deceiving such a build could be. He didn't look like a
copper, either. Brown curly hair that looked like he'd been running a hand
through it repeatedly, odd green eyes in a damaged face. But those eyes
were coldly assessing and Michaels couldn't read a thought on Doyle's
face. He found it unnerving in a way he'd never found it to be with Bodie.

Doyle nodded at Jamie then looked at Bodie. "You said it was business." 

"And so it is," Bodie said irritably. "Jamie, go on and fill Doyle in.
Tell him everything you told me."

Michaels went through the story again, adding details of the arms he'd
discovered, prompted by Doyle's questions. He found it easier to talk to
Doyle than he'd expected, appreciating the well-used interrogation
techniques. He had no reason not to co-operate. Bodie prowled the room as
he and Doyle talked, his face closed.

When he was finished, Doyle turned to Bodie. "Police business."

"Oh that's brilliant, Sherlock. Where would we be without you?" Bodie
pulled out the piece of paper Michaels had given him. "CD plates." He
handed the paper to Doyle. Their eyes met, challenge and query, then Doyle
turned away.

"I'll ring HQ." He walked past the telephone by the sofa, to another room
in the flat.

Left with a strangely brooding Bodie, Michaels kept his voice light.
"Doesn't trust me, does he?" 

Bodie glanced at him. "He doesn't think much of mercenaries."

"Well, he's only had you as an example, after all."

Forcing himself into the familiar role, Bodie responded, "Sterling
example, my son." He moved to the drinks cabinet. "What'll you have?"

"Whatever you're having." It turned out to be scotch. They sipped the
drinks in silence, Michaels sitting on the sofa while Bodie moved around
the room.

A few minutes later Doyle came back. "They're running the plate, they'll
give us a ring. Then we're to check it out."

Bodie set his unfinished drink down on the table near the sofa. "They can
contact us on the way."

"Cowley said to wait." Doyle spoke mildly, unwilling to deal with Bodie's
uncertain moods in front of Michaels.

"Since when do you do everything Cowley tells you to do?"

So much for intentions. Doyle glared at him. "When it suits. Seems a
one-man job, though, doesn't it? You and Michaels can take a look-see on
your own."

"I already explained to Jamie that we work in teams in CI5."

Doyle contemplated his partner for a long moment. "Yeah, all right." He
glanced around, noted the drinks they were having and went to pour one for
himself. "Cowley's giving it priority, shouldn't be long before we hear
back." 

Bodie sat in one of the arm chairs, watching Doyle. "Still angry with you,
is he?"

"With us." Doyle turned away from the cabinet, drink in hand.

"There's the disadvantage of working in teams for you, Jamie." Before
Doyle could answer, Bodie changed the subject. "As long as we have to
wait, got any food in?"

Doyle shrugged. "Help yourself. You know where the kitchen is." He walked
to the other arm chair and settled into it to wait.

With a sigh, Bodie heaved himself to his feet. "Want anything, mate?" he
asked Michaels.

He shook his head and watched as Bodie strolled into the kitchen. The
sounds of rummaging soon reached them. Michaels turned to study Doyle.
"Trouble with your boss? I'm not prying, just that I've heard a little
about George Cowley."

Doyle nodded. "I'm not surprised. And, no, not trouble. Just a
little...miscommunication."

Bodie walked back into the room, munching on a biscuit. "Miscommunication?
You jumped early, Doyle. That's not 'miscommunication'."

"It's done with," Doyle said very evenly. The telephone rang and he put
his drink down before leaving the room again to answer it. 

Bodie followed him with his eyes and then wandered back to the window,
finishing the biscuit.

"Nerve broke?" Michaels asked, watching Bodie speculatively.

Bodie nearly laughed, although it wasn't humour that prompted it. "Doesn't
know the meaning of the word."

A short time later, Doyle strode back into the room, carrying his shoulder
holster. "We're on, sunshine. The car's registered to the Soviet embassy,
one of the pool cars. Cowley says to take a look but keep our heads low.
No disturbances. Low profile."

"Then you bear it in mind." 

