First of all I'd just like to apologise for how long this took to write; I have been horribly busy with barely anytime to breathe let alone write. I hope this is a fitting end to my story and that you like it. Merry Christmas to all and Happy Hogmanay!

Hey sunshine, I haven't seen you in a long time,

Why don't you show your face and bend my mind?

Simon and Garfunkel – Cloudy

Bodie ran alongside the gurney as it was wheeled along the corridors; only watching the unresponsive face of his partner. The last twenty minutes were a blur; merging together, so that all he could really remember was the decreasing awareness from Doyle and the mounting fear as he waited for the ambulance to arrive.

Cowley had been standing near him; it had been strange, for some inexplicable reason, to see him without his coat against the grey snow. Bodie knew that he should've been freezing but adrenaline and nausea had kept him warm and held the shock at bay. Because what he was feeling was shock, shock at the state he'd found his partner in, shocked at the abrupt end of his search. He'd tried desperately to cover Doyle more with the coats but Doyle had moaned in pain and slurred; "t'hot…"

"No, you're not, Ray," Bodie felt his voice crack, "you're too cold."

"Moderate hypothermia," Cowley was still scanning the road waiting for the ambulance, one eye on his agents. "Where's that damned ambulance?" Bodie didn't answer him, instead he found himself suddenly fighting against Doyle who was whimpering feverishly,

"Lemme go…'m not talking…no! No! Stop't! LEMME GO!" His voice rose to a rasping shriek and he tried to wrench away from Bodie, but pain overwhelmed him and he slumped back, unconscious.

"Ray!" Bodie hastily felt for a heartbeat just as the ambulance roared into view. "Hold on, Ray, you're gonna be fine… I promise…"

The sirens kept on wailing.

Bodie crouched, hunched over by Doyle's bed, half listening to the doctor fretting around them. Doyle's awareness was only sporadic now and when he was awake he seemed confused and panicked. Cowley was harassing one of the other members of the medical staff but that was of no interest to Bodie. He could feel the shock catching up to him but he kept fighting it. It didn't matter what was happening to him, he only cared about Doyle. "What's wrong doc?" he asked weakly. The doctor didn't answer his question but started talking at Bodie.

"He should've been sedated in the ambulance-"

"He wasn't because I told them not to!" Bodie yelled. "He's been held captive for over a month, tortured, very probably drugged several times and you want to stick another needle in him?" the last was very quiet but the man heard the undertone.

"Look Mr Bodie," he explained, "it will be much safer for your friend if he is put under and since he is delirious we can't give him a tablet. The only other way is an injection. I promise this is the best course of action we can take." He watched Bodie's face, trying to gauge his expression of distaste as he wrestled with the idea. At that moment he felt rather than saw Doyle lash out at an invisible enemy and smack his arm against the wall behind him. He yelped in pain before lapsing into a deeper sleep.

"Do it," Bodie muttered.

Bodie opened his eyes slowly. Even the dimmed lights made his vision smart and he realised that he must've been asleep for a while. He was still curled up in the hard plastic chair that frequented all hospitals but his head was resting on the side of Doyle's bed. Yawning, he tried to ease himself into a sitting position, wincing at the twinges coming from his stiff muscles. There was clock ticking away outside and if he squinted he could see the hands resting at eleven o'clock. He'd been asleep for over twelve hours; a deep, undisturbed rest, quite unlike anything he'd had for a very long time. A sudden stab of cobalt fear slashed through his stomach and he whipped his head around. Doyle was still there. The butterflies settled down and he let his breath out in a huff. He didn't know why he'd had to check.

He hadn't wanted to close his eyes but sheer exhaustion had forced the darkness down on him. He settled back in the chair, tiredness hovering at the edge of his vision like a shadowy ghost but Bodie pushed it away, returning to his vigil.

Benny and Murphy had dropped in briefly following the success of the mission, but neither had been able to stay long; Cowley had wanted them to interrogate the captured KGB agents. Murphy had been called away but Benny had hung around for a bit longer, staring in disbelief. Doyle lay on the bed, the pallor of his face perfectly matching the sheets, the various intravenous lines twisting away from him in a strange simplicity. The medics had attended to the gashes and burns as best they could but the bandages just seemed to bleach the colour even more so the marks stood out harshly on his skinny frame.

"They really worked him over didn't they?" he murmured, "The bastards just snatched him right from under us." From under me, Bodie thought, and I didn't even see it coming. "Did they say anything?"

