"No" Bodie shouted desperately, but his plea was lost inside the explosion of noise, debris and fire that engulfed the vacant warehouse where his partner had disappeared moments before. His effort to run toward the building was thwarted quickly as he was tackled by three men, who held him even as he fought to get to his knees. "Ray," he pleaded softly, as another explosion filled the air around him. "Ray," he sobbed.
George Cowley, Controller of CI5, the British Government's elite intelligence service, cringed as his gaze found the closed face of one half of his top team. "6-2 get him in the car and take him back to his flat. Stay with him." Murphy nodded grimly before gently pulling the man up and leading him to a silver Capri.
Back in his office two hours later, George Cowley sat wearily in his chair before picking up the secure phone and dialing. "4-5?"
"Yes, sir."
"Everything went as planned." Cowley started.
"Bo...3-7?"
"6-2 is with him, Doyle."
"We should have told him!"
"Unless everyone buys your death, this won't work. This is too important to leave up to your partner's acting abilities."
"He'll never forgive us," Doyle responded quietly. "The only two people he trusts lying to him…"
"You acted on my orders, 4-5. 3-7 will just have to accept it."
CI5CI5CI5
Bodie lay in a tight ball on top of the duvet in his room, a pillow clutched tightly to his chest. Mindful of the agent in his lounge, all he could do was rock slowly back and forth. "Ah Ray, you promised," he whispered over and over again.
A grim Cowley gave the news of the loss of Raymond Doyle at the morning briefing before sending Jax to relieve Murphy. Bodie remained on the bed, ignoring the quiet words of comfort Murphy imparted before leaving. Shortly after noon, he appeared in the lounge, startling Jax, and announced his intention of returning to headquarters.
He stood at parade rest in the Controller's office, his face pale, blue black shadows highlighting the pain and loss in the blue eyes. "I need to tell R…4-5's family, sir."
Cowley argued with him; having planned to keep the news inside the department, but gave into his agent's demands when it was clear he intended to do it with or without the controller's blessing.
At the Doyle Household, Ray's mother took the news stoically before slapping the messenger's face. "So the great Mr. Bodie failed did he? Ray trusted you to keep him safe – look where that got him."
Cowley looked carefully at the silent man beside him as their car re-entered London. "3-7."
"I'd like to go to me flat, sir."
"Bodie?"
"Me flat, please, sir."
Three days later, Bodie stood outside the cemetery wall, watching as his partner's casket was lowered into the ground. The Doyle family had banned CI5 for the funeral. "So sorry mate," his whisper floated away on the cold breeze.
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Jax was sitting in Bodie's flat when Cowley entered. "3-7?"
"In his room, sir. Been there since he got back from the cemetery yesterday."
Cowley pushed open the door and cursed. The room was empty; the window slightly open. After berating his agent, and sending him on his way, he used the secure phone in the flat. "''Lo."
"3-7 is gone."
"What? How long? You promised he'd be safe!"
"Where would he go?"
"Don't…check my flat. If the bike's gone, I think I know where he'd head."
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"Meet me at the training facility in 20 minutes," Cowley ordered, staring at the empty garage.
Ray Doyle stood in the shadows, waiting until he was sure George Cowley was alone. "Bike?"
"Gone."
"Need a helicopter. It's a four hour drive and he has a hell of a head start. I'm coming with you." He finished; hands on hips, green eyes flashing.
"4-5," the warning was clear.
"No. I did it your way and look where it got us! He needs to know. It's the only way I'll agree to continue this charade."
They drove twenty minutes after the chopper landed in a car borrowed from the locals up a twisting dark, dirt road, which ended in a small clearing. A cottage rested there in the faint light of early morning.
"3-7!" Cowley called as he rounded the front and caught sight of his agent slouched in a chair; glass in one hand, gun in the other. "3-7!"
"It's Bodie, George. B-O-D-I-E. No more numbers. Left that on your desk with me badge."
"Thirty day notice that's the rule," Cowley responded, wishing the bowed head would lift so he could see the blue eyes.
"You took Ray, that's all you get."
"Bodie," Ray called softly as he slipped onto the porch to stand with his boss. The slack body jerked out of the chair; sending it and the glass flying. "Bodie-mate, need your help on this one." Ray stepped forwarded, cringing at the look of pain sitting in the blue eyes. "Bodie luv," he whispered as his hand tenderly brushed his partner's cheek.
"Ray?" It was asked so softly he almost missed it.
"S'me Angelfish, s'me." He fell to his knees, gasping for breath after being punched hard in the stomach. He heard his partner disappear nosily into the woods.
"Doyle?"
"Fine, I'm fine," he choked out as he lurched to his feet and headed after his partner. He found him in a small clearing a ways from the cottage.
"I'm sorry, Bodie. There's a lot we need to talk about, but first we need to get back to London. You're scheduled to testify this afternoon against Hayden."
