The Professionals Circuit Archive - The Darkest Hour	     The Darkest
Hour

 

by Rhianne 

 
 Bodie managed the last step up to the landing with a sigh of relief,
leaning against his crutches while he fumbled for his keys.

 As always, he was acutely aware of the pain in his side with each step he
took, and he embraced it, anything to keep his thoughts away from his
partner.

 Old habits die hard, and he’d already taken in his surroundings and the
mass of post on the doorstep as he’d walked up the stairs. There was more
than there had been the day before, and the pile was steadily growing. He
had no intention of picking it up though, still couldn’t face it. The
thought of doing something as mundane as going through his mail seemed
absurd, but he was coping.

 If you could call being able to walk and talk, coping.

 It was strange, but if he’d been asked a month ago what he’d do if Doyle
were no longer with him, the answer would have been very different to
this. He’d never really faced the idea that he might be the one left
behind. Oh, he’d always known how important Doyle’s friendship was to him,
but he’d never really thought about what that actually meant.

 Then had come the Parsali op. Despite his flippant remarks to Doyle, he’d
thought a lot about death that night. Curled up in a sleeping bag that
offered little protection against the cold, he’d listened to Doyle
shifting restlessly a few feet away and really thought.

 Bodie had total faith in Doyle’s ability to watch his back, and as a
result had thought that if they did die, they’d go together. He’d refused
to consider any other possibility. If Doyle died first then it meant he,
Bodie, had failed, something that he’d been determined would never happen.

 No, they’d go together - two bullets, or maybe an explosion. Not
painless, perhaps, but quick, with no time for guilt or regrets.

 But Bodie had been left behind.

 He had never thought it would end like this.

 With a start, Bodie realised he’d opened the front door, made it into his
flat and sat on the sofa without noticing. The last few days he’d felt
like he was running on autopilot. He could just about get through each
day, but he couldn’t allow himself to feel, couldn’t acknowledge what had
happened - deep down, he knew he’d break if he truly faced it.

 So he'd carried on, trying to pretend nothing had happened, at least to
himself. He’d still had to face everyone else at CI5. At least a dozen
different agents had visited the hospital, and they all treated him like
fine china, nervously waiting for him to explode, in fact for any
reaction, whilst dealing with their own grief and worry. But he was still
on sick leave himself, so for the last day or so he’d avoided everyone
connected with CI5 as much as he could.

 He wasn’t hungry, but knew he had to eat something, so he reached for his
crutches and forced himself up off the sofa and towards the kitchen. He
still wasn’t used to walking with the damn things, but the bullet he’d
taken made them a necessary evil. It might take him twice as long to cross
a room now, but without them he could hardly walk at all.

 As he was making his unsteady way across the room he caught sight of a
packed rucksack behind the open front door, testament to the weekend away
they’d been planning. He’d packed on the Thursday morning because he’d had
a day off, they both had, but a sudden development had sent both partners
back into CI5.

 Only hours later they’d raided a warehouse down by the docks, and it was
there that the final, disastrous confrontation had taken place.

 Years of merc and army training had Bodie reaching to put his things away
without thinking. The navy bag was mainly full of clothes, but as he
sorted through it his fingers touched on a small package, the present he’d
been planning to give to Ray while they were away. He unwrapped it
automatically, not really thinking what he was doing. It was nothing much,
just an ornate frame he’d seen in a shop window and bought on an impulse,
but it served as a bitter reminder of what had been lost.

 In a sudden fit of rage Bodie hurled it against the far wall. The smash
of glass as the frame shattered only served to deepen his despair, and he
sank down onto the floor by the sofa in misery, not noticing the silent
tears lining his cheeks.

 Irrational anger at Doyle and CI5 dried the tears quickly, but he cursed
himself more than anything. Doyle wasn’t dead, not yet, and his morbid
thoughts seemed too much like a betrayal, even if the doctor’s were less
than hopeful, and everyone was only waiting for the loss to become
official.

 After all, it had been eight days.

 Thursday morning had dawned bright and cheerful, and Bodie had slept in,
making the most of a treasured day off. The last few weeks had been
chaotically busy, and he welcomed the chance to relax for a change.

 Cowley had promised both Doyle and he two weeks leave after the Parsali
op, but that had never happened. A sudden plague of injuries had forced
Cowley to cancel their time off after just three days.

 He’d been apologetic, though, and they’d managed to bargain for a
guaranteed long weekend in early August, which had finally arrived. As
much as Bodie enjoyed the adrenaline filled, active nature of his job,
there were days when he craved time to himself, and he’d looked forward to
this weekend off with a child-like glee.

 A leisurely morning spent packing, sleeping and pottering around his flat
had been interrupted just after midday by the sound of the R/T.

 "Come in 3.7."

 It was Doyle’s voice, and Bodie had swept up the R/T as he headed to the
kitchen for lunch. "All packed and ready, mate? I can picture it now – a
bit of fishing, a couple of friendly barmaids..."

 "Sorry sunshine, duty calls."

 "What? We’re off duty, Doyle."

 "Well, I know that, and you know that, but I think someone forgot to tell
the old man."

 Bodie said nothing, his earlier good humour rapidly disappearing.

 "He wants us at HQ ten minutes ago, so you’d better get a move on, Bodie.
The raid on Turner’s place is happening this afternoon."

 That caught Bodie’s attention. Harry Turner was a particularly vicious
gunrunner that CI5 had been watching for a while, and being in on the
takedown appealed to him.

 Throwing one last, regretful glance at his fridge, Bodie reached for his
holster as he spoke. "And our weekend off?"

 "The Cow promised me we could go after the raid."

 Bodie snorted. "I’ve heard that one before. Fifteen minutes, Doyle. 3.7
out."

 ******

It was almost three o’clock by the time the squad had pulled up at the
warehouse. There were six of them, plus Cowley, and in operations like
these they went in as one big group, not in pairs, so in the confusion
Bodie and Doyle had been quickly separated.

 The four men inside the warehouse had had no idea they were coming, but
the sudden onslaught had quickly turned nasty, and as usual, gunshots and
punches echoed through the building.

 Two went down quickly, felled by bullets, though from who's gun would
never be known. Bodie himself had shot the third, but not before one of
the bullets they’d traded had found its mark. Bodie had bitten back a
curse as the bullet slammed into his side, but had managed to fire back,
hitting the man in the chest before sliding gently to the floor, the
darkness threatening to overcome him.

 From a distance he thought he’d heard Doyle shout his name, then gentle
hands had turned him over and he’d focused with great difficulty. Murphy’s
face stared down at him, and he’d dragged himself to a sitting position,
leaning back against the wall.

 The bullet wound itself didn’t seem to hurt that much, but he’d suddenly
felt so tired, and it had taken all his energy just to keep his eyes open.
The other members of the Squad fussed around him, and he could hear Cowley
radioing for an ambulance, though Murphy was reassuring him that it was
just a flesh wound.

 It was only then that he realised that something was wrong, and he’d
roused himself, looking around and frowning. Cowley was standing to his
left, listening to something over the R/T, and Murphy and Anson were
kneeling down beside him. The others, McCabe and Lucas were dealing with
the bodies of the gunmen. But...he couldn’t see Doyle.

 He looked around, wincing as he moved, but instinct and fear bringing him
back to full consciousness. Why had Doyle not come over to him?

 Murphy noticed the sudden intensity to Bodie's gaze and leaned in closer.

 "What is it, Bodie?"

 "Doyle." His voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared his throat before
continuing. "Where's...Doyle?"

 Both men glanced around them, but the curly-haired agent was nowhere in
sight. Murphy frowned.

 "Lie still, Bodie. I'll go find him."

 Bodie watched as Murphy stood up and hastened over to Cowley. The two men
spoke briefly before Cowley threw a worried glance at Bodie and walked
away. Suddenly convinced that they were keeping something from him, Bodie
levered himself painfully to his feet. The bullet had gone clean through
just above his hip, and putting any weight on that leg sent a sharp pain
through his side. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get very far, but Bodie
gritted his teeth and kept moving, a strange fear making him ignore the
pain.

 Something was definitely wrong. Even though his injury didn't seem too
much more than a graze, he had still been shot. And while Doyle's
protective streak wasn't as obvious as his own, that didn't mean that
Doyle wouldn't have been concerned. Bodie couldn't work out why Doyle
hadn't come over.

 The warehouse had been in heavy use right up to the raid, and during the
shootout all the boxes piled high had proved useful as cover.

 McCabe's shout echoed from behind a particularly large pile at the far
corner of the building. Everyone made their way over, though Bodie moved
considerably slower than he would have liked.

 Stopping in his tracks as he rounded the boxes, Bodie closed his eyes and
cursed softly at the sight. The once neatly piled boxes lay scattered
across the floor, polystyrene filling spilling out everywhere. Sprawled in
a heap, partially covered by boxes Doyle wasn't moving, his gun lying a
few feet away on the ground.

 Lucas and McCabe finished lifting the boxes from the still figure and
McCabe took a slim wrist in his hands, searching for a pulse.

 The sighs of relief when he found one were audible, and it was only then
that they noticed Bodie standing a few feet away.

 "Bodie..." Cowley's Scottish burr was softer than usual, sounding almost
gentle, but Bodie ignored him. Instead he eased himself down next to his
partner, noting with irritation that the movement had caused his side to
bleed faster.

 There was no bullet wound, and no obvious signs of injury, much to
Bodie’s relief. And as he fought a wave of dizziness he patted the broken
cheek.

 "Ray?"

 Nothing.

 "Come on, sunshine. Wake up."

 A quiet moan before green eyes fluttered open, focusing quickly on Bodie.
"Bodie?"

 "Right here. Take it easy."

 Doyle closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before sitting up,
ignoring the protests of the others with a rueful grimace.

 "I'm alright. Bastard blindsided me, s'all." He gestured at a nearby
door. "He went out that way, get after him."

 They all knew that Turner was probably long gone, but Murphy and Anson
took off anyway, just in case.

 Doyle stood carefully, weaving slightly before steadying himself on one
of the discarded boxes. Extending a hand to Bodie, he opened his mouth to
speak when it was ignored, but stopped as he registered Bodie's pale face,
and the slight trembling in fingers pressed against his side. All thought
of the pain in his own head vanished at the blood seeping through Bodie's
fingers to drip down to the ground.

 "Bodie...what?"

 Doyle now realised that the ambulance he'd heard in the background as
he'd come to hadn't been meant for him...

 ...Relief that Doyle was alright swept through Bodie, using up the last
of his adrenaline, and the shock that had been creeping up on him since
being shot now descended full force. Getting up was now definitely too
much of an effort, and Bodie leant carefully back against the precariously
stacked boxes, eyes closed.

 ******

Doyle stayed by Bodie’s side during the ambulance ride, worry clearly
etched on his face. Bodie stayed conscious throughout as the crew worked
on stemming the blood flow, wincing only when the ambulance drove over a
particularly deep pothole.

 Bodie had been checked over at the scene, and by the time they’d been
ready to leave they were reassured that the wound wasn’t serious, just
damn painful. That fact didn’t seem to have registered with Doyle, though,
whose concern for his partner led to him refusing to be checked over,
insisting they concentrate on Bodie first.

 Strangely enough Cowley hadn’t argued, his attention on the pursuit of
Turner, whom Murphy had spotted some distance away. He did, however, send
Lucas along to the hospital with strict instructions to make sure Doyle
was examined. Bodie had watched this all with a wry acceptance. Doyle’s
nursemaiding tendencies were out in force, and Bodie knew that nothing
would distract him until he was certain that Bodie was fine. And fine
meant back at home and on active duty as if nothing had happened, not
lying on a stretcher in an ambulance, regardless of whether or not he was
in any actual danger.

 Once at the hospital, nurses forced Doyle to wait in Reception. Bodie
could still hear Doyle arguing as he was wheeled away, the nurse offering
reassurances that Bodie knew would be ignored. He thought that he should
probably make the nursing staff wait a few minutes while he spoke to Doyle
himself, as he might be the only one who could stop Doyle from worrying.
But he couldn’t quite work up the energy. He was having to concentrate
more and more on just staying awake, the pain in his side still
increasing. Bodie decided that this time Doyle would have to take care of
himself.

 ******

By the time Lucas arrived at the hospital, he found Doyle pacing anxiously
in the corridor just outside the waiting area.

 "Any news?"

 Doyle spun round in surprise as Lucas spoke. Wrapped up in his own
thoughts, he’d not heard the man approach. He dredged up a weak smile.

 "Not yet." He sighed.

 The two men waited in silence for a while, with Doyle still pacing
restlessly back and forth in the corridor. When Lucas was in danger of
turning dizzy just from watching, he risked Doyle’s temper and spoke
again.

 "He’ll be fine, Doyle."

 Doyle stopped pacing and looked at Lucas, frowning.