"Two broken ribs, extensive bruising, malnutrition, dehydration…" Bodie paused in his monotone delivery and finished with, "and blind."

"Je-sus," Benny's face twisted in disgust and Bodie saw a flash of anger behind his eyes, anger echoed in Bodie himself. "I saw those rooms Bodie; I'd have gone mad within a couple weeks," he shook his head, "who thought of that? Whose idea was it to – to…?"

"I want to know how they found him," Bodie said darkly. He didn't tell Benny about Doyle fighting him or the fact that his recognition of Bodie was only occasional. He didn't – couldn't talk about that. He didn't think he could talk about anything yet. They fell into silence, words exhausted. Bodie's skin itched and he just wanted Benny to go, this was something he had to face himself. Sensing his friend's worry anxiety anxiety Benny moved away and to the door. He knew enough not to say 'he'll be ok,' or 'it'll be alright,' because they knew the depravity that humans could inflict on each other and they'd seen it. Every time a bomb was set off in a crowded shopping centre they saw it. Every time some madman threatened to gas a public area because their ideas were not his ideas, they saw it. Every hostage, victim or newly dead body testified to that. But that was their job. They were CI5.

But sometimes one of their own was affected.

"I'm sorry Bodie."

I'm not the one we need to say sorry to, Bodie thought.

The hours slithered slowly by, like a snake shedding its skin. Bodie drank polystyrene cup after polystyrene cup of tasteless coffee, staring off into space, just waiting. The corridors were occasionally patrolled by the night shift but mostly the world was silent for him. It smelt like some clinical limbo, a smell Bodie was sure wasn't going to come off him anytime soon. But as he kept reminding himself; Doyle was alive, not in any serious physical danger and safe in hospital.

But his mind mightn't be whole and Bodie couldn't face that.

Because that meant that he had failed in his duty. That would mean he hadn't brought Doyle home.

He had cried as he had carried Doyle from the hellhole they'd found. He hadn't really cried for the entire time that he'd been missing, just been angry and hollow inside. But sheer relief had breached the stony walls he had built. The walls were back now and Bodie welcomed the protection they offered. He could retreat inside and attempt to rebuild his shattered thoughts, waiting for Doyle to wake properly.

The door opened beside him, sending his hand flying towards his gun. Luckily, before he could draw it, a doctor walked in and started checking the IV lines and taking notes. Bodie took a breath. "Shouldn't the anaesthetic have worn off by now?" he asked.

The doctor jumped and spun around, alarm radiating off him, the clipboard slid out of his hands to clatter on the floor. Bodie unfolded himself out of the chair and scooped it up. Extending his arm to the man he said, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The man regarded him suspiciously, his gaze taking in the shadows around Bodie's eyes and his unshaven features. Finally Bodie fumbled inside his jacket and brought out his CI5 I.D, flipping it open one-handed, he showed to the doctor. The man relaxed partially, but the wariness was still there, lurking behind his eyes.

"This is outside visiting hours," he told Bodie reproachfully.

"Protection." He countered, holding the doctor's gaze. He didn't recognise the man but he assumed that he was the night staff; his name badge read Dr Marcus. "How is he?" Dr Marcus caught the worry tailing the question and answered as best as he could.

"The anaesthetic will have worn off by now, but the patient shows signs of sleep deprivation. He'll be sleeping that off for a while."

"Ray was confused; when I… found him he knew who I was but… now he doesn't," Dr Marcus shook his head.

"He's suffered a very traumatic attack on his system. I've never seen anything like this before; I don't know how he'll cope with this-"

"Ray's a fighter." Bodie stated. The doctor didn't look convinced but continued nevertheless.

"I don't know how he got like this, and I'm sure I don't want to know, but he may never be the same person…" Bodie turned away, biting down on his lip.

"He will." He lifted his head. "What about his eyes? Why can't he see?" Dr Marcus huffed out and flipped up a piece of paper, reading the scrawling loops that passed for handwriting.

"We don't think it's serious," Bodie felt his shoulders droop in relief.

"So he'll be able to see again?" he asked hungrily. If Doyle could see it meant he wouldn't have completely failed. The doctor shrugged carefully, Bodie watched as the glow at the end of the tunnel diminished somewhat.

"I'm not promising anything, it could be permanent, but it just seems to be lack of use."

"What does that mean?" Bodie queried sharply, "Lack of use?"

