Credits to Kate for the beta… great job. Thanks, Kate, I owe you!

This story refers to the story Partnerships, in which two generations of CI5 meet each other on a joint case.
The four know each other and get along nicely.

The time: late at night, wintertime

The players: Bodie, Ray Doyle, Sam Curtis and Chris Keel

The props: - first act: cosy lights, bar stools, the smell of beer and cigarettes;
- second act: uncomfortable plastic chairs, lukewarm tea and harsh white corridor lights.

"There it is." Chris Keel pointed to a pub, which seemed cosily lit behind red-white checked curtains.

Sam Curtis nodded, checking the name "Maudie's" on the façade.

"That's it, indeed. Bodie said he'd meet us inside."

"I'm gonna get him stone drunk." Chris chuckled. "He said he'd drink me under the table - but then he's never met the real, Chris ex-SEAL Keel, right?"

Sam grinned.

"Oh, he knows alright. And better that you keep those remarks to yourself, Chris. Bodie might just be a little more prepared than you think."

"Well, we'll just have to see about that, right? I'm the mood for a night out - pool, beer, women…" Chris' face lit up to the prospect.

"Not necessarily in that order, I take it?" Sam laughed at his partners' extrovertness. Then he noticed something in the ample light. "For Christ's sake - you brought along your piece?!"

The somewhat sheepish grin confirmed Sam's question.

"Forgot to take it off after the practice this evening - and it seems unwise to leave it in the car in such a populated area, right?"

"You've just reduced your evening entertainment issues by one. Women don't seem particularly keen on men with guns."

"Don't be an idiot - I won't go using it!" Chris didn't look particularly comfortable with Sam's annoyance.

"Knowing you - you'll be waving it to get the Budweiser on the table quicker, buddy."

"Nag, nag, nag."

"Oh, come on Dirty Harry. Let's get inside."

"Hey, weren't we supposed to meet Ray here? I don't see him anywhere 'round?"

Sam shook his head and pushed the door to the pub open. "He called me - said he had a wisdom tooth taken out this morning and from the sound of it, he -"

Before he could finish his sentence, Chris silenced him by pulling him aside. He nodded curtly.

"What the hell…"

Bodie was in the middle of what looked like the beginnings of a fight. The nice, cosy pub had turned into an arena. At one side, pressed against the wall, stood three women, huddled together in fright. One of them had had her shirt cut to shreds and although she was scared she tried to hide her nakedness with her arms. She was being held back by two men, young, but well built, who looked menacingly across at Bodie, who was arguing with one of the other members of their gang. The bar tender was no where in sight, and a bouncer wasn't standard personnel here.

A flash, something flickered in the dim light.

"I told you," Bodie said, with a calm, but extremely dangerous glow in his eyes, "to leave her alone." He glanced at the woman and the two men holding her.

"Let her go."

"Oh yeah? You come and get her. First, I'll take you - and then her." The man facing him spat his words out with scarcely concealed amusement. He was dressed in dark heavy leather clothes with studs and chains as decoration. His hair was greasy, his face was badly scarred by acne and the dirt under his finger nails and filthy hands showed his reluctance to having a regular bath. He reminded Bodie of a weasel - or a ferret.

About a dozen, almost similar looking guys formed a half circle around Bodie. He tried to step over to the woman, to reassure her and remove her from the danger she was most definitely in. Then Ferretface, who had been the one doing all the talking, jumped forwards.

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, startling the mob, just long enough for Chris to jump forwards and grab the hand of one of the bystanders, a stocky thug who was holding a knife.

Ferretface did indeed stop for a split second, before he grabbed a barstool and smashed it against the counter. The shattered remains of the stool left him with a vicious weapon: a sturdy wrist-thick pole that he used to threaten Bodie, Sam and Chris with.

With a terrible cry Ferretface dived forwards and swung the pole like a baseball bat at Bodie, aiming for his head. But Bodie, his age deceiving the man, ducked supplely and launched himself into the resulting fight.

"Sam - Chris! Get the women out!" Bodie shouted. Sam, who was closest to them, knocked the two 'guards' away, sending them off to dreamland with two solid blows. He grabbed two of the three scared, shaking and fear-paralysed women and pushed them, hitting and kicking at the men around him, to the door. With professional skills he cut short the attempts of several attackers, but Sam knew that both he, Chris and Bodie were well out-numbered and that they had to use every trick they knew.

He hastily shoved his car keys into the trembling hands of one of the women.

"Go to my car - a blue Terrano. It's around the corner. Get in and lock the doors. Use the car phone to call the police."

He scrambled his way back to the last woman, who had crawled backwards, deeper into the niche, panicked by the fight that revolved around her. Sam huddled as close to her as he could, then grabbed her arm.

"Come on, it's alright. You-"

The next thing he knew was, that three sets of hands were grabbing him, and hauling him up. A fourth guy held the terrified woman back.

Meanwhile Chris was in the middle of another part of the fracas, in a different part of the bar. Bodie and he stood back to back, advancing and defending themselves fiercely, and slowly but surely gaining on their opponents. Ferretface had been leading the group, screaming and shouting, but now he climbed onto the bar; obviously he had chosen a strategic point from where he could overlook the rumble.