 "We’ve both seen enough bullet wounds to know that his isn’t too
serious."

 A few seconds of silence and then Doyle nodded.

 "So come and sit down," Lucas cajoled. "You’ll do Bodie no good at all if
you wear yourself out while he’s still in there."

 Doyle took the spare seat next to Lucas.

 "Besides," Lucas grinned. "You’re making me dizzy."

 "You and me both, mate."

 It was another ten minutes before the same young, blonde nurse who had
kept Doyle from following his partner reappeared. Both men looked up as
the sound of her footsteps preceded her through the corridor, but Doyle
didn’t stand.

 "Mr. Doyle?" At his nod, she continued. "Mr. Bodie is fine. The bullet
has missed anything vital, he was lucky. It’ll hurt for a while,
obviously, and he might have trouble putting any weight on that leg for a
couple of weeks, but he’s in no danger."

 Doyle made no reply, so Lucas spoke up. "Can we see him?"

 She shook her head. "We’ve already taken him up to theatre."

 Doyle started, looking alarmed. "Theatre?"

 "Oh, only to clean up the wound. It couldn’t have been done under local
anaesthetic, but there’s really nothing to worry about. It seems Mr. Bodie
missed lunch, so we were able to take him straight up. As soon as he’s out
of surgery and awake, you can see him, okay?"

 Doyle nodded his thanks and the nurse walked away.

 "Right," Lucas began, hoping Doyle would relax now he knew Bodie was
okay. "We’d better get someone to check you over."

 "Eh?"

 "They need to take a look at your head, Doyle."

 Doyle reached a hand up to his head. Not where Turner had hit him, but
where he’d hit the floor when he fell. Oddly enough, it was that that hurt
the most.

 "Give it a rest, Lucas."

 "Doyle..."

 He sighed impatiently and turned to face his colleague. "Look, after
Bodie comes out of theatre, okay?"

 He knew he should have been checked over as soon as he came into the
hospital, but he’d been so wrapped up in his concern for Bodie he’d barely
given it a second thought. Even now he couldn’t quite bring himself to
leave his seat. Here the nurses knew where to find him if anything went
wrong. Not that there was a damn thing he could do if it did, of course,
but at least he’d be told.

 Lucas said nothing. 3.7 and 4.5 were famed for their stubborn streaks,
and everyone knew better than to argue with them, particularly if they
were worrying about their other half. It was one of the unofficial rules
people learned quickly after joining CI5, and almost as important as not
calling Cowley ‘The Cow’ near HQ itself.

 Individually Bodie and Doyle were good, but together they were the best,
and because of that Cowley gave them the hardest, most dangerous cases to
handle. Considering that, the fact that they’d survived this long had
earned them the respect and admiration of almost everyone in CI5.

 The sound of the R/T pulled Lucas out of his reverie, and he briefly laid
a hand on Doyle’s shoulder before getting up and moving a short distance
away.

 "2.7"

 "2.7, Alpha One wants you to join Murphy at the Kensington Bridge.
They’ve pinned Turner down."

 Lucas frowned. "What about 3.7 and 4.5?"

 "Those are his orders 2.7."

 "Acknowledged. I’m on my way."

 Putting the R/T back in his pocket, Lucas walked back to Doyle. Head down
and eyes closed the man looked exhausted, but Lucas knew there was little
chance of him getting any sleep.

 "Doyle, I have to go."

 Doyle looked up slowly, a weary expression on his face. Just for a
second, Lucas had the unnerving feeling that Doyle wasn’t quite aware of
his presence.

 "Where?"

 "Kensington. They’ve managed to corner Turner, and Cowley wants me to
help bring him in."

 Doyle nodded. "See you later."

 "Promise me you’ll let the doctor’s take a look at you."

 Doyle sighed. "Give it a rest, Lucas. I’m fine."

 "Well you look awful. At least try and get some rest, yeah?"

 Doyle didn’t answer, staring back down at the floor again. Lucas walked
away. There was little more he could do for either Bodie or Doyle, and he
was needed elsewhere.

 ******

Three hours later Bodie was fairly relaxed considering the day he’d had,
lying back in a slightly raised hospital bed with his eyes closed.

 The surgery had gone well, so he’d been told, but he was only just
starting to feel like himself again. The few times he’d been operated on
had all been the same; and anaesthetics always left him feeling ill. Even
though he’d been prepared for it, this time had been no different...

 ...Bodie opened his eyes slowly as he came to, his whole body feeling as
heavy as lead. The room swam as he glanced around, and he couldn’t seem to
focus on anything.

 With the dizziness came the expected nausea, and he swallowed as bile
rose threateningly in his throat. Even through the haze he was in, he
decided that throwing up probably wasn’t a good idea.

 He could just about make out a clock on the wall opposite him, and he
raised his head to try and work out what time it was. The hands swam
maddeningly in front of him and he gave up letting his head drop back to
the bed.

 Bodie must have drifted off again, but when he opened his eyes he felt
better. No longer feeling sick, the room stayed still long enough for him
to focus on it, and the pain in his side wasn’t too bad either.

 They’d transferred him back to the ward soon after, with the reassurance
that he might be able to go home later that evening. No promises, though.

 The quiet clatter as the curtain was moved aside caused Bodie to open his
eyes, and he smiled drowsily as Doyle came over to the bed.

 "How are you feeling?"

 "Alright." The reply was automatic, but as he spoke Bodie noted with
surprise that's how he actually did feel. He wasn’t ready to do the conga
or anything, but all things considered, he was doing okay.

 Doyle watched him for a few seconds before replying. "Hmm...I’ll believe
you. Come on then, sunshine, I’m here to spring you."

 The thought of home and his own bed had been more than enough to get
Bodie moving, and they’d gone through the obligatory wheelchair ride
without complaint.

 It was only once they were almost back to his flat that a sudden thought
roused Bodie out of a drowsy silence.

 "How’s your head?"

 "Fine."

 "What’d the Doc’s say?"

 The slightest hesitation, and then: "I didn’t see them."

 "What?!"

 Doyle winced as Bodie’s shout echoed through his head. "My head’s fine,
but I think I just lost my hearing," he snapped. "For God sake keep your
voice down, Bodie."

 When Bodie spoke again his voice was normal, but Doyle recognised the
tightly controlled anger behind it and sighed.

 "You know the rules, Doyle. You were unconscious, you should have been
seen by a doctor."

 "Yeah, and you’re such a stickler for the rule book, Bodie. You hate
hospital’s as much as I do."

 "Don’t give me that. You’ve been waiting at the hospital for hours! Are
you trying to tell me you couldn’t find time to get your head looked at?
What the hell were you doing that was so important?"

 In spite of himself, Doyle couldn’t help a wry smile, wondering how Bodie
would react if he admitted he had been too busy worrying. Taking a deep
breath, Doyle ran the back of his hand over his eyes, before replacing his
hand back on the wheel. Glancing at Bodie, he sighed when he saw the man’s
scowl. They were both tired, both in pain to some degree, and that wasn’t
conducive to a reasoned conversation.

 "Look, Bodie. I’m fine. We’ve both had worse than a bang on the head
before, and you know it. Besides, the doctor’s said you could only go home
if there was someone to stay with you overnight. If they’d kept me in the
hospital, you’d have been stuck in there as well, wouldn’t you."

 Bodie muttered something under his breath, but Doyle couldn’t catch it.
Before the conversation could go any further, they pulled up outside
Bodie’s flat.

 The journey from the car to the flat took longer than normal. Bodie was
trying not to show it, but the tight lines around his eyes and grim set of
his jaw told Doyle just how much pain he was in. The crutches that had
been provided by the hospital were discarded in the back of the car, just
as Doyle had known they would be, and as Bodie started up the stairs to
the door of the main building Doyle fished them out, determined that Bodie
was going to use them.

 Neither man had said a word since the half-hearted argument in the car.
As they waited for the lift Doyle held out the crutches to his partner,
the look on his face specifically designed to show that he would brook no
objections on the subject.

 With a rueful grin Bodie took them, and Doyle helped to steady him as he
got them into position. Satisfied that he would have no more of this macho
bullshit from his partner tonight, Doyle graced him with a smile as the
lift opened.

 "Come on then, sunshine," he said cheerfully. "Bed, I think."

 Bodie grinned, but Doyle could see how tired he looked. "Is that a
definite offer, mate?"

 "The bed I can offer, since it’s yours, but you’re not my type." Doyle
responded, before throwing Bodie a come-hither look over his shoulder that
had them both laughing. The laughter ended abruptly, though, as Bodie
winced at the pain his movement caused, and Doyle's grin quickly changed
to concern.

 It had been a long, hard day for both men, and it was with a sense of
great relief that Bodie closed his front door, shutting out the events of
the past day and looking forward to the weekend. Moving to his sofa, Bodie
discarded the crutches and sat down carefully, the grin staying on his
face despite the flash of pain in his side as he moved.

 In spite of his previous concern for Doyle the man seemed fine, and Bodie
dealt with his fears in the usual way, cracking stupid jokes just because
he was happy that they’d both survived another day. Both men had very
different ways of coping with the aftermath of a difficult job, each of
which was clear to see if you looked hard enough. Doyle worried and went
quiet, immersed in his own thoughts. Even now Bodie was out of hospital
and they both knew he would be fine, Doyle was fussing, making sure he
didn’t exert himself too much. Like those damned crutches. Bodie would
happily admit to himself that walking hurt, but he didn’t think he needed
crutches. Apart from anything else, the longer he rested his leg and the
muscles around the bullet wound, the longer it would take to get them back
to full-strength. Bodie would much rather cope with a few days of
difficulty walking, rather than prolong the time it would take before he’d
be back on active service with Doyle.

 Still, Doyle was worrying, had been worrying at the hospital, and if only
to placate him Bodie used the crutches. Even though he was cracking jokes,
Doyle was obviously thinking; the usual ‘what-ifs’ he went through every
time Bodie was hurt, but Bodie knew that these types of mood didn’t last
long. A day or so while he hovered around, reassuring himself that Bodie
was okay and things would be back to normal.

 And as much as he complained at Doyle’s tendency to nursemaid, Bodie knew
he would enjoy the company. A few beers, a good film on the box and some
good company would help the weekend pass pleasantly, even if the trip
they’d been planning had gone out the window. Enough talk about pizzas and
deep-fried onion rings and Bodie knew he’d even be able to talk Doyle into
cooking something for him, since Doyle tried to reintroduce him to healthy
food any chance he could.

 Bodie was a hard man, as tough as they came, but even the toughest needed
comfort at times, and Bodie was quite willing to admit to himself that
Doyle helped provide that. Neither man had much in the way of family, and
both found it difficult to open up to others, perhaps secretly fearing
rejection - or ridicule. So they relied on each other, at first through
necessity, because of the need to trust the man with whom you risked your
life on a daily basis. But gradually, as the months and years passed their
friendship had grown stronger, and each man had found in the other someone
to rely on, someone who would take care of them when necessary, which was
all too often in their line of work. People thought that Doyle was the
philosopher of the pair, and in a way he was, but Bodie could think and
feel along with the rest, and even if he was better at hiding it, had
acknowledged what his friendship with Doyle meant to him long ago. Some
might think those feelings indulgent, or the sign of a soft heart, but
Bodie preferred to see it as practical. In the early days, the more the
pair came to acknowledge their deep friendship, the more successful they
had become as a team, beginning to work instinctively as one because they
knew the other so well.

 Doyle fetched Bodie a glass of water and poured himself a small scotch
before rummaging in the bathroom for some painkillers. The hospital had
prescribed some for Bodie already, but Doyle had decided that the
splitting headache he’d had the past few hours meant he deserved a couple
of aspirin. Handing Bodie a couple of pills, he waited pointedly for Bodie
to take them before knocking back a couple himself. Bodie glared at the
scotch in Doyle's hand, but knew better than to try and pour one for
himself. The hospital had made it clear that he couldn't drink any alcohol
for at least twenty-four hours, and he knew Doyle would make certain he
followed their instructions.

 They settled into a comfortable silence; happy just to sit and relax as
the events of the day were placed firmly behind them. Soon Bodie flicked
on the television and chose the cheesiest action film he could find,
something guaranteed to provide plenty of laughs, while Doyle turned his
thoughts to food, and began rummaging in Bodie’s cupboards. The comments
were as welcome as they were expected, and Bodie sat contentedly and
waited for them to begin.

 "Do you ever go food shopping?"

 Ray was standing in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame with
his arms folded. His voice was all gruff irritation, but an amused smile
played around his lips, and Bodie knew he was only half serious.

 "Of course!" He aimed for offended dignity, but Bodie was more tired than
he’d realised, and only just managed an amused protest.

 The grin widened, and Doyle crossed one leg in front of the other.
"Where?"

 Bodie grinned back, counting shops off on his fingers one by one. "The
Peking Duck up the road, Ali Tandoori on George Street..."