Dr Marcus sighed; "as in, has not been used-"

"I know that!" Bodie snapped. The man stepped away, his clipboard coming up as a sort of shield between him and Bodie. The tableau wavered there for a second, Bodie trying to regain a grip on his emotions and Dr Marcus watching him. Finally Bodie closed his eyes and managed to climb down from his mountain. "Sorry," he mumbled. The doctor accepted his apology by tucking the pen into his coat pocket.

"It just means that he hasn't been able to use his sight for such a time that his eyes need time to adjust. I don't know how long it will take, but we are eighty five percent sure that he will regain normal vision."

"Thank God," Bodie had to sit down because his legs were threatening to topple him to the floor. Dr Marcus finished his checks on the medical equipment before striding out to the door. He paused and turned back towards the agent.

"Like I said; I don't want to know what happened to Mr Doyle. I just want to do my job."

Bodie nodded and said; "I'm not sure I want to know either."

"It's your world Mr Bodie. Not mine and I want no part of it."

Bodie was left in the dimness of the hospital listening to Doyle's breathing, his fingers jumping over each other as he waited for some sign of his partner. Some sign of true life.

Bodie jerked out of his restless thoughts. For a moment he was dazed, unaware of what had shaken him back into everyday realisation. There was a small movement from his right and his gaze was dragged relentlessly to the still figure on the bed. Bodie's heart leapt as he saw Doyle's eyes open. He jumped out of the chair and hurried over to his partner.

He stopped stock still as he saw Doyle's face crease into an expression of terror. Please God, Bodie thought, don't do this to me… Doyle's hand reached for his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The other began scrambling for the IV lines. Bodie seized his wrist, the bones sharp against his palm. "Ray, calm down please, you need that." The panicked fighting was arrested by his words.

"Bodie?" the word was rusty and almost impossible to hear, but it made Bodie want to cry in relief. Doyle recognised his voice. Doyle knew who he was.

"Yeah, it's me sunshine. It's me."

"I can't see," Doyle's voice was strained and Bodie lent in to hear. "Bodie, I can't see!" Hysteria was creeping behind the words, tinged with the aftermath of pain.

"I know sunshine," Bodie didn't relinquish his grip on Doyle's wrist, only prised his fingers so they hung loosely as not to present a threat, "it's ok, Ray, it's not serious. You'll see again. I promise, the quacks think it's just lack of sunlight. You'll be wearing sunglasses long before you'll be going on that bike of yours." He sort of mumbled the last bit but Doyle heard him.

"Where am I?" he asked weakly, his eyelids fluttering as he fought to keep them open.

"Hospital, you were brought in yesterday morning and you've been out for a very long time," Bodie had to stop to swallow the crack in his words, "Jesus Ray, you don't look good."

"Don't feel… very good…" Exhaustion dragged at this sentence and Bodie watched as his friend slipped back into sleep, his breathing coming soft and even. Bodie held his hand for a while longer, until he was sure that Doyle was completely unaware. Then he rubbed at his eyes and settled back into the chair, feeling better than he had in over a month.

Doyle woke up again around four pm. In that time Bodie had grudgingly passed his bed-sit to Cowley, and gone home for a quick shower and change of clothes. He was back in little over an hour, the paranoia eating away at his guts. He had the horrible feeling that if he left Doyle, he would wake up and realise that he was still missing; that the rescue had all been some hoped for dream but Doyle was still on the bed when he arrived.

"That was quick," Cowley observed, "I want to talk to you." Bodie stared at him uncomprehendingly and Cowley indicated the door. "Not in here," he said. Bodie followed him out into the corridor.

"What's this about sir?"

"We interrogated Antonov, he's being held in the CI5 cells." Bodie shrugged, admitting that the fact didn't change anything one way or the other.

"What about him?"

"He's unhinged," Cowley said.

"We knew that."

"He's still saying he'll get you two." Bodie frown.

"Us? I could understand about – about Ray but me?" Cowley removed his glasses and sighed.

"Doyle wasn't their only target, lad." Bodie felt his stomach lurch as realisation dawned.

"The fight…" he glanced back through into the room where Doyle was sleeping, "it could've been me in there."

"Aye lad," a fierce look came into Bodie's eyes.

"It'd been better if it had been me," he declared darkly. Cowley glanced at him.

"Why do you say that?"

"'Cause, you would've noticed that I'd gone. I wasn't going undercover the next day was I? The cavalry would've arrived much sooner. We didn't even realise that something was wrong for three days!" Aware of Bodie's temper, the gruff Scotsman nodded.