Doyle sighed. "Leave it, Bodie." He turned to Michaels. "Can you get us in
to see what you've seen, without anyone knowing?"

"Of course he can," Bodie interjected impatiently.

"Michaels?" Doyle looked at him.

"Yes. Best to wait until dusk. Garrety has workmen crawling over the place
during the day--renovations he says. No one local, though, which is also
causing some ill-feeling. They usually leave at the end of the day. It
won't cause any comment if we go to my sister's house. She's away with the
kids, visiting."

"Can we leave now?" Bodie was already at the door.

"After you," Doyle said tightly to Michaels.

Clattering down the stairs, with the others following, Michaels tracked
down the feeling of unease within him. He'd never known Bodie to be
unreasoningly impatient before. Never known him to display it so openly.
Changes indeed.

******

Three and a half hours later it wasn't Bodie's impatience that had them
trapped in the woods that covered two-thirds of the estate, running for
their lives, with an injured Doyle. His own timing, Michaels reflected,
had always been lousy. They'd have made it if Garrety and his men had
behaved as usual, if they hadn't suddenly changed routines. Another of the
lessons Bodie had taught him: don't rely on assumptions. Maybe he'd learn
it this time.

Getting into the barn that held the arms cache hadn't been any more
difficult than he'd anticipated. One man had been on duty, but Bodie had
quietly taken care of him with his usual efficiency--the years hadn't
diminished his skills. Slipping inside, he'd kept watch as Bodie and Doyle
had quickly examined the place, noting the number and types of the stored
weapons. It should have been a quick in-and-out, with none the wiser, but
their luck had run out just as they'd left the barn. Rounding the corner,
they'd come face-to-face with a group of four, and one of them had
recognised Bodie and Doyle.

Quick reflexes had saved them. Attacking the men as they'd gone for their
guns, he and Bodie had scattered the group, and that had given Doyle
enough time to get into position behind a tractor. He had given them
covering fire for their own escape to the woods. They had then returned
the favour, covering Doyle's retreat in a brief but deadly exchange of
shots with the remaining men at the barn.

At the very edge of the woods, however, Doyle had pitched forward, caught
by a bullet in his side. Bodie had gone to Doyle, had got him up and
moving, and then they had fled into the woods. They had found their
retreat cut off by another group of Garrety's men and since then had been
forced steadily north through the woods, away from the cottages and the
main road. Away from help for Doyle. Bodie had found time to bind his
wound, but Doyle was flagging, slowing their pace in the deadly game of
fox and hounds they found themselves in.

As they crossed through a small clearing, Bodie signalled for a halt.
Doyle slipped from his supporting hold onto the ground, breathing heavily.
Michaels stepped away from them, listening for any sound of pursuit.
Garrety's men were close; it was risky to stop at all. A glance at Doyle,
however, showed him that the rest was necessary.

The moon's light was enough for them to see their way, although it didn't
penetrate the heavy shadow of the woods. Their pursuers were carrying
torches. At least that meant they could see them coming.

Michaels turned as Bodie came up close beside him, eyes searching the
trail behind them.

"Any sign?" Bodie's voice was soft, carrying no further than his ear.

"No. But you know they're coming. They must be making delivery tonight."

Bodie rubbed a hand over his face. "More to it than that. They're hunting
us. How close are we to an entrance--or to the wall, for that matter?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure, but we're probably closer to the main house
than we are to the edge of the estate." He jerked his head towards Doyle.
"How is he?"

"Still alive. We need to get word to Cowley."

"You're overdue for a check-in, aren't you?"

Bodie shook his head. "Not enough." He looked around. They needed to
change the odds, to stop reacting and to get themselves out. "Look, I'm
going to backtrack a bit, check to see where they are. I'll be back
shortly." He turned his eyes to Doyle. Ray needed the break, anyway. "Five
minutes. Take care of him for me."

Michaels hesitated then nodded. "Yeah."

Bodie slipped away, moving quickly and as silently as possible. Michaels
watched him, then took his gun from his shoulder holster, checking the
ammunition and flipping the safety. Best to be certain. He didn't want to
do this and he felt the weight of responsibility settling on him as it
must have settled on Bodie all those years ago in Angola.