 He trailed off as Doyle burst out laughing. "God save us from fast food
junkies." Shaking his head, he wandered back into the kitchen.

 ******

Two hours later they’d both finished eating and were comfortably settled
on the sofa, watching sport now that the film had finished. Ray had
concocted some variation of ‘Spaghetti a la Benny’, although it was no
longer called by that name. Benny’s death had hit Ray hard, as the death
of even a casual acquaintance always did, and Bodie shied away from any
reminder of those few weeks. After Benny’s death and the mess surrounding
Ann Holly, Doyle had been a wreck for a time, though only Bodie and Cowley
were ever allowed to see just how much he’d been hurting. Bodie was pretty
sure Ray had worked through all that long ago, but just to be on the safe
side, was careful not to mention anything that might remind him of it.

 The adrenaline and momentum that had built up during the day’s events had
worn off now, and Bodie found himself dozing more than watching TV. The
painkillers were doing their job well and there wasn’t too much pain from
his side, though any sudden movements left him all too aware of the wound.
Next to him Doyle was nearly asleep, head lolling gently to one side
before waking with a start.

 It was nearly ten o’clock, and while part of Bodie rebelled at the idea
of going to bed quite so early, after the day he’d had sleep was sounding
more and more appealing. Sitting up a little straighter, Bodie nudged
Doyle gently in the ribs. Doyle started and looked around, confused,
before focussing on Bodie.

 "What?" he muttered.

 "I’m going to turn in. You want the sofa?" Bodie half expected a derisory
comment about his stamina, but it didn’t come. Doyle just nodded before
settling back on the sofa.

 "D’you need a hand getting changed or anything?"

 Bodie smiled and shook his head. "Nah, I’ll manage."

 Leaving Doyle to the sofa, Bodie headed for the bedroom and sat on the
edge of the bed before carefully removing his shirt, wincing as the
muscles in his side pulled tight. A beeping noise coming from the other
room drew his attention, and he walked back to the doorway, shirt still in
his hand.

 Doyle’s R/T, discarded on the table when they came in was beeping, and he
heard Doyle groan before forcing himself up off the sofa. Reaching for the
R/T Doyle missed, and succeeded only in knocking the small transmitter
onto the floor. Bodie frowned; either Doyle was still more asleep than
awake, or the one glass of scotch had gone to his head much more than was
usual.

 For a second Doyle stared at the R/T, looking confused, before retrieving
it and sinking back down onto the sofa.

 "4.5."

 "Doyle," even over the R/T Bodie could tell Cowley was in a bad mood. "I
need you at HQ in fifteen minutes."

 "What for?" Doyle’s answer was petulant, and Bodie winced at the answer
he knew was coming.

 "Because I said so, Doyle. Or have you grown so grand you need a written
request these days?" Cowley’s voice came down the R/T at a dull roar, and
Bodie grinned. It made a change for Doyle to be on the receiving end of a
tirade from the Cow, even if it was from a distance.

 "No, sir. But Bodie..."

 "Is capable of looking after himself if he’s been discharged. Fifteen
minutes, Doyle."

 "Yes. Sir."

 Bodie grinned as Doyle dropped the R/T in his lap and threw Bodie an
apologetic look. "Looks like you’re on your own, sunshine."

 "You’d better be quick, Doyle, or Cowley’ll have you out on your ear."

 "Yeah." Doyle scowled as he stood up. "Oh, what does the old man want
now?" Doyle ran his hand over his eyes. "Will you be alright tonight?"

 Bodie nodded. "I’m going to get some sleep."

 "I’d better go, Cowley’ll crucify me if I’m late. I’ll call you
tomorrow."

 Doyle left, and Bodie locked the door behind him, activating the alarms
before heading wearily back into his bedroom. The need for sleep and a
dose of strong painkillers helped mask the pain in his side, but he knew
he’d feel the wound properly in the morning when the painkillers had worn
off and the muscles had been immobile for a few hours. He considered
fetching the crutches from the lounge, but decided that was too much
effort, and left them where they were.

 Crawling into bed, it took a few moments to find a comfortable position
in which to sleep, and then Bodie succumbed gratefully to sleep.

 ******

He was dreaming, though he’d never remember quite what he was dreaming
about. The one thing he knew for sure was that there was a noise which
didn’t fit, something out of place. He woke slowly, still half asleep, but
the noise didn’t stop, hadn’t ended with the dream.

 Finally he registered the noise - the doorbell - and groaned as he opened
his eyes to the darkened room. Surely it wasn’t morning already! He rolled
out of bed and onto his feet without thinking, and hissed as the wound in
his side protested at the sudden movement. The pain flared through him and
he swayed dizzily before steadying himself on the bedside table. The
painkillers had well and truly worn off.

 Whoever was at the door was still pressing the bell, and he grumbled
darkly as he made his way across the flat. It was only then he noticed
that on the other side of the curtains the street was still dark. Confused
he glanced back at the clock, shocked to see that it was only just past
three am. If this was Doyle coming to see how he was, the sentiment was
seriously misplaced...

 Bodie pulled the door open angrily, still not fully awake, but quite
prepared to tear Doyle down a peg or two for waking him in the middle of
the night. Instead he stopped in surprise. Of all the people he expected
to see on his doorstep, Murphy was not one of them.

 "Murph?"

 Murphy walked through the dooray without a word, and Bodie shut the door
behind him, still not totally sure he wasn’t dreaming.

 "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

 Instead of answering, Murphy turned and faced Bodie, and it was only then
that Bodie noticed how tired and uneasy Murphy looked. For a second
neither man spoke, and then Murphy took a deep breath.

 "Bodie..." Murphy hesitated.

 And Bodie knew. With that one word, Bodie knew exactly why Murphy had
come. Unconsciously he took a step back, fear making breathing difficult.
"Ray," he whispered.

 Murphy took a step forward. "I’m sorry, Bodie. I’ve got some bad news."

 Bodie swallowed, trying to find his voice. He no longer noticed the pain
in his side. "Doyle?" Part of him was surprised at how unsteady his voice
sounded. "Is he...dead?"

 Murphy shook his head. "No, Bodie, he’s not dead. But it’s not good."

 Bodie sighed, a strange mixture of relief and growing fear making his
temper short. "Well? What the hell happened?"

 "We don’t know."

 Bodie rounded on Murphy. "What do you mean, you don’t know?! Was he shot?
Run over? You must know something!"

 "It’s nothing like that." Murphy studied Bodie for a few seconds before
continuing. "Get dressed, Bodie. We need to get going. I’ll tell you on
the way."

 Frustrated, Bodie stormed off into his room to dress, thankful that he’d
been so tired when he’d gone to bed that he’d only bothered to remove his
blood stained shirt.

 Absently Murphy reached for Bodie’s crutches, trying to work out the
quickest route back to the hospital. It didn’t take Bodie long to dress,
and the two men left the flat without exchanging a word. At that time of
night the traffic was non-existent, and Murphy was able to put his foot
down.

 Bodie stared out through the windscreen, focusing on nothing as they
drove through the deserted London streets. When he spoke his voice was
quiet, toneless, and a sharp contrast from his outburst in his flat.

 "What happened, Murph?"

 "We’re not sure, Bodie. Ray and I were talking with Cowley in his office,
going over the evidence we found in the warehouse. Everyone was tired, but
Ray wasn’t paying attention, just kept staring off into space. Cowley kept
calling him on it, and eventually the old man lost his temper and started
shouting. Gave him a real tongue-lashing."

 "Go on."

 "It was...it was weird, Bodie. You know Doyle, he’s always given as good
as he got with Cowley, refuses to just take it, but this was different. He
just sat there, didn’t say anything at all. As soon as Cowley had finished
he just stood up and walked out, didn’t say a word. Cowley wouldn’t let me
go after him, and that was it."

 Murphy cleared his throat before continuing. "Fifteen minutes later,
Susan found him on the floor of the rest room. We couldn’t wake him up. I
don’t know what happened, but there was no sign of an accident, nothing he
could have hit his head on - he must have just collapsed."

 Bodie groaned quietly and leaned back against the headrest. "Turner."

 "Eh?"

 "Turner knocked him out, remember?"

 "But surely..."

 "He didn’t get checked out. The idiot was too busy worrying about me."

 Murphy sighed. "Oh, shit."

 The two men were silent through the rest of the journey, both too wrapped
up in their own thoughts to bother making small talk.

 On reaching the hospital they headed straight for Casualty, and after
obtaining directions from the girl on Reception, made their way up to the
third floor, taking the lift because of Bodie’s crutches.

 Bodie had nothing in his mind as he and Murphy walked the corridors from
the lift. During the silence at the end of the car journey, he’d worked on
shutting off his emotions, locking them out of the way. It was a technique
he’d often used in the past, something he found useful in his kind of
work. No emotions to deal with meant no complications, and Bodie was
determined to keep it that way until he could find out exactly what had
happened to Doyle.

 Only once he knew all the details could Bodie plan his next moves.
Perhaps revenge, if necessary, but whatever it took to get Doyle back on
his feet and make sure those responsible paid the appropriate price. Until
that happened, he wouldn’t allow himself to feel or to connect with what
had happened. Emotions clouded the judgement.

 Cowley stood up from his seat as his two agents approached. Open concern
shadowed Murphy’s face, whilst Bodie looked like he was playing poker. An
expressionless mask - and Cowley’s heart sank. Most people who saw Bodie
now would assume that he didn’t care, but a select few, those that Bodie
had gifted with his trust, would know different. And Cowley was one of
those few.

 The mask was only ever put into place when Bodie was afraid of something.
When something risked affecting him so much, that he was afraid to allow
himself to react. Of all the times Cowley had seen that mask, the one
thing that seemed to bring it forth was Doyle. Any time Doyle was in
trouble the mask appeared, and Bodie devoted himself to ensuring Doyle’s
safety to the exclusion of all else, and the frequent frustration of
Cowley himself.

 Of course, once the danger had passed Bodie’s mask was always replaced
with a hyperactive glee and a string of bad jokes - something Cowley
assumed was Bodie’s way of dealing with the emotions that he’d shut off
until then.

 But Cowley had spoken to the doctor’s, and he wasn’t sure that Bodie
would ever get the chance to let the mask down again.

 "Sir?"

 Cowley indicated the door closest to where he was standing. "He’s in
there."

 Bodie hesitated for a second before moving towards the darkened room. The
main light was switched off, but shaded light from two small lamps helped
dispel some of the darkness. It took Bodie a few seconds to adjust to the
darkness in contrast to the stark light of the hospital corridors, and at
first all he could make out was the shape of the figure lying in the bed.

 As his eyes adjusted and he got his first good look at Doyle, Bodie
struggled to hold back a gasp as one stray emotion got past his carefully
concealed barriers. For a second his face clearly displaced the shock he
felt, and he noticed Cowley’s sympathetic glance as he forced his reaction
down, determined not to deal with it yet.

 The silence of the room was interrupted only by the steady beep of the
machines surrounding the head of the bed.

 Bodie took them in at a glance; numerous monitors and moving machinery
that meant little to him, and which paled in significance compared to the
still figure of his partner.

 He moved up to the head of the bed, partly to get a better look as well
as to let Cowley and Murphy into the small room. A nurse who had been
sitting in the darkness on the other side of the bed stood as the men
entered, and with a sympathetic glance at her patient’s visitors, moved
away from the bed to stand at one side.

 In spite of the previous slip Bodie’s mask was now firmly in place, and
he was satisfied with the calm tone of his voice when he spoke to Cowley.

 "What have the doctor’s said?"

 "They did some x-rays, Bodie. He has a fractured skull, and they think a
blood clot has formed beneath the fracture."

 Bodie turned to face Cowley. "From Turner?"

 Cowley nodded. "It must be."

 Bodie closed his eyes briefly before turning back to Doyle. "But...he was
fine. He seemed okay."

 "I know. But the doctor’s said that the blood clot would have taken time
to form, that he probably would have been acting fairly normal until the
haematoma had grown."

 At this Murphy spoke up. "The what, sir?"

 "A temporal bone fracture with underlying extradural haematoma, if you
want the technical terms."

 Bodie wasn’t interested in that. Knowing the technical terms wouldn’t
change what was happening. "So what happens now?"

 "They’re waiting for a room to be free before they take him to theatre.
Apparently they’ll know more once that’s over."

 "Can he...can he hear me?"

 Cowley took a few seconds before answering, not sure how to make his
answer easier to hear. Finally he decided just to say it. He had too much
respect for Bodie to sugarcoat the truth, however painful. "No, Bodie, he
can’t. He hasn’t come round since Susan found him, but even so they’ve
sedated him now, ready for surgery."

 The nurse stepped forward to check one of the monitors, giving Bodie a
few seconds to absorb that information before he might be expected to
respond.