In the reflection of the mirror Chris saw him suddenly aiming for Bodie, the blade of a large stiletto knife glistening in the light. The movement of the arm, poised to throw the knife at the broad shouldered fighter who stood directly in his way, aroused every reflex in Chris' body.

"Bodie! Behind you!" the American screamed and jumped forwards to grab his friend and pull him down before the knife could slice into Bodie's back.

As the knife sank into him, Chris felt the heat running through his abdomen.

God, he whispered, I'm hit. Disbelief coloured his vision. Or was it the red of the blood that appeared so quickly? He felt his knees falter.

Bodie was enraged when he saw Chris taking the knife that Ferretface had meant for him. In a furious attack he jumped up onto the bar and with one precise kick, swept the feet of Ferretface out from underneath him. A fierce kick in the ribs drove the breath from Bodie's lungs but recovering quickly in the next moment, he was on top of Ferretface and hit him so hard, that with one blow, he knocked him out cold. He grabbed the man by his collar and threw him behind the counter. Without their leader visible he reasoned, the group might fall apart faster.

With two big steps he was next to Chris again, but the American waved his hand at the far corner. Hastily, in between clenched teeth, he said:

"Help Sam. Quickly. I'm fine - just fine. Go!"

Chris was not fine, Bodie knew but Sam needed assistance too. A group was using him as a punch bag. His cheekbone was cut and bleeding, but, though doubling over slightly, he stood firm.

Bodie ran forwards, planted his fists in the kidneys of the one currently hitting Sam and it didn't take much persuasion to get the rest of the group to let go of the young CI5 man.

It was impossible to tell how many re-entered the fray at this point and there was a scrum of hands and feet. Bodie and Sam knocked their opponents back, fighting with cat-like grace and agility, and producing a powerful display of skill and speed.

Then - a shot!

Simultaneously, something stabbed into Bodie's lower back - he felt it both, hot and cold, at the same time. He recognised the feeling instantly, he moved his hand to his back, his sensitive fingers touching steel and then a knife fell to the floor. Bodie swivelled around and saw Ferretface stagger, clutching his hands over the place in his upper leg where he'd been hit. Chris was on the ground, holding the gun he had fired and everyone around them froze.

The shot stopped the leader and killed the fight - the police that entered, alerted by the two girls, wrapped things up quickly.

***

"Great - just great. What the hell did you think you were doing, Bodie?"

The frown on Doyle's face matched the anger in his eyes. His jaw, swollen following his appointment with the dentist, emphasised the lines that showed his foul mood.

"Oh - give me break, will ya, Ray?" Bodie sighed. He silently rubbed his neck, carefully moving it, testing a bruise on the back of his head. His jacket hung loosely around his shoulders.

"Sam - how the hell did this happen?"

The younger man carefully touched his cheekbone, which was already turning darker just below his eye. The cut had stopped bleeding but the lump that was forming was obviously painful.

"Don't know, Ray. He was already at it when Chris and I entered the pub."

"How many, Sam? Exactly how many did Mister Bloody Superman stand up against?"

Sam muttered a barely audible, "a dozen or so, maybe more," and fell silent again, keeping the ice pack pressed against his cheekbone.

"What? Twelve - or more? You idiot! You're NOT twenty eight anymore, Bodie. Get that through your thick skull. You can't take out twelve guys single handedly anymore!"

Bodie shrugged, a devilish smile flashing over his face for a second.

"Wha' Ray? Finally admitting that once I could do just that, eh?"

Doyle rolled his eyes in despair.

"God, you're hopeless. Were you fighting over some bird?"

To Bodie's silence, he turned to Sam.

"Sam?"

Before the young Englishman could answer, Bodie cut in sharply.

"Oh, cut it out Ray. No need to give him the third degree! He was just helping out."

Doyle folded his arms over his chest and rested against the wall, looking down on the two dark haired men, one of whom was turning a little grey.

"Well?"

"Well - what?"

"I'm waiting."

"You can wait till the pigs knit you a sweater. I don't owe you any explanation."

"You call me - I drag myself from my bed, to take you home - and you're not telling?"

"Yup, that's right."

Doyle looked like he was going to explode, but then the young CI5 agent with the green eyes cut in, sounding tired and more than a little guilty.

"We're waiting for Chris."

"Oh - right. Another super hero to stir things up. That's all I needed."

At the sight of Sam, looking miserable and very uneasy, Doyle seemed to calm down.

"You gonna have that stitched up, or what?"

Sam slowly shook his head once in reply.

"The doctor just told me that isn't necessary, the ice pack will do."

"So - where is he?"

"The doc? Went tha-"

"I'm not talking about the doctor - I'm talking about Chris. Get Rambo over here and I'll take you both home."

Sam numbly shook his head, flinching at the feeling it caused.

"Chris is in surgery, Ray. So, stop picking on Sam."

Doyle picked up on the unspoken anxiety they were both trying desperately to hide, because his attitude suddenly changed from displaying anger - to concern.

"Surgery? That bad?"