"But if what if both of you were taken?" he asked. "Do you think that would've been any better?" Bodie shook his head; the images that reared behind his eyes made him want to gag. Seeing Doyle here, like this, was bad enough – but being there, while Antonov applied his 'trade' would be crushing. "Aye I thought so." Cowley glanced at his watch and began walking down the corridor. "I'll contact you if there is anything else."

Bodie slipped back inside just in time to see Doyle's eyes open again.

"Feeling any better?" he asked. Doyle moved his head slightly.

"Didn't you bring me any grapes?"

"Can't," Bodie informed him, trying to insert some teasing into his words, "doctor's orders, you're supposed to be on a restricted diet."

"Oh," Bodie wasn't sure whether Doyle was answering his taunt or in pain, so he quickly changed the subject.

"Do you want anything?" he inquired. Doyle shook his head gingerly and Bodie sighed. Doyle's eyes were still vacant, still unseeing. Still tired. He stood up as he saw Doyle yawn. "I should let you get some sleep," he said, secretly hoping that Doyle wouldn't go back to into a corpselike doze, it scared him. Doyle didn't answer.

"I thought I was going to die." Bodie jumped, not understanding how he should respond. Not now Ray, he silently begged, don't do this to yourself now…

"Ssh, just go to sleep Ray," he told his partner, "You can tell Cowley later." Doyle shook his head determinately.

"I tried…"

"Tried what?"

"Escaping. I nearly made it once…" Doyle swallowed, "made it right out into the hall before they caught me." He closed his eyes, "I didn't get any food for three or four days after that… I reckoned I could make it so I tried again…" Doyle's face twisted as he remembered, blinking rapidly. "There was a room… with a white door…" Bodie leant over and closed Doyle's drooping eyelids.

"I know, Ray, but the best thing would be to get some sleep, yeah?"

"Don't want to,"

"Come on Ray-"

"I'll be back there," Doyle managed the impressive feat of looking embarrassed on the edge of oblivion. "I don't want to cause it hurts, Bodie."

"How about I'll be here when you wake up, alright?" Bodie said softly, moving to beside the bed. Doyle turned his face towards his voice.

"Promise?" he asked.

"Promise,"

"I'm sorry Bodie," Doyle whispered as he drifted off. Bodie's stomach lurched. He was sorry? He wanted to ask why but it was too late.

Bodie learnt a lot about Doyle's nightmares that night.

Arthur strode along the corridor towards the noise coming from Cell Three. Five days had passed since the raid and the young agent was still feeling the aches from the battle. Shifting his shoulders irritably he fumbled in his pocket for the key. "Quit making such a racket!" he yelled through the lock. The incessant banging continued and he yelled again before feeling the mechanisms click into place. He patted his Browning inside the right breast of his jacket, feeling the blued metal under his fingers. Then he stepped through the door and onto the wood floor beyond.

His first search of the room revealed nothing, and he never got the chance of a second. Antonov leapt on him from behind and with a practised twist of his arms, snapped the young agent's neck. He fell without a cry, foam speckling the edge of his lips. Smiling to himself; Antonov lent over the body and relieved it of the weapon, which he hefted in his hands, admiring the weight and sheen.

"You won't need this anymore moy priyatel'," he said to the corpse, tucking the gun into his belt. Then as silently as a cat he left the cell, locking the door behind him. He had work to do.

On the wooden floor, young Arthur slumped, green eyes empty of any sign of life.

Something stirred Doyle out of his restless dreams. He hung somewhere between awareness and imaginings, trying to pinpoint what had woken him. He didn't open his eyes as while his eyesight was returning, it disturbed him to still only see blurs in the darkness. His ears picked up the whisper of the door closing and he relaxed, thinking Bodie must have come back from the vender or something. Then the sound of the blind being drawn shocked him like an entire bucket of ice had been dumped on him. Bodie wouldn't close the blinds. The doctors never closed them.

There was someone else here.

Immediately every muscle in his body tensed, he ignored the needles of pain, listening intently. Luckily all of his IV lines had been removed so if necessary he could roll off the bed –

He misjudged the distance between him and the intruder. A hand came down on his mouth just as he tried to scramble away. His hands shot up to grab it but the movement was abruptly halted by the pressure of cold steel against his temple. "Hello, Mr Doyle."

Doyle panicked.