 "Sir? They’ll be taking Mr. Doyle up to pre-op in a few minutes, okay?"

 Cowley nodded and ushered Murphy towards the doorway, before turning back
to Bodie and putting a hand on his shoulder to get his attention.

 "We’ll be outside, Bodie. Just a few minutes, though." His voice was
surprisingly gentle, and then Cowley left, shutting the door discreetly
behind him. Although the nurse was still in the room, she kept back away
from the bed, maintaining a watch on the monitors while being discreet
enough to give Bodie time with Doyle.

 Reaching for the plastic chair pushed back against the wall, he dragged
it over to the head of the bed and sat down. Finally he allowed himself to
fully take in the state of the man before him. No light came in through
the window on the opposite wall, and in the mixture of dull light and
shadows Doyle’s skin looked like marble, like a statue. It took a few
seconds before Bodie could even make out the movement of Doyle’s chest as
it rose and fell, but once he’d found it, he took a strange sort of
comfort from something so slight. Apart from the rhythmic beeping from the
machine behind him, it was the only immediate sign that there was any sort
of life in the man.

 For a while Bodie just sat, saying nothing and thinking less, almost as
still as the man he was watching. He wasn’t really even aware of the
passing of time, as the world dwindled to nothing more than the room and
its three occupants.

 Finally he took a deep breath and sighed, leaning forward and resting his
elbows on his thighs.

 "Idiot." He whispered. "You knew you should have got yourself checked
out, and now look what’s happened."

 Silence.

 "And I know you can’t hear me. I may as well be talking to myself." More
silence, before Bodie stood and walked painfully over to the window,
staring out at the world beyond the glass. "Cowley said you can’t hear me,
Doyle, but he’s been wrong before. So you just listen to me. You’ve got to
pull through, okay? You can’t let Turner be the one to bring you down. Not
someone like him."

 Movement from outside attracted his attention. Looking up, Bodie saw
Cowley talking with two people he didn’t recognise. The nurse stepped
forward again, attracting Bodie's attention though she said nothing.

 He leaned in close to his friend. "They’re here to take you up to
theatre, Ray. I’ve got to go. But I’ll be here when you get back, okay? So
don’t make me wait too long."

 A few seconds to pick up his crutches and make sure his mask was in
place, and then Bodie opened the door and left the room as the nurses
busied themselves by Doyle’s bedside. But he didn’t go far, and when they
wheeled Doyle out of the room and away down the corridor, all three CI5
men kept close behind, following the trolley as far as they could.

 Finally the trolley disappeared behind a set of double doors, and a man
in a white coat stopped the three men from following. Bodie made no
attempt to go past the man. As worried as he was, he had no intention of
distracting the doctor’s as they worked. Instead he addressed the man in
front of him.

 "What are his chances?"

 Apparently Cowley had already dealt with explanations over family and
next-of-kin, because the man answered with no hesitation. "Well, this is a
serious condition, but we won’t really know that until after the
operation. The surgeon’s will work mainly on removing the blood clot
itself, but after that it all depends on how well the swelling around his
brain goes down. He’s in good hands, sir."

 Bodie nodded, absently, not really taking in any of what was being said.
After a few more words the man walked back through the doors, and the
three CI5 men were left alone in the corridor.

 Cowley cleared his throat. "Murphy, I want you back at CI5. Tell Sally
she’s to stay as Duty Sergeant until I relieve her in the morning. You
carry on with the clear up from the raid yesterday. I’ll keep you informed
of any developments here."

 Murphy nodded. "Sir." With one final glance at Bodie, he turned on his
heel and left.

 Turning to address Bodie, Cowley knew better than to waste his time
trying to get Bodie to leave. Maybe once they knew the outcome of the
surgery, but certainly not now.

 "Coffee?"

 Silently Bodie followed Cowley down the corridor, or as silently as he
could manage considering the noise of the crutches against the hard floor.

 Cowley slowed down slightly to keep pace with Bodie as they walked. The
cafeteria wouldn’t open for a few hours, so they would have to make do
with machine-dispensed coffee, though Cowley doubted very much whether
Bodie would even notice.

 Once they’d found the coffee machine, Bodie walked back to the room Doyle
had been in without a word, and without waiting to see if Cowley was
following. Both coffee cups firmly in hand since Bodie couldn’t carry his,
Cowley followed nevertheless. Plastic seats had been placed at random
intervals along the edge of the corridor, and Bodie lowered himself down
carefully, leaning heavily on the crutches as he did so.

 Cowley followed suit, joining him at the chairs. Neither man had spoken,
and Cowley took the opportunity to study Bodie. The head of CI5 had an
uncanny ability to discern mood from body language, something he used very
often in his line of work. He’d even been known to surprise Kate Ross with
it on occasion, no mean feat considering the woman’s renowned skill in her
chosen field.

 It was this ability that allowed Cowley to keep an edge over his enemies,
that enabled the triple-think schemes of his to work so well, since he was
able to guess so accurately what responses his opponents would have to
certain situations. Some people were easy to read, like Doyle, who wore
his emotions on his sleeve most of the time. Bodie, on the other hand,
Cowley had always found somewhat of a mystery. He knew him well enough to
recognise his mask, to know that Bodie kept his emotions hidden from the
outside world, but working out exactly what those emotions were, was
harder to do. Like now. Ramrod straight against the uncomfortable chair,
Bodie held his coffee in one hand and his crutches in the other, staring
straight ahead, even though there was nothing to see. The mask was firmly
in place, and yet whether it hid fear, anger or something else Cowley
wouldn’t have liked to bet, even if he had been a betting man.

 The hours passed slowly, with people bustling past them frequently,
though no-one came with any fresh news of Doyle. Bodie stayed where he
was, still ramrod straight, the only testament to past movement the
growing number of empty coffee cups lined up on the nearby windowsill, and
the crutches, which had long since been relegated to the floor beneath his
chair.

 Dawn came, and the sun’s rays gradually chased away the darkness of the
night. Still no-one had been able to tell them anything, and Cowley was
just starting to think that he might have to head back to CI5 before Doyle
came out of surgery when a man finally approached them. A small man with a
mass of grey hair, the green garb instantly identified him as a surgeon.

 "Mr. Cowley?" At the man’s nod, he continued. "I’m Mr. Isaacs. Mr.
Doyle’s just come out of surgery. It went as well as could be expected
under the circumstances. We’ve removed the blood clot, but there’s nothing
we can do surgically about the swelling at this stage."

 "What’s the next step?"

 "The nurses are moving him to Intensive Care at the moment. He’s going to
have to be kept sedated and ventilated for the next few days. That will
help to lower his blood pressure and hopefully allow the swelling to
settle. What happens then depends very much on how he progresses the next
few days, so we’ll have to just wait and see, I’m afraid."

 "Can we see him?"

 The surgeon seemed to consider this for a few moments before nodding.
"Not for too long, though. I’ll make sure one of the nurses comes and gets
you when he’s settled in ICU."

 The surgeon left, and it wasn’t long before Bodie and Cowley were
gathered around Doyle’s bed. If possible there were even more machines and
tubes than before, all important, but Bodie found himself resenting their
presence. Because Doyle shouldn’t need them, he shouldn’t be here at all.

 One of most distinctive things about Doyle was his vitality. Involved in
a gun battle or searching through records, it didn’t matter; there was a
boundless energy to his partner that was present almost twenty-four hours
a day. But that had all changed. He was unnaturally still, and with all
the machinery, Bodie found it hard to reconcile the figure in front of him
with what he knew of Doyle, with what Doyle should look like.

 He pulled up a chair to the side of the bed, his only concession to his
own injuries. The pain in his side was strong, demanding his attention,
but Bodie ignored it anyway. He’d left the painkillers at home, but
leaving Doyle’s side to find more didn’t even occur to him.

 Cowley stayed another hour before reluctantly deciding to head back to
CI5. In spite of his concern for Doyle, he knew that he would accomplish
nothing by simply waiting at the hospital. Doyle’s life was now in the
hands of someone even more powerful than he, and CI5 would not run itself.

 Pulling himself to his feet, Cowley stood quietly for a few moments
before addressing Bodie.

 "I have to go back to HQ, Bodie." Bodie barely nodded his understanding,
and Cowley laid a hand on his shoulder in order to get his attention. "You
should go home as well, Bodie, and get some rest before you come back.
You’re not exactly a picture of health yourself."

 "I’m fine."

 Cowley sighed. He knew that Bodie was far from fine - even without
Doyle’s predicament the bullet wound would lay anybody low, but that
wasn’t going to get Bodie away from the hospital. One thing both Bodie and
Doyle shared was a stubborn streak a mile wide, and it would take more
than Cowley to cross it, especially now. Surprisingly uncertain quite how
to handle this, Cowley retreated behind the safety of his role as boss.

 "Okay. Well you’ve at least two weeks signed off as sick leave, but make
sure you start physiotherapy as soon as the doctor’s say you can. I don’t
need you off active duty any longer than necessary."

 With that Cowley left, a small part of him relieved to go. Being the
‘family’ in situations like this was never easy, and keeping busy would at
least help keep the feelings of helplessness away. Only time would tell
how Bodie was going to react to all this, though, and while praying for
Doyle’s full recovery Cowley spared a place in his thoughts for Bodie. The
man was as close to family as Doyle had, and he was going to need the
support of others in the days to come. Cowley just hoped that Bodie was
prepared to accept it.

 The morning passed slowly, and Bodie kept up his bedside vigil, not
stepping out of Doyle’s room even for a moment. Doyle had no other
visitors except the nurses who bustled in and out frequently, but Bodie
took little notice of them.

 He’d always thought that hospitals were supposed to be quiet places to
aid with the recovery process, but after a few hours in the building he
was starting to change his mind. Regardless of the distant conversations
and wheeled trolleys that he could hear from outside the room, the
constant beeping of the pulse monitor and hiss of the ventilator was
enough to make sure that his surroundings were never quiet. But as he got
used to them even they faded away, until they were nothing more than
background noise.

 At first he was silent, saying nothing to the nurses and nothing to
Doyle, until the silence itself became oppressive, and he began speaking
simply to hear the sound of a voice, even if it was his own.

 He talked aimlessly, jumping from one train of thought to another, at
times almost unaware of what he was saying. Re-living old memories of
their times together, making plans for the future once they were able to
take their long-overdue time off, anything he could think of to keep the
one sided conversation alive. When the nurses came Bodie would drop
whatever he was saying to explain to Doyle what they were doing - checking
his blood pressure, changing the fluids, but not once addressing his
comments to the nurses themselves, instead focusing all of his attention
on his partner.

 He talked until his voice became hoarse and his throat felt like
sandpaper. Then he would simply stop, take a sip of the water from the jug
by Doyle’s bedside, clear his throat and begin again, picking up the
conversation where he’d left off as if nothing had happened.

 Night fell as a full day passed, and when Cowley returned to the hospital
Bodie was still sitting where he had been that morning. The atmosphere at
headquarters was predictably downcast, as news of Doyle’s collapse had
spread quickly round the rest of the Squad that morning. Cowley had had
enquiries about Doyle’s condition from various agents and staff throughout
the day, and he suspected that when Doyle was allowed visitor’s who hadn’t
been classed as family, a large section of the typing pool would be
visiting the hospital. Those in CI5 who were closer to 3.7 and 4.5 than
others had also thought to ask after Bodie, and while Cowley had been able
to answer their queries regarding Doyle, how Bodie was coping he simply
couldn’t tell.

 It came as no surprise to Cowley that Bodie was still sat beside Doyle,
and as such he’d stopped off at Bodie’s flat on the way and picked up a
few things that Bodie would need if his vigil was to last much longer.
There were times when having a key to his agent’s flats came in handy for
more than just depositing packages that Cowley didn’t want certain people
to see. As he pushed open the door to Doyle’s room, the quiet murmuring
he’d heard stopped, and Bodie looked up to greet his boss. There was no
smile though; just a subdued "Sir", and Cowley offered a sympathetic smile
as he entered.

 Hospitals were stuffy as a rule, the temperature kept slightly higher
than normal in order to help the patients stay comfortable. This small
room was worse than most, though, so Cowley opened the window to let in a
little fresh air.

 The fact that Doyle’s condition hadn’t improved was plainly obvious, even
if Cowley hadn’t already been informed by the Doctor shortly after
entering the building. The number of machines surrounding the bed hadn’t
changed, and Cowley picked up on the cloud of despondency hanging in the
air almost without trying. Frowning, he took the empty seat opposite
Bodie.

 Whatever Bodie had been saying when Cowley arrived he seemed reluctant to
continue now that he had an audience, and so the two men sat in silence,
each immersed in their own thoughts.

 Cowley’s silence even remained when Bodie stood without a word and closed
the window. But he’d noticed the hesitant, limping steps and tightening
around the eyes even in those few paces, and made a mental note to check
whether Bodie went to his check-up appointment with the doctors. The
bullet wound was obviously still very painful.