Trust without involvement--easier said than done. He'd learned it to his
cost with Robert. It had been Robert's idea to get the training and join
as mercenaries in Angola. There hadn't been many options for them. Funny
that he had been the one to survive it then, to learn the hard lessons of
the life Robert had chosen for them. They'd made a good team, though, as
even Bodie had said. Had guarded each other's backs. Faced death together.

Maybe that was why Bodie was leaving it to him. It should have been his
hand that ended Robert's life, not Bodie's. 

He walked back towards Doyle, who was sitting in the clearing, head bowed.
He'd lost his gun when he'd fallen. The bullet wound wouldn't kill him,
not with care, but the men behind them would. After they'd wrung from him
any useful information. If the Soviets were involved.... It was one of the
earliest rules Bodie had taught them: don't leave anyone for the enemy.

Doyle looked up as Michaels approached and saw the gun in his hand. He
struggled to his feet, swaying a little. "Time to go?"

"We won't make it. Not with you." Familiar words but never easy.

Doyle nodded wearily. "I reckoned that was true. Leave me and go on. Get
Cowley."

"It's not that simple," Michaels said. He brought the Beretta up. 

Doyle froze, eyes fixed on Michaels' determined face.

Interpreting the look, Michaels explained, "It should be Bodie, I know.
You're his partner."

"He wouldn't." Doyle backed up a step, giving himself room, his pulse
hammering in his throat.

Had Bodie taught Doyle nothing? "He would; he's done it before. You do
what you have to in war." 

A sick certainty began to displace the disbelief in Doyle. "Then let Bodie
do it."

"He said to take care of you." He watched as Doyle backed another step.
"Don't."

Doyle stopped. He fought to breathe deeply, one hand supporting the
bandage Bodie had fastened around his stomach. "That's how mercenaries
behave, is it?"

"Better to die by the hand of a friend than to be tortured to death by the
enemy." Odd how he needed Doyle's understanding. It had been a long time
since he'd thought about justifications. "You know what the men after us
would want from you."

"They'll hear the shot."

"Can't be helped. All it'll give them is a general direction, though, and
we'll be able to move faster now."

Bitter acknowledgement engulfed Doyle, leaving him few options. "Head shot
is the surest," he suggested quietly.

Michaels nodded and moved forward. "I know what I'm doing. For what it's
worth, I never knew Bodie to work so long with any one person. He trusts
you, in his fashion."

Even through Doyle's fear and anger that cut--like a barb slashing into
him. He wouldn't give Michaels the satisfaction of knowing it. "Every good
thing comes to an end." He turned his head as Michaels approached.

Michaels levelled the gun, knowing just how to place it, thinking of
Robert--and suddenly Doyle turned, shoving the butt of the gun up and
back, cracking into Michaels' chin. He reeled back, struggling for
balance, pain shocking his system. Doyle fled, stumbling out of the
clearing, bent low and using his hands for added purchase. He disappeared
into the underbrush.

Cursing, Michaels started after him, retrieving the Beretta from the
ground. He heard Doyle's movements, knew he could catch up with him.
Didn't the fool realise what was at stake?

"Jamie." A low, guttural voice sounded behind him. He whirled around. 

Bodie stood there, gun drawn, his face in the moonlight pale and hard.
"Don't move."

Michaels stared at him, feeling both the pain in his jaw and the kick of
adrenaline. "We have to catch him. He won't get far." He turned to follow
Doyle.

"No."

Michaels swung around. "Bodie, you know--"

"Not him. Put the gun away." With an effort, Bodie kept his voice steady
and quiet. The woods were silent where Doyle had gone.

"Bodie, dammit--" At the levelling of the gun on him, Michaels slowly set
the safety, then placed his gun in his shoulder holster. He showed his
empty hands to Bodie. It didn't make sense, like a dream where everything
was turned on its head. "You know the score."

Bodie strode forward, towards Doyle's trail. "Yeah. Get out."

The reason behind Bodie's actions was beginning to dawn on him. And a
rising sense of betrayal needled him to test it. "You told me to do it."