"3-7," George Cowley said joining his agents, "your partner was acting under orders, doing his job, and now I expect you to do yours." Bodie turned on his heel and strode off.
He remained silent all the way back to London. Doyle's efforts to get him to talk failed. Once the chopper landed, Doyle moved to leave, only to return to his partner's side. "Bodie, mate, I'm sorry, but I had a job to do; never wanted to hurt you. Watch your back around Hayden, please."
3-7 sat outside the court room, waiting to be called, surrounded by three operatives. He made no sound, leaning back against the wall, eyes closed. Murphy, Jax, and Anson were nervous. Bodie never sat still, and was somewhat legendary among the mob for his lack of patience. At 1630 hours the government's solicitor sent them home with the warning to be there bright and early the next day.
On the steps, still surrounded, Bodie's head whipped up. "Down!" he yelled pushing Murphy and Jax to the ground while reaching for his gun. Four shots then silence. It wasn't until they were in the car that Jax realized there was blood on Bodie's jacket. "Casualty," he ordered Anson, who was at the wheel, as he leaned over to take a closer look. "How bad it is, Bodie," he asked.
"Headquarters. The doctor can see to it. Just needs a bandage."
"Bodie?"
"S'okay Murph."
Cowley met them in the small medical office, watching as the doctor helped the silent man put on a clean shirt Murphy had liberated from his locker. "3-7, with me," he ordered. He took a circuitous route to a small hotel in the West End and herded his operative to a 4th floor room. He knocked, and Ray Doyle opened the door. Cowley ushered his injured agent in and urged him onto the bed. "4-5, I'll pick him up in time for court tomorrow."
The silence hung in the room long after the Controller left. Bodie lay on his back, his right hand over his eyes, propped on two pillows. Ray had taken root in a large, overstuffed chair. He suddenly bolted upright, startling the man on the bed, who moaned as his wound stretched. "Bodie? Bodie, are you alright?" Blue eyes opened to find green ones at close range. Neither man seemed able to look away. "Cuppa?" Doyle offered, stepping back.
"Ta," was the whispered response. Room service delivered tea with sandwiches and cakes. Doyle placed several on a plate before handing it to his charge.
"Shower?" Ray offered once Bodie's plate was empty.
"What about the bandages?"
"Cowley left some clean ones."
Bodie left the bathroom dressed in track bottoms, a towel slung round his shoulders. "Need a little help, mate," he said settling into a straight backed chair. Doyle picked up the clean bandages and carefully recovered the wound. When he was done, his hands slipped up to the tense shoulders and rested them there. "I'm so sorry, love."
"Thought you were gone – you promised…thought…." The dark head leaned back to rest against the warm chest.
"Oh, Bodie," Ray pulled him up and settled him in his arms. So sorry, love," he whispered kissing each of the closed eyes, and the pain lines on the pale forehead before tenderly kissing the bowed lips. Ray led him back to the bed and settled him on his side, head resting on his chest. "Just sleep, Sunshine, we'll talk through everything tomorrow when it's over. I've got you. Everything will be alright, just sleep." One hand ran reassuringly over the silky dark hair.
Bodie woke to the sound of his partner's voice, and he lay silent waiting to orientate himself. "Ray," he whispered unsure if he'd dreamed his partner had been returned to him.
"Hayden's trial, old son. The Cow will be here in thirty minutes." They got ready and Bodie opened the door to his boss. The old man eyed the two, but made no comment. "3-7, with me. 4-5, you know what to do." Bodie hesitated at the door, turning toward his partner. "Ray, tonight…" it was tentative.
"We'll talk, Bodie, my word on it."
"Tonight," Bodie repeated. Blue eyes dim since the explosion that had destroyed his world suddenly bright again, "Tonight."
Cowley was surprised with the continuing silence of his passenger. While Doyle tended to get angry and explode; his partner had a tendency to hold it all in until he lost control. He just hoped 3-7's control had a long enough fuse to get him through this day.
Murphy met them at Bodie's flat, where they waited while he changed. At the courthouse, Jax and Anson joined them. After a two hour wait, Bodie was called in. He took the stand and spent 4.5 hours answering questions. The judge silenced the barrister with a hand when a uniformed guard burst into the room. "Clear the building, bomb!"
CI5CI5CI5
Doyle and Cowley were in an interrogation room with the Foreign Minister. Lucas entered, breathless, and handed Cowley a note. After reading it, the old man raised his head and glared at the man sitting smugly at the table. "A bomb just destroyed the court house. Sixty two confirmed dead; forty seven wounded. Twenty five unaccounted for. Never would have taken you for a mass murderer, Mr. Minster."
"I," Doyle started.
"We will finish what we've started 4-5. There is nothing you can do but get in the way."
If intimidation were the order of the day, George Cowley, thought, the Minister would have copped to the crucifixion based on the menace exuded by 4-5. Ray Doyle was a hard man, but he'd never been sure just how hard until today. As soon as the Foreign Minister cracked, the younger man shot out the door and disappeared down the corridor.