 ******

Bodie stayed by Doyle’s side for three full days and nights, sleeping only
occasionally in his plastic chair and stubbornly refusing all attempts to
make him leave, even just to catch a few hours sleep on a couch elsewhere
in the hospital.

 With the nurses only appearing briefly every fifteen minutes to check on
Doyle's blood pressure and breathing, Bodie had no-one to talk to but
Doyle, and quickly lost all sense of passing time.

 Even those few visitors who took the trouble to sneak past the nurses and
their ‘family-only’ rules did little to help. Each one seemed compelled to
ask how Bodie himself was doing, something that at first struck him as
laughable.

 He wasn’t the one lying unconscious in a hospital bed for God’s sake!

 When Cowley had first asked he’d felt absurdly amused, and had struggled
not to laugh at his boss for the mere question. Of course, after Murphy,
Susan and McCabe had also voiced their concerns the questions had become
more of an irritant, a distraction that Bodie both couldn’t cope with and
didn’t need. As such, they’d been given short shrift and largely ignored,
which had done nothing to alleviate their worry.

 It was those very concerns that sent Susan into Cowley’s office late the
following Tuesday, long after she was supposed to be off-duty. As always
happened when more than one of the Squad were off sick CI5 were absurdly
busy, and she knew for a fact that Cowley hadn’t had a chance to do any
more than call the hospital for an update for days, however much he’d
wanted to go there in person.

 Susan, on the other hand, had fitted in a few quick visits when she was
supposed to be on-duty, and along with her natural concerns for Doyle, had
become increasingly alarmed by the change in Bodie’s behaviour as time
passed.

 She hadn’t been expecting him to be all sweetness and light, of course,
but the abrupt way that he’d retreated into himself was extreme, even
under these circumstances. During her last few visits she’d got the
impression that he’d barely known she was there, and her attempts at
starting any sort of conversation had all gone unanswered. The knowledge
that Bodie had not left the hospital since Doyle had been admitted, though
not really surprising to anyone who knew Bodie, was still worrying.

 Compared to some of the Alpha Squad, Susan was a relatively new addition
to CI5, having joined just over a year before. That was probably why all
the deaths that Cattrell and Wakeman had caused hit her harder than some
of the other agents, since it had served as a spectacularly bloody
introduction to her new career, only weeks after she’d been recruited.
Neither Bodie nor Doyle had taken much notice of her before that case, but
after she’d been the one to detain Cattrell and help uncover Lisa Wakeman
the two men, and Bodie in particular, had in effect taken her under their
wing, and the three of them had grown closer as a result.

 Susan was under no illusions, though. While it was true that during their
visits to various London pubs she’d been gifted with an insight into each
man and their friendship that few others saw, there was still a side to
both that they kept closely guarded. But she had seen enough to know how
close they were, and the knowledge of that closeness added to her concerns
about how Bodie was dealing with Doyle’s injuries.

 She’d often wondered exactly what had made them befriend her in the way
they had. Since she was already married neither man had made any attempt
to seduce her, and she’d simply become a friend, someone to talk to,
though Doyle had made more use of that particular area of their friendship
than Bodie.

 But that didn’t mean that Bodie had never confided in her, even if his
worries were often shrouded in the sick humour he was so well known for.
It was this which bothered her most about his change in behaviour. However
bad things got in the past Bodie had always shielded his feelings behind
wry humour, and simply got on with things. But there had been no sign of
that in the last few days, not even a spark of the irrepressible
jocularity with which he usually faced life. And Susan didn’t know what to
do about it.

 As much as Doyle’s condition was worrying the entire squad, herself
included, Susan was only too well aware that there was nothing she could
do to help him. Doyle’s life was in the hands of the doctors, as well as
the deity who did Cowley the occasional favour, but just maybe there was
something she could do to help Bodie.

 It was this desire to help which sent Susan into Cowley’s office. Cowley
wasn’t as tyrannical as people seemed to think, and she knew just how much
Bodie respected him. Maybe he would have a better idea what could be done.

 As she entered the room Cowley looked up only briefly before returning to
his paperwork.

 "Yes? What is it, 2.9?"

 "It’s about Bodie and Doyle, sir." Susan hesitated before continuing.
"Well...Bodie, actually."

 At the mention of their names Cowley stopped writing and looked up again.
"Sit down, Susan." She did as he said. "What about Bodie?"

 "I’m worried about him, sir."

 "Go on."

 Susan bit her lip, trying to work out how to phrase this in such a way
that wouldn’t get Bodie suspended, or sectioned. That wasn’t quite the
help that she was looking for. "Well, he’s not himself, sir."

 There was a note of scorn in Cowley’s voice. "Are you really surprised,
2.9, under the circumstances?"

 "It’s not just that, sir. One of the nurses told me that he hasn’t left
the hospital once in the last four days. He looks drawn and he can’t be
sleeping or eating properly. Quite apart from anything else, sir, he’s
still recovering from the shooting. This constant vigil can’t be doing him
any good."

 Cowley sighed. "Aye. Leave it with me, Susan. I’m going to see Doyle
later this evening."

 Nodding, Susan left Cowley’s office and headed for home.

 ******

Bodie felt like he had slipped into a trance, staring almost without
seeing at Doyle’s body. He’d been in the same position for hours, and his
muscles now angrily protested even the slightest movement. Not that he was
really that bothered, since he had no intention of moving.

 It felt like he’d been sitting in this room half his life, and only his
watch gave him any indication of the passing of time in the real world.
But this place wasn’t real - it couldn’t be. Part of Bodie was only too
aware that this was happening, that his partner and friend was close to
death, and his world was only hanging together by a thread.

 But the other part, the part of Bodie that believed in survival at all
costs, refused to accept the reality of what was happening around him. He
knew, deep down, that the only way he could hold together through this was
if he didn’t acknowledge it, if he kept up the pretence, even just to
himself, that any minute Doyle would wake up and grin at him as if nothing
had happened.

 Which was why he was grateful that people seemed to have taken the hint
and left them alone. The various doctors and nurses weren’t a problem.
They were all too busy to stay any longer than was necessary to do their
jobs, and seemed to understand his need to be left to himself. It was the
other CI5 agents who were the problem. They seemed compelled to sit with
Doyle and talk, and with all his energy going into convincing himself that
Doyle would pull through, his mask had been left seriously shaky, and his
emotions were dangerously close to the surface.

 Even though he was generally friendly, at heart Bodie was a very private
person, and didn’t like letting people get too close. Which was why he was
determined not to let people he knew see just how upset he was by
everything that had happened. Only too aware of how fast the gossip mill
worked at CI5, and with Doyle’s help being the cause of most of it, this
was one time Bodie had no intention of adding fuel to the rumours he knew
would already be circulating.

 The door to Doyle’s room creaked open, interrupting Bodie’s thoughts. He
closed his eyes briefly and sighed before turning his head to meet the
intruder.

 Cowley.

 Bodie cursed silently. He’d been wondering when Cowley would make another
appearance, no doubt in an attempt to get him to leave the hospital, and
stop the behaviour that Bodie knew his boss would view as pure
foolishness.

 George Cowley dealt in cold, hard facts, and had little time for the
emotional repercussions of the job he’d chosen. Not that Bodie thought he
didn’t have feelings, he’d worked for the man far too long to still
believe that. But he knew equally well that his boss rarely gave voice to
his emotions, believing that to reveal his thoughts to others left him
vulnerable, and far too open to attack given the job he did.

 Bodie understood that philosophy all too well, considering it was one he
himself had followed religiously for most of his adult life. It was only
when he had become friends with Ray that he’d let his guard down, just
slightly, and even then only with him. In some strange way that Bodie
didn’t really understand himself, Ray Doyle had become his link to the
rest of the world. Their friendship gave him a sense of security, allowing
him to interact more freely with those around him, simply because he knew
he’d always have Doyle to back him up if things went wrong. Doyle had
become a failsafe if you like, someone he knew he could trust completely,
without fear of betrayal. The two men had become a double act in more
aspects than just work.

 If that failsafe were to be suddenly taken away, Bodie wasn’t sure how
much of his own self could survive. And if that happened, if the one man
he trusted so completely left him, in some terrible way it would be like a
betrayal, and one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to recover from.

 Consciously shaking his head, Bodie tried to banish the thoughts from his
mind. Thinking like that wasn’t going to do anyone any good, and he had to
be careful. Cowley was now in the same room, and Bodie knew part of his
boss would be constantly assessing his condition, even if only
unconsciously, to make sure that Bodie was still fit to work. Physically
they both knew that he wasn’t, wouldn’t be for at least another week, but
the bullet wound would heal. Mentally, Bodie knew he was on much more
shaky ground, and would be unable to concentrate on work until Doyle had
come off the critical list. In a strange way, he was quite grateful to the
man who had shot him. At least the bullet gave him an excuse to be off
work, without Cowley subjecting him to Kate Ross and her psych tests,
something Bodie knew would happen the second Cowley suspected that he
wasn’t coping well with Doyle’s predicament.

 He also knew that the tests would be inevitable if Doyle died, he had
seen other agents go through them after the death of a partner. But he and
Doyle were closer than the other partnerships in CI5, spent much more time
in each other’s company while off-duty than the rest, and were better than
them as a result. He knew that their success rate was the only reason why
Cowley tolerated their closeness, which had sometimes proved to be a
drawback when one of the pair got into trouble.

 Every time that happened, both Bodie and Doyle put the other's safety
first. While they would always try to complete the assignment as well,
their safety was always a priority, and if the job could not be completed
as a result, then so be it. This attitude had been the cause of some of
the Cow's most memorable lectures, but everyone knew that it was something
that could not be stopped short of Bodie and Doyle being reteamed. Since
they worked so much better together than apart, Cowley had said nothing
when their priorities didn’t match with his own, and had obviously by now
learnt to work their reactions into his triple-think.

 But with Cowley in the room, Bodie had to make sure that none of his
emotions conveyed themselves to his boss, and with a deep breath, the mask
was pushed firmly back into place.

 "Sir?"

 "Bodie. Has there been any change?"

 Bodie frowned. "Not really. The swelling isn’t going down as much as
they’d hoped, so they’re not going to try to wake him yet."

 Cowley nodded. "And how about you?"

 "I’m fine, sir." However much he wanted to, Bodie couldn’t quite keep the
bitter note from his voice.

 "You don’t look it, 3.7."

 "No, sir." The capitulation was automatic, bred from years of obedience
in various armies, but was obviously insincere. Without Doyle’s rebellion
and his own sense of humour to play off of, Bodie was reverting back to
the way he’d acted in the early weeks of CI5, before he’d been partnered
with 4.5.

 In spite of his compassion for what Bodie was having to deal with, Cowley
could feel his own temper rising. Lack of sleep always made him
short-tempered, and Bodie was not the only one who had been affected by
Doyle’s injuries.

 Morale within the Squad was dangerously low, and with Bodie and Doyle
both out of action, Cowley was struggling to keep CI5 on top of the
workload, and working longer than was usual, even for him.

 Cowley sighed. "Don’t play games with me 3.7. It hasn’t escaped my notice
that you’ve not left the hospital for days. And I presume you missed your
follow-up appointment to have your bullet wound checked?"

 "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." In fact, Bodie had thought little more about his
own injuries, and had forgotten all about his appointment. It was Doyle
who usually reminded him of such things, along with making sure he took
the painkillers he was invariably prescribed. All things that he’d
forgotten about completely in the past few days. And without the
painkillers that were still on his bedside table, the pain that coursed
through his side every time he moved too far had done nothing to improve
his mood.

 "I know you’re concerned about Doyle, Bodie, but neglecting everything
else is no way to behave. Moping around here isn’t going to do Doyle any
good. I’ve got a good mind to pull you back into CI5, and put you on desk
duty. At least it would get you away from here for a while."

 At that Bodie suddenly felt cold, and looked up at his boss for the first
time since he’d arrived. "Then the first thing I’d type would be my
resignation."

 Cowley studied him in silence for a moment. "Aye. I imagine it would."

 Bodie could sense the disapproval from his boss, but found that he didn’t
much care. If Cowley couldn’t appreciate what he was feeling without Bodie
having to spell it out, something that he wasn’t prepared to do, then
Cowley could disapprove all he wanted. Though Bodie would rather he did so
from a distance, rather than while he was sitting next to him. As if
Cowley had heard him, he stood up and walked to the door. Opening it, he
passed through before turning back to Bodie.

 "I expected better from you, Bodie." He said.

 Bodie didn’t bother replying.

 When the door had closed again and Cowley was safely out of the way,
Bodie let out a long sigh and dropped his head into his hands. He knew his
behaviour was strange, and certainly didn’t need Cowley to tell him that,
but what on earth did they expect him to do?