Blind rage surged through Bodie, but he kept control of his gun hand. "I'm
not killing him, not letting you kill him."

Michaels shook his head in disbelief, suspicion confirmed. The code they
lived by, forsaken by the man who had taught it to him; betrayed by the
very involvement that Bodie had warned him against. "And if he's
captured?"

"I'll find him. He and I go down together."

He felt a bitterness that surprised him, an old wound reopened. "When it
was Robert...." Another time, another retreat and no choices given.

"It's Ray." And that was all the explanation Bodie had. All he needed as
well. There was no doubt within him.

"You bastard," Michaels hissed, distracted by images of the past. "You
didn't give me a fucking choice!"

Bodie looked at him dispassionately. "You didn't want it."

Ten years ago he'd have killed Bodie for that remark, but then ten years
ago Bodie would never have made it. And, strangely, the thought calmed
him. Bodie had betrayed everything he'd lived by, had fallen victim to his
own first and best rule. The only sensible thing was to get as far away
from the suicidal bastard as possible. But emotions he'd rather have
denied made him ask a final question. "What about him? He knows what you
are." And he saw the unleashed anger in Bodie, witnessed his weakness.

"Does it concern you? Goodbye, Jamie."

"You're a fool," he said before he turned and left Bodie to his fate. What
had happened to the predator he'd admired, to the all-important rule of
personal survival? He'd missed the involvement. Blinded by the antagonism
between Bodie and Doyle that he'd witnessed earlier, he'd never given it a
thought. He'd ignored the ease of their communication in the barn, putting
it down to professionalism. But it hadn't been professional concern that
had sent Bodie to Doyle's side when he'd fallen, or had tinged his voice
when he'd berated his partner for stopping a bullet. Involvement was the
surest road to disaster. Bodie had taught him that. And had turned his
back on it.

An image of Robert rose to his mind's eye, the look on his face when Bodie
had approached him.... No, don't think of it. Don't believe it. Survival
came first, always. He walked away.

******

Doyle struggled to stay upright, able to ignore the pain in his abdomen
thanks to the adrenaline surging through him. He moved as quickly as he
could through the woods, knowing he was making too much noise, unable to
compensate for his unsteady movements. Keep going, get away, survive.

He stumbled, falling heavily onto his side, clenching his jaw in the
effort to stay silent. He lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, face
pressed against cool mud.

Bodie wanted him dead. No. He wouldn't. But Bodie thought it best that he
died, rather than be captured. Did he? The mercenary's credo. He hadn't
thought there was one. Christ.

He didn't hear anything behind him. Or around him. Nothing but his own
breathing. Didn't matter who came along, couldn't trust any of them.
Bodie. Lived by different rules. *He's done it before*.

Pushing himself to his knees and then to his feet, he lurched forward. He
was on some sort of trail, following it blindly, knowing he had to keep
moving.

Bodie was behind him. Looking for him? Bodie wanted him dead. No.

Less than three weeks as lovers. Worst of a bad track record. He nearly
laughed--it came out a gasp. Keep moving. Couldn't keep this up. Had to
find a place to hide.

Michaels came from Bodie's world, didn't he? Trained by him, Bodie had
said when he'd rung. Bodie's past--bloody hell but he'd had enough of
Bodie's past. What'd he know of it? He'd learned about Bodie, hadn't he?
Bodie used whatever tool was necessary, focused only on the objective and
screw any consequences. He'd used him. The objective now was stopping
Garrety and whatever deal he had struck with the Soviets. And Doyle was a
threat to that.

He fell again, down an incline, rolling and sliding until he finally
stopped. Dazed, he lay still, eyes closed while he tried to control his
breathing, tried to control the pain swamping his every sense. Had to stay
aware, couldn't black out. 

It took several long, precious minutes, before he could raise his head to
look around. He was lying in a small depression, near the edge of a large
garden. The trees thinned out around him, leaving him exposed, pressed
against the slope he'd fallen down. To his right he saw a house far too
close for safety. Lights shone from several windows. A car's headlights
swept over the grounds as it turned and Doyle shrank back into the
vegetation around him.