CI5CI5CI5
Murphy and Jax had led there charge out a side door; the three men hurrying to clear the building. Anson had moved to the front of the building to help get everyone else out. They were 15 yards away when the place imploded. Bodie threw himself on top of his colleagues as soon as he felt the first concussion; taking them both to the ground. The three lay covered in debris for sometime before moving. Bodie made Murphy pop his dislocated shoulder back into place before heading toward the burning heap of rubble. For six hours they worked with emergency personnel sifting through the rubble looking for survivors.
Ray Doyle and the Controller rounded the corner, having been forced to leave the car three blocks away, and stopped in disbelief at the destruction in front of them. Badge clipped to his jacket, Doyle bolted forward slipping under the police tapes. He stopped, head up, eyes scanning the area. Cowley watched as the younger man stood for several minutes before moving purposely toward the area set aside to provide respite to the rescue workers. Cowley followed. There were twenty five to thirty men and women covered with dirt, grim and soot who sat or stood in a small area sipping water or tea.
Doyle didn't hesitate, moving to the back of the group and stopping before one man sitting cross legged on the ground, head down staring at the contents of the cup in his black hands. "Bodie-mate." Cowley was close enough to hear it, and knew it was not a question. The head came up slowly to reveal 3-7.
"Sunshine?"
"Come on mate, time to go home." Doyle put a hand under each elbow and carefully lifted the bigger man up as he was talking. "You alright, Bodie?"
"Need a shower, Goldilocks." Doyle smiled before slipping an arm under one shoulder and maneuvering the man back to the rope. He stopped for a moment, bracing his companion as his eyes sought his boss. "I'm taking him home."
"Aye," Cowley knew it wasn't a request.
Once in the car, he stopped to take a more thorough look at the body slumped in the passenger seat. "Maybe a stop at Casualty first."
"No," the blue eyes peered out through the grim. "Nothing you can't fix. My flat, please." Not sure if it was a request or a plea, he started the car.
He stripped the man after seating him on the toilet seat. Turning on the shower, he stripped himself while the water warmed up, before getting both of them into the stall. It took three shampoos to clear the dark hair, and he worked carefully over the muscular body with soap. Two times around, and he was as clean as he was going to be.
He toweled him dry gently, before bundling him into a robe and leading him to the kitchen. "I'll heat up some soup while I fix your hands; then it's off to bed with you."
He held one hand, gently rubbing antiseptic cream in, wrapping it carefully before moving to the other. He poured soup into a mug and his partner drank most it. Then he helped him into bed. Once he was sure he was settled, he stood to leave, only to have a bandaged hand held up to him. So he joined him, stopping only to pull the comforter up over them, and smiled as the bigger man worked himself so his head rested on a bony shoulder. Both men fell asleep.
Ray woke twice – both times because his partner was in distress. He eased him with his hands and voice. At 1:15 pm the next day, he woke to find himself snuggled up to his partner.
"Ray?"
"Hey Sunshine, How do you feel?"
"Tired, sore…we need to talk."
Green eyes surveyed the serious expression. "Why don't you use the loo, and I'll make us some tea? Then we'll talk." Bodie nodded before heading into the bathroom; his movement lacking its usual grace.
"Why?" Bodie asked, propped up by pillows after taking a sip of his tea.
"Cowley thought the Minister would be more likely to make a mistake if I wasn't around to watch you."
"I thought you were dead! You went into that warehouse, and I watched it explode. Couldn't get to you. Second explosion brought the roof down. I was…I wanted to…" He closed his eyes tightly, and his head dropped, but not before Doyle saw a single tear escape.
"I'm sorry, love. Father said it was the only way to make it work. I was afraid they'd succeed in killing you so I went along. I didn't really think it through," he reluctantly admitted, gently holding the chin so he could look at his mate.
Grim blue eyes looked up at him. "I watched them lower your coffin into the ground, Doyle. Never again! Father can find someone else to do his dirty work – I've had enough. Promise me, Ray. Never." Bandaged hands gripped his shoulders.
"I won't, my word. Had me own wakeup call when we got the note the court house exploded. Didn't know if you were alive or dead. Wasn't sure what I'd find when I saw that pile of rubble, god, Bodie…" They lapsed into silence, foreheads touching.
Bodie put his mug on the bedside table and slid down until he was laying flat. "Need another kip," he said, a small smile playing across his lips.
"Want company?"
"Ta."
Ray slid down and moved into the welcoming arms of his mate. His green eyes stared at the ceiling long after he felt the other man drift off. If Bodie wanted to leave – Bodie respected the old man, but if he wanted to pack it in, it was probably time. They'd pushed their luck about as far as it would go: too many Operation Susies; too many undercover gigs. The Cow would most definitely not be happy with them.
He tightened his hold slightly on the warm body in his arms and closed his eyes. Thoughts of a future together without guns or bombs lulled him to sleep with a smile on his face.