 Go back to work as if nothing had happened? Pretend that his partner and
best friend wasn’t dying in a hospital bed? He hated hospitals, and wanted
nothing more than to leave, hated sitting here in silence hour after hour,
but there was no way he was leaving Doyle, and if sitting here like this
was necessary to be by his side, then so be it.

 Not that Bodie had the energy to go back to work even if he'd wanted to.
Fighting his emotions with one hand and the pain from his injuries with
the other, Bodie had found it difficult to make it to the coffee machine
and back the few times he had left the room. A powerful lethargy seemed to
have overcome him, leaving him tired and miserable - another reason he had
conveniently forgotten to keep his appointment with the outpatient clinic.

 If they had decided that he was ready to start on physiotherapy, he knew
there was no way he’d be able to get through even one session. He’d barely
slept for days, partly because those chairs were so uncomfortable, but
also because he was afraid Doyle might wake up while he was asleep. Or
worse, that he might…

 Bodie dragged one hand over his face. He wouldn’t...couldn’t think about
that. If he didn’t think about it, then maybe he could kid himself that it
wasn’t likely to happen. After all, the doctors hadn’t said much, so maybe
they were being cautiously optimistic. Even as his mind framed the
thoughts, he knew how ridiculous they were. If the doctors were
optimistic, they would have woken him up by now, instead of keeping him
sedated all the time. Bodie knew that the longer Doyle stayed unconscious,
the less chance there was of him waking up at all. And even if he did wake
up, the risks of there being permanent damage were too large to ignore.

 Pushing himself up off his chair, Bodie balanced precariously while
reaching for his crutches, and walked slowly over to the window. He needed
to be doing something, anything, to keep his mind off things.

 He didn’t really understand why he’d reacted so badly to what had
happened. This wasn’t the first time he’d lost people close to him, people
he knew died all the time when he’d been a merc in Africa, and it had been
sad, he’d grieved, of course, but never like this.

 Even when Claire had been hurt in that bombing raid he’d coped better
than this. Okay, he’d got mad and gone after Crabbe in spite of Cowley’s
orders, but he’d been able to function in spite of his worry over her
condition, and managed to solve the case practically single-handed. Doyle
may have got there first, but considering he’d ended up with broken ribs
and nearly been blown up for his troubles, Bodie figured that he’d been
slightly more successful.

 Doyle certainly had a nose for trouble. It seemed that whenever they
split up, whenever they started investigating on their own, it was almost
always Doyle who ended up hurt. He’d been alone when the Empire Society
found him snooping around, and Bodie had been horrified by his appearance
when Doyle had turned up at the hospital later that night. He hadn’t
exactly come through that case unscathed either, admittedly, but he’d long
ago conceded that he was partly to blame for being stabbed. That wasn’t a
case he was particularly proud of. They’d split up when they were looking
for the men hired to kill Annie Irvine as well, and then Doyle had ended
up with a broken arm. Just off-hand Bodie could think of at least a dozen
more instances when they’d gone out solo and Doyle, rather than he, had
been injured. Thank god it had never been anything too serious.

 But now...?

 This was so different, something he wasn’t used to, and Bodie didn’t know
how he was supposed to deal with it. The only thing he had to liken it to
was the way he'd felt when Claire had been hurt in the bombing, but even
that was a poor comparison. She was a nice girl, he'd liked her very much,
and felt partly responsible for what had happened, but in all the time she
was on the critical list he'd never felt the suffocating misery that was
pulling at him now.

 Of course, he'd had the case to distract him then, give him something
other than her condition to focus on. And once he'd heard Doyle's
desperate phone call from Crabbe's flat, he'd thought of nothing else but
finding him before it was too late. But there was no case to distract him
now, nothing to help take his mind away from Doyle, and he wasn't used to
the inactivity.

 Bodie was always on the go, always doing something. Even when he'd been
injured Bodie was always back in the gym before the doctors recommended
it, pushing himself to get back out on the streets and onto active duty as
quickly as he could. On more than one occasion he'd ended up actually
prolonging his injury in the attempt, pushing himself too far and finding
himself back in the hospital, or at the very least with more time off and
a severe lecture from Cowley. But it was his need to be back on the
streets by Doyle's side which made him do it. Not least because he was
afraid to leave Doyle out on the streets on his own, and unprepared to
trust Murphy or any of the others with the task of watching Doyle's back.
It wasn't as if he thought that the other agents weren't up to it, but
Bodie was always ten times happier to be given the task himself. At least
if he was there personally, he could make sure that the job was done
properly.

 But this time he had been there, Doyle hadn't been alone, and still he'd
managed to get hurt. Bodie couldn't shake the memory of that voice, of
hearing Doyle call his name just after he was shot. He'd not been fully
conscious at the time, but was convinced that he'd not been hearing
things, and the thought that Doyle had called out to him filled him with
dread. Because that meant that Doyle had seen him get shot and been
distracted, even just for a second, and it must have been because of that
lapse in concentration that Turner had been able to take him by surprise.

 And if all that was true, then Bodie couldn't shake the belief that,
ultimately, he himself was responsible for Doyle's current condition.
After all, if he hadn't been stupid enough to get himself shot, then Doyle
wouldn't have been distracted, the two of them would have been happily
fishing somewhere on the Norfolk Broads, and none of this would ever have
happened. Bodie wished to God that he could have gone back and changed the
past. Hell, he'd have happily swapped places with Doyle if someone had
appeared and given him the chance, but it was much, much too late for
that, and now he was left having to face the consequences of his failure.

 Unconsciously he turned away from the sight of his partner's body,
suddenly no longer able to face the reality of what he'd done, and the
protest of abused muscles brought him sharply out of his musings with a
pained hiss.

 Miserable, and desperately tired, Bodie left the window and the view down
onto London that he hadn't seen, and crossed haltingly back to his plastic
chair. Dragging a second chair close by as his only concession to comfort,
he sat down in one and swung his legs up gingerly onto the other. At first
he just sat thinking of everything and nothing, until his body's need for
sleep finally managed to override the guilt-ridden ramblings of his mind,
and he dropped gratefully into a troubled sleep.

 Bodie would never know how long he'd managed to sleep before he was
rudely woken again, only that he felt no better for the rest. He'd learned
early on in life to grab sleep while you could, because you never knew how
long it would be before you were able to rest again. As a result, he'd
always been able to function for days on only a few hours, getting what he
called 'quality sleep'. It was one of the few aspects of life where he
truly believed the old cliché 'quality, not quantity'. So it was an odd,
strangely disorienting feeling to wake up just as tired, if not more so,
than he had been when he'd finally fallen asleep.

 He had little time to re-orient himself though, once he'd identified his
reason for waking up in the first place. Inevitably his first check had
been on Doyle, but a quick turn of his head reassured him that Doyle was
still unconscious. Though the fact that he'd felt relief at that was just
one more thing to add to the growing list of 'Reasons why Bodie should
feel guilty'. But there was someone else walking into the room, and
Bodie's heart sank once he'd realised whom that person was.

 Kate Ross.

 Even if it had been touch and go, Bodie had honestly hoped that he'd
managed to convince Cowley that he was coping okay with this, whatever the
reality was. But since Kate Ross had appeared maybe only a few hours after
Cowley had left, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to realise that Cowley had
returned to HQ and sent Kate Ross straight back to the hospital. And
considering how perceptive she'd been during that fiasco with King Billy,
(oh yes, Cowley and Doyle had made it perfectly clear how much he owed her
for that one) he had absolutely no idea how he was going to hide just how
hard this was, from her.

 Still, he had to try, and so Bodie started trying to pull the tattered
fragments of his mask back into place before she had a chance to see him.
But even as he tried, Bodie knew there was little chance of him
succeeding, since he couldn't even find some of the fragments he was
looking for.

 At some point during the last few days, he'd lost his defences as well as
his partner.

 He swung his legs wearily down from the chair, not quite managing to hide
the grimace of pain as he moved. She nodded her thanks at the gesture, and
took the now empty seat.

 "Morning, Bodie."

 "Dr Ross." Even as he answered he was glancing over at the window, and
discovered to his surprise that it was light out. He'd obviously been
asleep for far longer than he'd realised.

 "How's Doyle this morning?"

 "He'll be fine." Even as he spoke Bodie realised how utterly ridiculous
that sounded, and the steady beeping of the monitors combined with her
silence as if to mock him. Feeling the need to break the silence, Bodie
carried on speaking, saying the first thing that came into his mind.
"Anything much happening at CI5?"

 She smiled, and Bodie sighed, wanting to know what the smile meant.
Should he not have said that? Had he just managed to consign himself to
months of psychological examination? He desperately wanted to know what he
was supposed to say to keep her, and Cowley, happy. He didn’t have the
strength to fight an interrogation any more, however well meant it was.

 "We're busy, but there's not too much out of the ordinary going on.
Cowley and Murphy have just about finished interrogating Turner. They
packed him off to prison a couple of hours ago."

 Bodie tensed at the mention of the man who had put Doyle in the hospital,
even though at the same time he acknowledged that he felt as much to blame
as Turner.

 At the sharpening of her gaze, Bodie was only too well aware that his
actions hadn't gone unnoticed. He sighed and turned his gaze back to
Doyle.

 "So how are you bearing up, Bodie?"

 Bodie closed his eyes briefly and laughed - a short, bitter sound.
"Everybody's so interested." He muttered.

 "Hmm?"

 "That's probably the fiftieth time I've been asked that lately."

 "People are concerned about you, Bodie."

 "I don't know why. I'm not the one who's dying in here."

 "You think he's dying?"

 Bodie turned on her, and all his intentions of seeming calm vanished as
he spoke. "Don't you?"

 But Kate Ross merely answered his question with another question. "Should
I?"

 "Bloody shrinks." Bodie turned his back on her, moving back to face Doyle
as if to dismiss her from the room, but she persisted.

 "What makes you think he's dying, Bodie?"

 "Because he won't wake up. I've been here for days, talking to him,
shouting at him, and he just won't wake up! The doctor's can't tell me
whether he'll ever recover or not, no-one seems to know anything. Why, do
you think I'm missing something? Is he about to get up and start doing the
conga?"

 Bodie could hear, could feel the intense anger behind his words, and had
to fight to keep it from spilling over. Sensing that she was about to
speak again, Bodie grabbed his crutches and stalked out of the room as
fast as he could. He knew that she was going to follow him, but absurdly,
he didn't want to argue with her anywhere where Doyle might hear them.

 He slammed the door closed behind him, but heard it slide quietly open
again as she came out into the corridor.

 "How do you feel about that?"

 "He's my partner and my best friend." Bodie spoke almost at a whisper,
suddenly too damn tired to even find the energy to shout. "And I'm losing
him." For a moment it was almost as if he was talking to himself, as if
she wasn't even there, until he looked over at her and spoke again. "How
do you think I feel?"

 But Bodie never got the chance to discover how a trained psychologist
thought he was supposed to be feeling. Before she could respond, a beeping
noise from Doyle's room attracted both their attentions. The monitors
surrounding him had been beeping a constant rhythm every day since Bodie
had arrived, but this was different. Instead of the almost reassuring
mechanical heartbeat, and the hiss-click of the machines helping Doyle
breathe, this noise was frantic, screaming out a warning.

 Both Ross and Bodie stepped towards the room, but whereas she rushed
through the door and quickly pressed the alarm, Bodie took one, halting
step and then froze.

 This was it.

 Unconsciously, this was what Bodie had been waiting to hear for five long
days. Fear crept up from his heart and took an icy hold around his throat,
and though he wanted to, however much Bodie wanted to go to his friend, he
couldn't make himself step inside that room. Couldn't face it. Couldn't
just stand there and watch his friend die in front of him. To do that
would be to accept that he was dead, and Bodie didn't dare do that.

 In less than a minute a stream of doctors and nurses appeared and
surrounded Doyle's bed, acting as a barrier between Bodie and Doyle. They
set to their task quickly and with determination, but Bodie had been
trained to notice things around him, and hadn't missed the looks of
resigned doubt on the faces of a couple of the junior doctors. It was
obvious that they didn't think much of Doyle's chances of survival, even
if they might never voice those doubts to Bodie in person.

 Kate Ross stepped out of the room to allow the doctors space to work, and
even as Bodie was making his decision she had turned to him, obviously
about to continue their conversation. He spun around, ignoring the pain
that the sudden movement caused, and began to walk away, heading down the
hospital corridor as quickly as he could manage.

 "Bodie..."

 He could hear the high heels clacking down the corridor as Ross followed
him, and so the hand on his arm came as no surprise, but he didn't answer.
Shrugging her off, he remained silent and carried on walking, mentally
abandoning his life and his friend, even though a small part of him
screamed in protest at what he was doing.

 Kate Ross made no attempt to follow him, but only when he'd reached the
hospital car park and was well out of sight of anyone he knew did he give
in to the tears that refused to be stopped.