He couldn't stay here. He crawled along the base of the hill, hissing at
the stress on his wound. Keep moving. There seemed to be a slight
indentation in the side of the hill up ahead. He struggled forward and
found a small wooden door, stained with age and beginning to rot, set into
the hill. Overgrown plants obscured it. Seeking with a hand, he found an
oblong handle and turned it slowly. One shriek of protesting metal and
then a click and the door moved towards him as he tugged. He froze,
listening for any reaction to the noise he'd made, but there was none.
Inching forward through the doorway he found himself in a small enclosure,
dug out of the hillside. There was just enough room for him to lie on the
slope of the stone-lined floor, leading down to cool darkness.

Ice-house, he thought. Long abandoned and forgotten. It was unlikely
Garrety would know of it. Safety. 

He pulled the door nearly closed behind him, leaving just enough of a
crack to be able to peer out at the lights moving in the distance, able to
hear any approach. How many were looking for them? They'd been surprised
leaving the barn, caught by Adamov and his men, and then they'd been
running, exchanging gunfire. He knew he'd taken two down before the bullet
had found him. Garrety's men must have radios--the groups searching for
them had been too systematic to be operating independently.

His wound throbbed, the pain growing as he lay there, leaving him to
wonder how bad it was. Bodie had helped him to get away and had insisted
on that first stop to check it out. He'd used Doyle's shirt to stanch the
bleeding, binding it tightly. But Doyle knew he needed to get to hospital,
preferably soon. There was nothing he could do now except wait and hope
the activity around the house would settle down eventually. And that he'd
be able to move when the time came. He was on his own.

Bodie's hands had been gentle on him, working quickly, while all the while
he'd sworn and called him a fool and an idiot. Contradictory to the last,
his Bodie. No, not his. Never his. Partner and temporary lover but not
*his*. Not everything he wanted from him.

*You're hard to resist*.

Bodie's voice in his head. Echoing distant voices, old betrayals.

*Trust me*.

He had, hadn't he? But he'd found he didn't know Bodie as well as he'd
thought. Found himself looking into the eyes of a stranger. He couldn't
predict what Bodie would do, much less what he felt. And he had leapt to
the wrong conclusions all around. 

It showed on the job. Two days ago he'd moved in on Branson at the
warehouse because he had thought Bodie was moving in as well. He'd
followed his instincts and he'd been wrong. Doubt where he had once known
certainty.

And the sex, so new to them, had spoken more of anger than passion; desire
and competition rather than tenderness. Nothing like that first time, oh,
that first time when he'd thought the world was his. But he couldn't think
about that time, wouldn't allow himself to think of it. Not even here.

The partnership was disintegrating the harder they tried to hold onto it.
How much of it was Bodie's fault? How much his own, and the games he'd
played with Bodie before? There was no doubt that Bodie wanted him,
seeking him out each night. And he unable to do anything other than go to
him. Each night Bodie watched as he left, an expression in his eyes that
Doyle could no longer interpret. Closer physically than ever before, they
were never more alone. 

Bodie would get to Cowley. They'd stop Garrety and Adamov. There was
satisfaction in that thought. They might even come looking for him--he
wasn't going anywhere now. Would Bodie come? Michaels had been furious at
the risk Doyle was taking. Cowley was more like Bodie than him. *Sorry
sir, couldn't let him kill me. Might've let Bodie*.

A noise drew his attention, crashing through his self-absorption. He
peered out through the crack in the door and saw bobbing lights moving by
the house. Search party? Or were they heading for the house itself? Had
Bodie got through? He didn't know how much time had passed. It felt like
hours. But the moon was as bright as before, and seemed as high in the
sky.

"Doyle."

He jumped, heart pounding in his throat.

"Ray, where are you? Ray!"

Unmistakably Bodie's voice. A hoarse whisper but still too loud--wasn't
safe. What was the fool playing at? Must've followed the same trail as he
had. Following him. Why?

"Ray."

The lights were coming nearer. Surely Bodie saw them? He should move back,
deeper into the woods. Where was Michaels?