"I wouldn't do that, Mr Doyle," Antonov said slyly, "A bullet in the brain might be… messy." Doyle recognised the impending glee in his voice and the mounting fear in his own belly as he heard the tone. Antonov felt the shivery reaction under his hands and revelled in it. Here he had power, not the weak force he used on the CI5 agents during his interrogation, but real, proper supremacy supremacy and he loved it. "I don't want you to make a sound Mr Doyle, not until I tell you too," he told the stilled form under his hand, "or else…" he let the threat hang in the air. But a truncated stubbornness had returned to Doyle during the last few days and he kicked out in vague direction of his attacker. His blows barely registered with the KGB agent who just shoved the gun harder into his temple.

He doesn't have access to that, Doyle told himself, not here, not now, and he was damned if he was going to let him take him again! But the cold weight of the gun was far too real to ignore. He stopped moving, his eyes were open now, darting franticly in an unmet hope of sight. The world was still just an unfocussed kaleidoscope of colour. Antonov laughed softly.

"Your partner's here, isn't he?" Doyle froze. Oh god… Antonov removed his hand from Doyle's mouth and said, "Call him." Doyle shook his head insolently. "Call him."

"No," Doyle muttered. Antonov backed off momentarily rolling his eyes.

"Call him." Then he deliberately lent on Doyle's ribs.

Bodie shut the door to the loo carefully. Even through Doyle was now the only occupant in this area (the last one, a woman who had just undergone an operation on her appendix or liver, had been moved) of the hospital, old habits die hard. He wandered back towards the door leading to Doyle's room. As he neared the door he heard his radio give a sharp, short squawk. He had thrown it carelessly onto the seat, a breakage from his normal behaviour. With all that had conspired within the last few weeks who could blame him for being a little lax? He scooped the R/T up and his mouth formed the answer 'three'-

The scream snapped his head up; his heart pumped into overdrive, his blood racing around his body as adrenalin surged through in an unstoppable rage. He turned and crashed through the door, recognising that it was a scream of pain…

"Bodie! No!" The warning was a fraction of a second too late and Bodie barrelled straight into Antonov's trap. Doyle heard the thump of a gun coming down on his partner but he was too shocked even to scream. His ribs were still on fire and it had been all he could do to shout his warning. Bodie was only dazed, but that was enough for Antonov. With expert ease he pivoted the stumbling agent around and swiftly handcuffed him to the radiator. By the time Bodie had blinked himself into full awareness he was tightly secured in place. Antonov had moved back to the bed and was hauling Doyle upright, ignoring his groans as he fought for control over his limbs. The Browning glinted in the light and Bodie felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Neither of you make a sound," Antonov ordered coolly, a smile disfiguring his mouth. It was an easy smile because he knew that everything was going to plan, "or I'll shoot you both here and now." Doyle felt his heart flutter into double-time, feeling the icy cobalt fear slicing through his stomach. Did anyone know Antonov was free? How had he found them? As if he had read his mind Antonov said, "Your agents should be a little bit quieter when they're speaking outside cells." Bodie tugged on his restraints, the jangling made his heart sink. Antonov shook his head condescendingly. "No Mr Bodie, you don't want to do that."

"What are you doing here?" Bodie demanded, his gaze never leaving Doyle's too-pale face. "Put him down!"

"Oh, I shall in just a minute, Mr Bodie. Impatience will get you nowhere in life." The gun moved from Doyle's temple to pointing at Bodie. Doyle felt the movement through his aches and stabs of agony, but his body wasn't obeying the orders from his brain. He hung laxly in the KGB agent's grip, his eyes still squeezed shut. The light hurt and he couldn't see enough to help anyway.

"Why are you here?" Bodie wanted to know. "CI5 will be after you," The gun swung swung lazily downwards and Bodie gulped.

"I know they will, Mr Bodie," Antonov smirked. "Though I doubt they'll fire on me while I have a hostage to bargain with." Bodie glanced at him in alarm.

"You can't take Ray!" Doyle tensed. Despair washed over him as it had so many times in captivity. The nightmare would never be over. He was never going to get his life back. But Antonov's next words sent a chill rushing down his spine.

"I don't need a broken toy, Mr Bodie. I just need you." The smile became broader as his intentions dawned on the pair. He sensed the shock radiation of both of them. "Unfortunate choice of words don't you think?" The gun began to move.

Doyle's mind spun in horror. Antonov was going to kill him and take Bodie with him. He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to protect Bodie from the terrors that he had been subjected to. He may have failed escaping from Antonov's clutches before but this time it wasn't his life riding on the outcome. Not really.