 ******

The knock at his door roused Cowley from the mountain of reports piling up
on his desk.

 "Come in."

 The new psychiatrist, Kate Ross, entered the room, and Cowley put down
his pen as he beckoned her to a seat. Though it had been over an hour
since she'd called from the hospital with the news concerning Doyle,
Cowley had been anxiously awaiting an update ever since, and as a result
the pile of reports had got no smaller.

 His first impulse when he heard the news was to rush straight to the
hospital, but he'd been awaiting an urgent call from Whitehall, one that
he had failed to postpone. It was times like these that he loathed his
position. Stuck as the negotiator between men who risked their lives for
their country on a regular basis, and men who blithely gave orders without
a thought to the consequences, and he had to balance on a fine line
between the two. When he'd asked for the call to be postponed, and been
forced to explain why, the man he'd spoken with had heartlessly informed
him that they had 'much more important business to discuss which simply
couldn't wait', and he'd had to consciously quash the desire to speak his
mind.

 The agents under his command at CI5 meant much more to him than he would
ever admit, and he could see nothing more important than going to Doyle's
side, even if he knew there was nothing he could do. Unfortunately, as
with so many other times throughout his life duty came first, and he'd
been compelled to wait at headquarters for news, whilst forcing himself to
remain civil to the man who kept him there.

 As Dr Ross took a seat Cowley removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He
felt wearier this morning than he had done in years, and dearly hoped for
some good news to lift his spirits.

 "How's Doyle?" At the time of her call she'd only been able to say that
Doyle had taken a turn for the worse, not then knowing what had happened
to raise the alarm.

 There was a genuine smile on Kate Ross' lips as she answered, something
he had not often seen. "He's stable. Apparently, he'd developed a chest
infection. This dropped the oxygen levels in his blood, which is what set
the alarms off."

 "How serious is it?"

 "Very. It's touch and go. The doctors say that if they haven't caught it
in time it could prove fatal, but they've put him on a course of
antibiotics and physiotherapy, and think he'll be alright. It is going to
mean that they keep him sedated for a couple of days longer than they had
planned though. They want to give the infection time to clear before they
try to wake him."

 Cowley nodded, relieved that Doyle was holding his own for the moment.
The man was a fighter, and Cowley had no doubts that he'd do his best to
survive. Whether or not that would prove good enough, only time would
tell.

 "And Bodie?"

 "He's left the hospital."

 Cowley sat back in surprise. He'd spent all night trying to work out a
way to convince Bodie to go home and get some rest without having to order
him out, and now to hear that Bodie had left of his own accord?

 "What happened?" He listened as she described her confrontation with
Bodie at the hospital. When she'd finished, Cowley couldn't help but
wonder whether sending Ross to tactfully assess Bodie had been such a good
idea. Still, since she'd already been, he was interested in her assessment
of 3.7.

 "There was something that Bodie said just before he left. 'I'm losing
him.' Not 'we're losing him', but 'I'm'. Bodie seems to be taking this
very personally. And while that's quite usual for friends and relatives in
cases such as these, I was quite surprised to see that here, considering
Bodie's character."

 Cowley refrained from commenting, well aware that Kate Ross was still
fairly new to the squad, and didn't know Bodie and Doyle as well as he
did.

 "Bodie's profile is very much that of a loner. He might get on well with
the people that he works with, but as a rule he doesn't let them get close
to him, he doesn't attach very much...emotion...to them. That way, he
safeguards himself against any betrayal or pain they might cause him. If
they have little or no emotional value for him, then he can't lose
anything. But from his reaction to Doyle's injuries, especially today, I
think even he's been surprised at just how much he's been affected by
this."

 "So why has he suddenly left the hospital?"

 "I don't think Bodie is prepared to deal with the emotions he's obviously
feeling. He's spent so many years distancing himself from people, and
that's exactly what he's doing now. Everything has built up over the past
few days, until he's reached a breaking point. I think he's hoping that if
he distances himself physically from the problem, in this case, Doyle,
then it won't hurt so much. It's a pattern that's obvious throughout
Bodie's past. Every time he comes up against something that he feels he
can't deal with he leaves, he distances himself."

 "So what should we do?"

 She frowned. "I'm not sure there's anything we can do. This is something
Bodie is going to have to work through himself, although the support of
friends and family would help to keep him 'grounded', as it were. Mr
Cowley, you do realise..." She hesitated before continuing.

 "What?"

 "If Doyle dies, you won't just lose one half of that team. You're going
to lose Bodie, as well."

 ******

None of the lights were on, and he was sitting in silence on the sofa. Not
that there was anyone around for him to talk to, but even when alone in
his flat Bodie would usually play music or leave the television on, even
if it was just for background noise.

 He'd tried that already, turning on the radio just out of habit, but the
noise had deafened him. Cheerful music, people phoning in to talk about
their days - all examples of how life was continuing around him as if
nothing had changed.

 Examples of a life that Bodie had once joined in with, lived to the full,
but something he doubted he'd ever have again.

 After leaving Doyle, Bodie had walked for a while, ending up in a park a
few miles away from the hospital. It was barely a park, just a small patch
of grassland, but considering they were in the middle of London, he
figured it was the closest to the countryside he was going to get.

 Normally he would have got into his car and driven, anywhere, just to get
away from the city and its memories. But the medics hadn't cleared him to
drive yet, and by the time he'd found himself within the park, he'd not
been sure how much further he could walk. So he'd found the nearest bench
and just sat for hours letting his mind drift, trying to find some sense
of peace whilst making a conscious effort to keep his thoughts away from
Doyle. Of course, while Bodie was able to keep his mind away from his
partner for a while at least, he couldn't keep it up forever, and
inevitably his thoughts strayed back to the one place he didn't want to
go.

 He'd regretted leaving the hospital almost as soon as he'd walked out the
door, but had been unable to make himself go back. The fear of going back
only to be told that Doyle had died was something he simply could not
face. He hated himself for leaving, for abandoning Ray just when he needed
him most, but the part of him that ensured self-preservation kept him
away. Bodie had a very strong sense of self, it gave him the confidence
that people often saw as arrogance when they first met, but it had been
born of necessity, and he'd relied on it for survival throughout his adult
life.

 Whenever something or someone got too close, or threatened to damage that
'self', his survival instinct kicked in, and made sure that he backed
away, putting enough distance between Bodie and the threat that it was no
longer any danger. It was that instinct for survival that had seen him
running away to sea at such a young age, and then got him out of life as a
merc, when the hard persona he'd constructed for himself in order to
survive threatened to take hold of the 'real' Bodie that it was supposed
to shield. And now, with the rush of emotion he'd felt after seeing Doyle
so badly hurt threatening to overwhelm him, the survival instinct had
kicked in once again, and it was that which had caused him to run. Not
knowing what had happened in the hospital hurt, but not as much as
discovering that Doyle was dead would. If Bodie didn't know then he could
pretend to himself that Doyle was still alive, and doing well. And just
maybe, in believing that, he'd be able to make a new life for himself,
somewhere that he might never have to face the truth.

 With every intention of leaving CI5 and London, Bodie had sat for hours,
trying to adjust and work out what his next move should be. Going back to
CI5, even if just to hand in his resignation was something he thought of
with dread. Having to face his colleagues, who by now would surely all
know he'd abandoned his partner, was almost unthinkable, and besides
which, someone was bound to tell him whether or not Doyle had died that
morning. Bodie seriously considered just leaving without handing in his
resignation at all. Cowley was a smart man, when they found his apartment
empty he'd work out what had happened, but Bodie also knew that Cowley
would send people after him, and knew that while he was still recovering
from his own injuries, he'd be unable to disappear completely.

 Cowley would know that all he had to do was put the hospitals on alert.
Sooner or later, Bodie would have to show up at one of them to get the
stitches taken out, and to start physiotherapy. Bodie knew that he could
probably get those things done privately, but most of the people he knew
with that kind of expertise had distanced themselves from him since he'd
turned legitimate. And besides, the wound was going to slow him down
anyway, and he'd need to be on top form to get out of the country without
Cowley knowing about it. So leaving was certainly out of the question, at
least until he was back on his feet. Until then, he just had to hole up
somewhere, and try not to think of how he'd just let his partner down.

 That was the most difficult thing about all this. Bodie was only too well
aware that by leaving, he'd let Doyle down. Years before, their positions
had almost been reversed, and it had been Bodie lying in a hospital bed
while Doyle anxiously waited for news. Though they'd never spoken about
it, Bodie could still remember being rushed through a hospital corridor
with Doyle beside him. Crying. He'd seen the tears, heard the catch in
Doyle's voice as he berated him for managing to get stabbed. At that
moment Bodie had wanted more than anything to reassure Doyle, to tell him
not to be so bloody stupid. He was going to be fine, and even if he
wasn't, crying was so completely unnecessary. But he hadn't been able to
get the words out, beyond telling Doyle who had stabbed him. The fever had
taken hold before he'd had the chance.

 But Doyle hadn't left, he'd stayed with him until the doctors had
reassured him that Bodie would be fine once the fever broke. Then Doyle
had gone after the people responsible, and made sure in spite of
everything that they got what they deserved. Bodie hadn't even been able
to do that. He'd failed Doyle in almost every way he could think of, and
that was something he knew he'd have to live with for a very long time.

 At the very least, Bodie wished that he'd been able to do something about
Turner, to make sure that he got what he deserved for what he'd done.
Going after Turner was something he'd planned to do all along, just as
soon as he'd made sure that Doyle was going to be alright. But at first it
hadn't really sunk in just how serious Doyle's condition was, and the days
had dragged past almost without him realising.

 Quite how he'd planned to deal with Turner was something he hadn't quite
decided. He'd known that a 'fair' fight, like he'd tried to do with King
Billy was out of the question. He could barely walk without the crutches,
so going one on one with anyone would be as good as suicide. Of course,
none of that mattered much now. Kate Ross had shredded that particular
plan this morning, with her announcement that Turner had been shipped off
to prison already. Bodie knew he'd have had trouble getting through CI5
without being noticed, a building he knew like the back of his hand. The
thought of getting into a prison unnoticed was ludicrous. With a sinking
feeling, Bodie knew that there was no way he could get at Turner now, and
that fact was just another example of how Bodie had failed Doyle, and just
how useless he felt.

 Bodie had remained in the park for most of the day, until the sun started
to drop in the sky and the shadows became longer. He'd been half convinced
that Cowley or someone from CI5 would be looking for him already, and had
kept a careful watch on the other people sharing the park. But no-one had
come to find him, and he'd stayed in the park as long as possible. At
least here he could think, whereas once he returned home he'd probably
face phone calls and people knocking at his door, wondering where he was.

 Eventually he'd had to head home. They were in the middle of London after
all, and unlike in the suburbs, the gates of the Park were locked at
night. He'd hired a cab back to his flat, already tired from the day's
exertions. Having been constantly sat in a hospital for days, even today's
walk to the park had been enough to tire him out.

 The flat was cold when he arrived, the result of not being lived in for
days. He'd switched the boiler on as soon as he walked in, and poured
himself a scotch. Drinking it in one, he poured himself another before
giving in to his body's complaints and heading into the bedroom. Routing
out the painkillers that had been standing on his bedside table for days
without being touched, he shook out two pills and swallowed them quickly,
washing them down with a third glass.

 On the table opposite him, the telephone served as a mocking reminder of
what Bodie had left behind. One phone call and he'd know what had happened
that morning, and whether Bodie still had a partner, but he wouldn't let
himself pick up the receiver. If Doyle had died then it wouldn't matter
when he found out, and Bodie didn't want to know just yet, hadn't managed
to repair the defences that he'd need to rely on if the news was bad.

 And if the news was good?

 If Doyle had pulled through, Bodie knew that he'd want more than anything
to go back to the hospital, to return to him, but again, he wouldn't let
himself. To return to the hospital was to find hope, and Bodie was afraid
that he didn't have the strength to cope if his hopes were raised again,
only to be dashed a few days later. Besides, if Doyle ever woke up again,
Bodie knew that as soon as he found out just how badly Bodie had let him
down he'd want nothing more to do with him, and Bodie would lose his
partner anyway. The risk of seeing Doyle again, of seeing the look of hurt
and betrayal in his eyes was too much for Bodie to risk, it hurt to even
think about, and Bodie poured himself another glass of whisky, desperate
to drive that particular image out of his head. He wasn't sure which hurt
most; the thought of seeing that look of betrayal, or the thought that
Doyle might have already died.

 And so began a pattern which Bodie followed to the letter for the next
few days. Every night he'd drink himself into a troubled sleep full of his
fears and loneliness. He'd wake some time the next morning, with an awful
hangover that barely registered beneath the self-loathing that grew as
each day passed. As his absence at the hospital became more and more
pronounced, people began to call him, and the sound of the telephone
became something he quickly learnt to dread.