Stones clattered down from above and he flinched back, away from the door.
Someone was in the garden with him.

"Doyle, for God's sake."

There was movement to his right, cloth sliding on stone and dirt. The
lights were bobbing closer and closer. It had to be Bodie there.

*Trust me*.

Did it matter? Life or death. They'd kill Bodie if they found him. He
sounded like he wouldn't be leaving any time soon. He had to have seen the
lights. Stubborn bloody bastard of a fool.

Doyle inched forward, pushing the door outwards, exposing himself. He
couldn't let him die. He'd grown too used to looking after Bodie's back.
He loved him.

There was no sound but then suddenly Bodie was there with him, hands
moving over him, hurtful in their frantic haste. There wasn't time. 

"They're coming." He said it as clearly as he could, shocked to find that
his voice was nothing more than a croak. 

Bodie seemed to understand it, however. He eased inside the ice-house,
pressed close against Doyle, and pulled the door closed. Doyle reached
forward to set it slightly ajar. Then Bodie's arms closed around him, his
breath warm along the side of his face. 

"Ray." Relief and gratitude filling him, Bodie closed his eyes.

He could feel Bodie shaking. "You hurt?" he whispered, disturbed.

"No."

"Michaels said--"

"I know what Michaels said. Forget it. Shut up now. Rest."

He felt odd, like he was there and yet wasn't there at the same time.
Distant yet connected. "You going to kill me?"

"Fucking hell!" Bodie struggled for control. This wasn't the time. "No.
I'm going to get you out of here." He shuddered, his skin prickling as
cold washed through him. 

Doyle watched the bobbing lights; they seemed to be veering to their left.
Good. "Thought you were gone."

Bodie's arms tightened, feeling the warmth of Ray's body. Better than
cold. "Not without you."

Doyle sighed. "Don't understand."

"I know, sweetheart. Later. Just--try to trust me."

He couldn't control his tongue, didn't even try. "Don't leave me."

"No."

They lay in the darkness, watching the gleam of lights across the field.
Twice, a group of men came through the garden, but neither stopped at
their hiding place. 

Drifting in a haze of pain and confusion, Doyle realised that he was
strangely content. As he had been so briefly that first night with Bodie.
Odd. But then maybe not so surprising--he'd done what he had to do. Proved
something too. Tomorrow was soon enough to pay for it, if payment was
demanded. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when Bodie disturbed his
tranquillity, pushing past him to peer out the doorway.

"What?"

"Don't you hear it? Helicopters."

"We'll lose 'em," Doyle murmured.

"No help for it. Wait--" The sound of gunfire carried across the night air
to them. "Damn. I think it just might be the cavalry, mate!"

It was. Bodie insisted they wait and then, when he felt it was safe, he
helped Doyle from the ice-house and supported him on the walk to the front
of the house where all the activity was centred. Lucas and McCabe came to
meet them, guiding them to where Cowley was directing the clean-up. 

"This is how you keep a low profile, is it?" Cowley greeted them. But he
helped Bodie take Doyle to the waiting paramedic. "I'll want your reports
later. Och, you're good lads, we've caught ourselves a right nest of
vipers here. Go on then. Bodie, you stay with Doyle."

Bodie watched as the paramedic settled Doyle in one of the helicopters,
then he joined them inside, sitting close beside his partner. The
helicopter lifted away from the ground, carrying them back to London.

******

"Bodie." Doyle opened his eyes at the sound of his own voice, disoriented
until he remembered he was in hospital. The darkness in the room--as dark
as it ever was in hospital--told him it was evening. He turned his eyes to
the chair that Bodie had been sitting in when he had awakened before. For
a moment Doyle thought he was there, but it was only the shadows and his
own desire playing tricks. He looked away.

Bodie must've been kicked out. He knew he'd have stayed by preference. It
seemed some certainties were returning to his life. Too late, perhaps.
He'd run from Bodie, for God's sake. And it was only just starting to dawn
on him that he'd run in more ways than one.