All this processed through his brain in a couple of seconds. With an inhuman effort Doyle grabbed for the gun, taking a microsecond of triumph as his fingers closed around the barrel. Antonov had not anticipated the move and he let go in surprise, his other arm slipping from around his prisoner. Freed, Doyle managed one step before his legs gave up on him. He crumpled to the floor, his descent helped by Antonov's boot connecting with his skull. The crash pushed his ribs together like an accordion and it was only the force of will that prevented him from throwing up. Consciousness danced around him and he could feel himself fading. He could barely hear over the rushing in his ears, the sense that he had been relaying on. This was going to drastic measures. A hand reached down and closed about the barrel of the gun. Another hand grabbed his wrist and the gun lifted upright…

Doyle's finger contracted on the trigger.

Bodie yelled as he heard the explosion and saw both bodies slump. From his position he couldn't see what had happened, the bed blocked his view. But he could see the fresh blood splattered across the white sheets in a gory mimicry of modern art. Could one person have all that blood? "Ray!" he called, his voice sounding tinny and useless, "RAY!" The smell clogged his nose and mouth and he realised that he had been hit by stray droplets as well. The bodies didn't move. He strained at the handcuffs, the cold metal biting into his skin. A thunder of footsteps clattered down the corridor and Bodie heard Murphy's voice calling their names. The cavalry had arrived.

The door swung open, Murphy was through first, his gun snouted. He stopped stock still, shocked by what he saw. Benny and Jax pushed past him, and Cowley took up the rear, cursing his bad leg for slowing him down. They spotted Bodie. Murphy moved towards him, digging in his pocket for his lock-picks. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Bodie snapped, "Ray –" Benny had moved around the side of the bed with a sick trepidation, stepping carefully around the splashes of blood on the floor. Antonov was obviously dead. The dead tended to have more face. Benny didn't feel sorry. The gun was abandoned in a slick pool of the stuff and reluctantly the agent let his gaze travel along the floor until it reached Doyle. His stomach flipped. There was an awful lot of blood soaking his clothes. Before he could move forward to investigate he was shoved aside by Bodie. Ignoring the mess that soaked his trousers he knelt beside his friend, his fingers moving for a pulse. He didn't need to. Doyle stirred and Bodie realised that the blood was all Antonov's. Relief thrummed through him making him light-headed but that could've just been the aftereffect of the wallop he'd received. As he helped Doyle in a more comfortable position he whispered, "You honourable bastard."

Bodie sat by Doyle's bed, his head had been examined by the doctors and he had be pronounced to be concussion free. For that Bodie was grateful. Doyle had also he check over and while the kick had left a rather nasty bruise, that was all that had been damaged. Doyle was still asleep; the overexertion had exhausted him to the point of collapse, but Bodie felt he could truly relax. Antonov was dead, the rest of the group were imprisoned and Doyle was recovering nicely. Just in time for Christmas too. Bodie smiled. He'd forgotten all about the holiday and it'd only been Karen popping in with Christmas presents for both of them that he'd been reminded. Gazing at the walls in the new room he suddenly had an idea. With a quick word to the pretty nurse to tell Doyle he was at the loo or something, he scampered down the corridor as fast as his feet would carry him.

Bodie rested in the chair, lulled into a half sleep when a voice made him sit bolt upright. "Christ Bodie! You look terrible!" His head snapped round. Doyle was half propped up on his elbows staring at him. He was looking at Bodie. He was really looking at him!

Bodie was so surprised and ecstatic that he could only reply with; "you – you hypocrite! You don't look like an oil painting yourself." Doyle grinned in amusement, and Bodie, buoyantly Bodie-ishly continued, "in fact, I'd say you were little more than a pencil sketch." Doyle laughed a sort of bubbling cackle, something Bodie was worried that he'd never hear again. It sounded better to Bodie's ears than angels singing. Doyle moved his head and he saw the tinsel and fairy lights which Bodie had so painstakingly put up earlier that evening.

"Pretty," he murmured softly. Bodie grinned at him and Doyle gave him a shrewd glance. "I thought you hated Christmas." His partner shrugged.

"This year, I might make an exception," he said. Doyle nodded, smiling.

"Merry Christmas Bodie."

"Merry Christmas to you too, sunshine, and a happy new year."

Fin

Dedicated to the memories of;

The amazing Lewis Collins,

The unforgettable Gordon Jackson,

And the underrated Steve Alder