 Each time it rang he was afraid that it was someone calling to offer
sympathy that he didn't deserve, or to find out why he hadn't been at the
hospital, why he'd abandoned Doyle. Worst of all was Bodie's fear that if
he answered the phone he'd discover what had happened to Doyle, and that
his fears that Doyle was already dead might be confirmed. He ignored each
call, until finally on the second day, he ripped the plug from the wall in
a desperate attempt to stop the ringing from echoing through his head.

 By the evening of the third day, Bodie felt like he was going crazy.
Cooped up in his flat, everything around him brought back memories of he
and Doyle together. Lounging around on the sofa watching the football,
Doyle cooking in the kitchen while Bodie hindered more than helped, Doyle
looking after him when he'd been hurt, everything reminded him of what
he'd lost. Finally he'd left the flat out of sheer desperation, walking
the streets the best he could with the crutches, and hoping that the
exhaustion that came with the exercise would be enough to drive the
memories from his mind. It didn't work completely, but the pain helped,
distracting him just enough to take the edge off of his emotions.
Eventually he'd been physically unable to walk any further, and had hailed
a taxi and headed reluctantly back to his flat in the hope that he'd be
tired enough to sleep without the dreams.

 That was how he'd come to be back in his flat on the evening of the third
day since he'd last seen Doyle, having ignored the post on the way in, and
destroyed Doyle's picture frame in a fit of pain and anguish. He sank down
on to the floor by the sofa in misery, and there he stayed, all thoughts
of making himself something to eat having vanished without trace.

 He'd left the front door open, not bothering to shut it as he walked in,
and it was an hour later that he suddenly realised there was someone
standing in the doorway. Bodie knew he should have pulled his gun just in
case. It could have been anyone in the doorway, and he had made a lot of
enemies both before CI5 and since he'd joined the Squad. But somehow, he
just couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't bother to look up, to see
who it was, just sat there as the figure in the corner of his eye watched
him in silence.

 ******

Susan stood watching him, shocked at the dishevelled, unshaven state of
the man sitting on the floor. She'd debated with herself whether or not to
visit Bodie's flat ever since she'd heard that he'd left the hospital, but
it was only when her repeated calls got no answer that she'd finally
decided to come over. She sighed. Now she was here, she didn't have a clue
what to say to him, but she had to try something.

 "I could have shot you."

 Bodie pushed his crutches away in disgust. "Someone beat you to it."

 Susan was shocked at the self-loathing she could hear in those five
words, so completely out of character for the man. Sighing, she shut the
front door behind her and came to sit by Bodie’s side. "I’m serious,
Bodie. Anyone could have come in here."

 "Shit happens."

 Bodie hadn’t looked up at her once, just kept staring at the carpet as if
he had to memorise every square inch.

 Unsettled by his behaviour Susan said nothing, and they sat in
uncomfortable silence as the clock on the wall ticked. Finally she
couldn’t stand it, and tried again.

 "Talk to me, Bodie."

 "Pick a topic - the weather? The latest film?"

 "How about Ray Doyle?" she asked quietly.

 "Don’t." Bodie’s reply was harsh and bitter.

 "Why not?"

 Bodie didn’t reply.

 "Bodie..." Susan could see that she was getting nowhere. Standing up, she
walked into the kitchen and ferreted two cans of beer from the fridge,
before returning and handing one to Bodie. Settling down next to him, she
tried a different tack, keeping her voice light and casual.

 "We’ve missed you at the hospital these last few days."

 "I’ve been busy."

 "Doing what?"

 "This and that."

 "Why the sudden change? A week ago we couldn’t have dragged you away from
Doyle. Cowley tried, as I recall."

 "Something came up."

 "Please, Bodie, this is me you're talking to. I know how upset you are,
we're all worried about him. Don't shut me out."

 At her words she saw Bodie frown, and suddenly a thought occurred to her.
"Bodie, have you called the hospital since you left?" The tiniest shake of
his head, and Susan took one of his hands in hers, with her other hand
turning his head, forcing him to look at her. "You don't know how he is,
do you?"

 He shook his head again.

 "Oh, Bodie." she whispered. "He's alright, he's still alive." She felt
Bodie's fingers shake within her grasp as he sighed in relief. She carried
on, determined to try and reassure him now that she had his attention.
"What you saw? When Kate Ross was there? He had a chest infection and it
affected his breathing, that's why all the alarms went off. But they've
treated it now, and he's okay. The doctors are hoping that they're going
to be able to try and wake him up tomorrow."

 She watched as her words sank in, and could see the hope mixed with the
fear in his expression. "He’ll make it, Bodie."

 Bodie shook his head slowly. "Don't be naïve, Sue. This isn’t TV. The
good guys don’t always win, and things don’t always end with happily ever
after. Just because you and I want him to pull through, it doesn't mean
that he will."

 There was silence for a long time, and Susan thought that with that final
statement Bodie had shut her out again. She was still trying to work out
what to do when Bodie spoke, his voice quiet and hesitant.

 "What if he doesn’t?"

 Susan knelt in front of him and rested a hand on his. "He’s a fighter,
Bodie, and almost as stubborn as you." She took a deep breath. "But if he
doesn’t? It’ll be hard, Bodie, but you’ll deal with it. We all will. You
have a lot of friends, Bodie, people who care about you. Me, Murphy, even
Cowley cares in a brusque sort of way. Don’t be afraid to ask someone for
help, Bodie. It doesn’t make you a failure."

 A short, bitter laugh from Bodie. "Well, thank you, Dr. Ross."

 "No, I’m not her. I’m not here because I’m being paid to be, or because
I’m writing some report. I’m here because I care. About both of you."

 At that Bodie looked up, and saw the sincerity in her eyes. She knew that
he'd left the hospital, left Doyle, and yet she didn't seem to be judging
him. Maybe, just maybe talking to someone might help. Taking a deep
breath, he began to speak, giving voice to some of the feelings that he’d
been bottling up for so long.

 "I’m...I’m scared, Sue. What if he does die? It'll be because of me. It's
all my fault."

 Susan looked at him in shock. "How?"

 "I was with him Sue. After I was discharged he was acting strange, he
kept knocking things over and having trouble staying awake. I knew he
hadn't been checked out, I should have made him go back to the hospital."

 "Bodie, we all know what Ray's like when he makes up his mind about
something. If he didn't want to get himself checked over, no-one could
have made him, not even you. Besides, you weren't the only one to see him
after he was knocked out. Me, Lucas, Cowley, Murphy, we all saw him back
at CI5. If you're at fault for not seeing he was hurt more than we
thought, then so are we."

 "But, it's my fault Turner got to him in the first place."

 Finally Susan could see part of what had really caused Bodie to leave
Doyle's side. Obviously believing that it was his fault Doyle had been
hurt, Bodie had convinced himself that everyone else thought the same, and
that Doyle would reject him for it if he did wake up. "Why do you think
that?"

 "He got distracted when I was shot. That must have been why Turner was
able to sneak up on him."

 "You don't know that, Bodie. Accidents happen, things go wrong in
operations like this, you know they do. It's happened before without you
getting shot to blame it on."

 "I'm his partner, I should have been watching his back."

 "There were four others there, Bodie. No-one else saw it happen either."

 "It wasn't their job to notice." Bodie replied petulantly. "I'm his
partner, I should have watched out for him."

 "Do you blame Doyle for you getting shot, Bodie?"

 Bodie eyes widened as he looked at her in surprise. "Of course not."

 "He's your partner, he was there when you were hit. So why not?"

 "It wasn't his fault..." Bodie trailed off as he saw where her questions
were heading.

 "So if you don't blame Doyle for not stopping you getting shot, why do
you think he'd blame you?"

 Bodie couldn't answer.

 "No-one blames you, Bodie. Neither would Doyle. You've done nothing
wrong. If you want someone to blame, then blame Turner. He's the one this
is all down to."

 Bodie sighed, and ran his hands through his hair as he started putting
the past few days into perspective. The news that Doyle was probably going
to pull through was lifting his spirits. However much he'd thought that he
couldn't face Doyle, the fact that Susan obviously believed he wasn't to
blame for what had happened helped more than he'd thought anything could.

 He offered Susan a weak smile, and she grinned back at him, obviously
relieved at even that small gesture. She put the can down on the floor
beside her.

 "So, do you want to go and see Doyle?" she asked.

 Bodie nodded.

 "Good." Standing up, she put out a hand and helped him up off the floor.
"But I think you should have a shower first. Doyle's worse at blaming
himself for things than you are, and if you look like that when he wakes
up and he works out why..."

 Bodie caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and frowned ruefully.
Since he hadn't showered or shaved in at least three days, he had to agree
with Susan. He'd definitely looked better. "Nag, nag, nag." He muttered,
but headed for the bathroom all the same.

 Smiling, Susan walked towards the kitchen. "I don't suppose you've eaten
either. Are you hungry, Bodie?"

 "I'm always hungry."

 ******

The headache was the first thing he noticed. He drifted for a while, not
quite conscious, and trying to remember what on earth he and Bodie had
been doing to cause a hangover like that. Beyond the pain he felt fuzzy,
and confused, and couldn’t quite seem to gather his thoughts.

 It was only as he started to wake up properly that the fear started to
set in.

 This wasn’t right.

 As he slowly became aware of his surroundings, the pain kicked in
properly and he couldn't stop the moan from escaping. His chest hurt, his
head was pounding, and he felt as weak as a newborn kitten.

 He couldn't quite seem to get his thoughts together, but suddenly he was
pretty sure that he wasn't in his flat, and this wasn't a hangover.

 Fear began to mix with the pain, and Doyle moved his head, trying to open
his eyes, to work out what was happening to him. Even that small movement
sent the room spinning around him, and he swallowed to fight the growing
nausea. It was only then that he felt the tube snaking its way down his
throat.

 A hospital?

 What the hell was he doing in a hospital?

 He tried to think back, tried to remember what had happened, but he drew
a blank. The last thing he could remember was...

 Bodie!

 A gunshot, Bodie falling...

 ...and then nothing, until now.

 The whirl of noise around him finally started to make sense, and he
thought he could make out a voice. He latched on to it, allowing the voice
to pull him back from the darkness, and hoping its owner could tell him
about Bodie.

 "...Doyle? Mr Doyle, can you hear me?"

 He tried to answer, but it came out as an incoherent jumble. His eyes
flickered open, and he caught a glimpse of a young woman with blonde hair
before they closed again.

 The voice continued. "Mr Doyle. I need you to breathe in deeply, and then
out again. I'm going to remove the tube."

 Doyle did as he was told, but was unprepared for the pain as the tube was
pulled out. Left gasping for breath and coughing weakly, it was a few
moments before he was able to speak.

 "B...Bodie?"

 "Right here, sunshine."

 A face swum into view above him, and he allowed himself to relax for the
first time since waking up. Bodie was here, and that was enough, for the
moment. He was tired, so damn tired, and his eyes started to drift closed.

 "Hey." Bodie's voice came to him again, oddly gentle. "Don't you think
you've slept enough, lately?"

 Still not quite sure what the hell was going on, Doyle looked up at Bodie
again, and was startled to see what looked like tears glistening in his
partner's eyes. The nurse came forward with a drink of water and helped
him drink, the cool liquid dousing the fire in his throat where the tube
had been. When he looked back, the tears were gone, and Doyle wondered if
he'd imagined it.

 "What...am I doing...here?"

 "Don't you remember?"

 With a great deal of effort Doyle managed to shake his head, and saw
Bodie frown slightly.

 "But you know who I am, yeah?"

 If he'd had the energy, Doyle would have rolled his eyes. Bloody stupid
question. "Course I... do."

 The nurse smiled and straightened up from where she'd been leaning over
the bed. "I'll go and get the doctor. Welcome back, Mr Doyle."

 Doyle followed the nurse out with his eyes, and saw someone stood close
by the door. With a bit of concentration he could bring the figure into
focus enough to recognise Susan as she slipped out after the nurse. But he
turned his attention back to Bodie. He was becoming more alert every
second, even if he did feel awful, and was still waiting to find out what
had happened.

 "Well?" he managed weakly.

 ******

Bodie's relief that Doyle had woken up and recognised him was plain to
see, and tactfully Susan followed the nurse out of the room when she left.

 Glancing back through the glass panel, she watched for a few seconds as
Bodie leaned in closer to his partner. Doyle seemed to try and raise his
hand, but barely managed to lift it up from the bed, and Bodie placed his
hand over Doyle's, offering some small measure of comfort as he started to
speak.

 Doyle obviously took the comfort that was offered, because he relaxed
back into the pillows, the natural panic they'd seen clearly displayed on
his face as he came to dissipating thanks to his partner's presence.

 The partners were back together again.

 Smiling, Susan walked away down the corridor, heading for a phone to tell
Cowley the good news.

 -- THE END --

   Archive Home