He stirred, restless, and felt hard metal in the bed with him. Reaching
under the covers, he retrieved the object: a Browning Hi-Power. Bodie's
gun. He stared at it. The bloody idiot. He felt a smile slowly growing,
the faint stirring of hope within.

Could anyone ever really know another?

Maybe trust had a lot to do with faith.

Carefully, Doyle placed the pistol in the top drawer of the cabinet next
to his bed.

******

Bodie sat by Doyle's bed in the hospital room, as he'd sat the day before
and in the night as well, for as long as he had been allowed to stay. He'd
sit here until they told him to leave. Doyle had awakened a few times
since the surgery. Groggy and uncommunicative, he'd muttered a few words,
drunk a lot of water and managed to eat a little food. Not good company.
But he had smiled that first time he'd seen Bodie, and so Bodie stayed
when he could, wanting to see that smile again. 

*Don't leave me*. Christ, was that what this was all about? Doyle playing
fast and loose because of his fears? But then what had his own fears led
him to do?

Playing with Doyle's trust, manoeuvring him regardless of consequences,
seeking to instil the very doubt that had nearly cost them everything.
Trust was life and death for them. He didn't see how Doyle could ever
forgive him. Didn't expect it. 

Except Doyle had let him into the ice-house, hadn't he? And so Bodie
stayed by his side.

He shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position,
although he knew the uselessness of it. They'd been lucky, the bullet had
taken a relatively clean path through Doyle--broken rib, injured spleen,
loss of blood and organ tissue, but all fixable. He'd make it.

Doyle always looked insubstantial in hospital beds. Some trick of the
light, no doubt. Or maybe it was that he was still, his eyes closed, all
the animation drained from him. Just bones and skin, nothing of Doyle's
personality, his worth. The value of him had been brought home,
sickeningly, on that fucking trail when he couldn't find him. Knowing all
the time it was his fault he couldn't.

*You going to kill me? *

Bodie closed his eyes, wondering if he'd ever forget those words, or the
resignation in the voice that had said them.

"Oi."

He opened his eyes to see Doyle gazing back at him. "Back among the living
are we?"

Doyle grimaced. "Getting there." He looked around.

"Here." Bodie directed his attention to the water glass.

Doyle sipped at the water gratefully. Afterwards, he lay back against the
pillow, observing Bodie. "Been here long?"

Bodie shrugged. "Off and on. Cowley wanted a report."

"Ah." He squinted up at his partner. "Are we still on the payroll?"

"Oh yeah. He was quite pleased with the connection we discovered: Garrety
arranging to buy Soviet excess supplies for his friends in Ireland." He
hesitated, then said coolly, "Michaels is in the Cow's favour. We failed
miserably by being discovered and then getting you injured."

Doyle grunted. "Did Michaels call in Cowley, then?"

"Yeah."

"Tell him thanks."

"Not bloody likely," Bodie said savagely.

Doyle kept his tone mild and watched Bodie. "He thought he was doing the
right thing."

"Bloody hell, are you defending him?"

"You trained him." 

Bodie leaped to his feet. "Do you think I don't realise that? Christ, do
you think I don't *know*?"

"Calm down. It's over."

Bodie looked at him sharply. "What's over?" His throat tightened.

"You saved me. Got me out of there." He held out his hand to Bodie.

Bodie hesitated, then grasped Doyle's hand, and returned to the chair. His
fingers stroked along Doyle's skin.

"I'm not complaining," Doyle told him quietly.

"I'm not so forgiving."

There wasn't anything to say to that. Doyle looked down, hiding the
bleakness of his thoughts.

It was now or never, Bodie thought. Doyle wouldn't ask again. "I met him
in Angola, just kids all of us, really. But I'd been a merc for over six
months, been in battle. He joined with a friend of his, Robbie. Both of
them more eager than bright, you know the type. I was told to train them,
so I did. Taught them what I'd learned and found I had a certain knack for
it. Maybe I taught him too well."

Doyle stayed silent as Bodie told the tale, watching the expressions
crossing his face: humour, disgust, and the impassiveness of impossible
choices.