Bodie nodded and let out a careful sigh, which betrayed he wasn't feeling a hundred percent himself, either.

"The bloke had a knife. He tried to carve his initials in some woman's chest. Couldn't let that happen, now could I?"

Doyle replied, but a little more carefully this time.

"Nah - sure you couldn't: you get into a fight in a pub, because you just had to rescue some innocent girl, right? "

Bodie's eyes flashed, his anger rising quickly.

"Don't give me that shit, Ray. She was dead scared - they were all over her. You would have butted in too."

"I bet yo-"

"It was a case of, now or never."

"Couldn't resist being a hero, eh? Of course - I just knew it."

Doyle wisely decided to change the subject.

"So - what's this with young Keel?"

Bodie closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them up again, the remorse and guilt were obvious in the sapphire irises.

"One of the mob pulled out a blade - he threw it at me. Chris hauled me out of the way."

But this time Doyle's voice was devoid of the earlier sharpness and he continued:

"And he was stabbed?"

Bodie just nodded. Sam let out a long sigh.

"By that time, Bodie had his hands full getting me and the woman they had been harassing off the hook. The other two girls alerted the police."

"Two more? And You?"

"Two more, yes, and me. He-"

"Shut up, Sam. No need to explain all the gory details to Ray - the sod is too inquisitive. Don't wanna go over it again. Your partner isn't gonna like me one bit for getting him involved."

"Nah - don't worry, Bodie. He does this all the time. Just one more item to add to his catalogue of injuries. He'll be fine." Sam's voice betrayed the uncertainty that welled inside him, although he was trying hard to conceal it.

Doyle nodded his head to an approaching doctor.

"There's a doctor. He's coming this way."

The 'he' was a 'she', a woman in green theatre clothes approached them, fiddling absentmindedly with her stethoscope as she walked towards them and spoke.

"You're waiting for some news on Mister Keel?" she began.

"He's out of surgery. A good night's sleep and a few days rest - and he'll be good as new. You can pick him up tomorrow afternoon. He was lucky - no vital parts were hit." She nodded, pleased with the relieved faces she saw, then turned and, swinging the stethoscope between her slim fingers, she walked away.

"Okay - that's it. Come on, lads. I'll drive you home."

Sam looked considerably better than he had just a few minutes ago and got to his feet. He pulled Bodie up by his arm, the suede coat still damp from spilled beer.

"Get going, Superman. On your feet."

"Bodie? Ray!"

Bodie stood up, his eyes suddenly rolling upwards as he staggered, Sam and Doyle were just in time to catch him before he hit the ground. Carefully they eased him down onto the floor. The curly headed man shouted after the disappearing doctor:

"Doctor! Help us!"

"Bodie?! Bodie, can you hear us?"

The face of the tall, sturdy man was suddenly as white as a sheet, in sharp contrast with the blue vinyl floor. Sam saw the beads of cold sweat that had formed on Bodie's forehead. Together they carefully took off the thick, suede coat and then they saw it - the big, ugly, crimson stain which had spread across the back of Bodie's light shirt.

"Shit." Doyle's curse was no more than a whisper.

As if he had said a magic word, Bodie's eyelids trembled.

"Bodie? Come on, open your eyes. No, no, stay down, you're injured."

Bodie moaned as the doctor carefully turned him onto his side to assess the damage. Efficiently she tore away the blood soaked fabric of the shirt, after having called for help. The big man looked very vulnerable all of a sudden.

"Why didn't you tell me you got cut up too?"

Bodie's eyes flickered.

"Too damn proud. You moron." Doyle's voice was gentle with worry.

Sam looked shocked and beaten, the relief of the previous minute, had evaporated instantly.

"Shit - Ferretface had him after all."

"You can say that again. Christ."

Two male nurses came running in with a trolley and cautiously lifted Bodie onto it. As they were about to wheel him away, he waved his hand to get Doyle closer. Doyle grabbed the cold fingers and brought his face close to Bodie's, listening as the other whispered. Then the nurses wheeled the trolley through the swing doors and they left Doyle and Sam standing in the hallway.

"He'll be good as new, in a few days." Doyle laughed, almost silently to himself, much to Sam's surprise.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing - never mind. Come on, Sam, You've had enough, I'm gonna take you home."

"Don't you want to stay?"

"I do - but you don't. You need a drink and some sleep. Come on."

Worried, but very grateful Sam headed towards the exit, walking easily in step with Doyle on their way out.

"What did he say, Ray?"

"Just Bodie-crap, you don't wanna know."

"I don't?"

Sam stopped, he pulled on the front of Doyle's shirt and waited until he could look the older man in the eyes.

"Doyle!"

Doyle chuckled and grinned, his teeth glowing brightly in the ample moonlight. The spark of ill-concealed relief showed even in the shadows that fell over the rest of his face.

"He said, he'd never had his shirt ripped off like that by any woman before and said he'd hurt me if I asked her for her phone number."

Sam laughed, the huge burden of guilt and concern he had felt left him with those few words. Doyle opened the door to the car and got in. He looked up at the lights of the hospital. A little smile curled his lips.