"Robbie was injured. Would've made it, probably, if we could've got him
out, but the enemy was too close." He shut his eyes for a moment,
remembering the heat and the desperation. "It was a bleeding rout, chaos
all around. It was either leave him or we all died. We couldn't leave him
alive. My responsibility. I killed him. Jamie and I made it out two days
later to find that three-quarters of our platoon had died in the retreat.
We merged in with another company and it wasn't long after that I was
captured. On a routine supply run, too--never will live it down." He
smiled but couldn't look at Doyle. He felt a fool, rambling on. There had
been no plan to his words, no objective. Only the knowledge that Doyle had
once wanted to hear it.

After a minute of silence, he lifted his eyes to Doyle's. 

Clearness in green eyes, something he hadn't seen for a while.

It made it easier to speak, to tell him. "Michaels is still in that world.
I'm not."

Doyle tilted his head, eyes meeting Bodie's. He'd learned some truths as
well. "Seems to me there are some overlaps between the two. You wouldn't
leave me to the enemy."

"No." He wouldn't survive it, either. He knew that now. 

Doyle nodded slowly. "Nor I you. But...a different place."

"Yes. Not here."

Doyle, however, denied them both the comfort of illusion. "It could happen
here. But if it comes to that--"

"Then we stay together."

For a long moment Doyle held Bodie's eyes with his own. "Yes." Gently, he
freed his hand, flexing it and contemplating the marks left by Bodie's
fingers.

Noting Doyle's abstraction, Bodie said abruptly, "I made my choice before.
About where I belong. In the woods with King Billy. I just didn't realise
it."

"Cowley--"

"No," Bodie interrupted. "It wasn't Cowley's threat. It was Cheryl
agreeing to testify. You being there. Realised it was time to give the law
a chance."

"It doesn't always work."

Bodie shrugged. "Nothing does. But the method means more than I thought."
He looked at Doyle, eyes steady. "I won't forget it."

Doyle gazed back at him sombrely. He'd had assumptions of his own, hadn't
he? And he'd made a choice, in the end, that led only to Bodie. Trust was
a two-way street. And surrender wasn't always a defeat. He gathered
himself to speak. 

"I need you. Need more than what we've had the last few weeks. I'm asking
for all of it, as best as we can do. But I'll take what I can get, no
recriminations." He smiled wryly. "Well, I'll try for no recriminations."
The smile faded. "So I'll ask what I asked you before: what is it you
want?" 

"Us," Bodie replied without hesitation. "You. Like you were that first
night, only more certain of it, of me. Like you've been all along, since
the day I met you, but I was too blind to see." Unable to sit still, he
stood and walked towards the window, then turned. "I want to talk to you
about Keith. About a lot of things. Always thought trust was only for the
job, and controllable, but...." He made a helpless gesture with his hand.
"It's more. With you. I won't leave you, Ray."

Doyle nodded. "I reckoned you would leave, grow bored, and move on like
you do. That's what I told myself--thought it better not to hurry it
along." He shook his head and admitted: "I didn't have enough trust to
risk it--not in you, not in myself. Never even told you what I wanted from
you, just assumed you wouldn't give it. Perhaps I was more afraid you
would. We've both been fools."

A smile dawned as Bodie cocked his head. "Together, at least."

"Always. Come here."

Bodie went to him, gathering him into his arms, mouth settling on the
strong pulse in Doyle's throat. It really was like coming home.

"When I get out of here I'm going to fuck you for a week," Doyle promised
fiercely.

Bodie nodded. 

"And then I'll expect the same from you."

Bodie kissed him on the lips. "Reckon I can oblige."

Doyle smiled at him, all wild mischief, and Bodie's heart quickened. Oh,
it would be a ride all right. But they'd be together. Doyle reached over
to the cabinet beside his bed.

"Here," he said, pulling out the Browning. He handed it over. "You'd best
keep track of that. Might come in handy."

Bodie deposited it in his shoulder holster. 

Doyle caught his hand and brought it to his lips. "We'll look after each
other."

"Always," Bodie agreed.

-- THE END --

*Originally published in *Roses and Lavender 3*, Allamagoosa Press,
October 1999*

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