The Only Survival**
By
D.C. Black

Well, it had finally happened. Bodie wasn't surprised, unless he was surprised that it took them so long to do it. Nukes on the Mediterranean, a string of nice, hot mushroom clouds along the coast of France, and a flurry of fighter planes dropping retaliation that left the north of Africa glowing like a bloody firefly.

Another fanatic, promising nirvana for the martyrs to his cause, pushing the Yanks, pushing until the wrong man was elected President and he pushed back. There was a small comfort in knowing the bad guys dropped the bomb first. And in knowing the Queen had stood solidly behind the Colonies, pulling most of the vestiges of the old Empire into line behind them. France had balked, quivered in her boots when the times got daring. She'd withdrawn, trying to undercut the Americans with public opinion, and tried to defuse the tensions that way. But instead of appreciating the gesture, the lead cracker had melted the Riviera for her.

Some fanatics just can't be talked to.

Bodie looked up from his packing when Ray Doyle threw the newspaper on the bed for the fourteenth time that morning. He'd pick it up again in a minute, Bodie predicted, read it again and still not quite believe the world was really that insane. Doyle had always given the human race more credit than it was due.

Had? Bodie abruptly concentrated on his packing, instead of lingering on the sight of his partner leaning on the window frame, looking out over the rooftops. Damn! This was going harder than he thought.

"Looks so damn normal, doesn't it?"

Bodie risked a glance at the man, but Doyle was still staring out the window. Bodie returned to folding the jungle fatigues to take as little space as possible in his duffle. "Can't see the cloud, mate."

Yet. Drop enough of them, and a cloud of fallout ash is all anyone would see.

Doyle turned to face him, watched him in silence for a moment before asking, "Sure you'll be south of it? Hate to have to use you as a nightlight if you get back."

Bodie's hands tightened on the fabric of the shirt. Only Ray Doyle could mix realism and hope so strong that it choked him. He forced his fingers to stretch the cloth tighter and roll it, forced his voice to find its way past the constriction in his throat. It came out softer than he wanted it to. "Wish you were coming with me."

To his surprise, Ray didn't answer. Bodie straightened and looked him over. He hadn't moved either.

"What?" Bodie snapped finally, when he couldn't take that level green-eyed gaze any longer.

Ray threw up his hand and scowled at him as if he had missed the obvious. "You bloody well didn't ask me along, now, did ye?"

Bodie blinked. "You'd come?" His surprise was genuine. He never once thought to ask Doyle to join him, couldn't see him leaving England, cutting the lines, flying off -- But Ray really had no more reason to stay than he, did he? For an instant, hope leapt in his chest. "No." Doyle answered. Grounded. Queen and country. Like always. All the reason Ray needed. "But that's not the point, is it?"

Bodie finished stowing the fatigues. "Just thought I'd save you breakin' my heart with rejection." He started on the smaller items, canvas belts, camp knife. The tiny gun in its ankle holster.

Doyle rolled his eyes and went back to gazing out the window. He drew a breath and held it a moment before he spoke again. "I knew it would happen sooner or later."

"What would?"

"I'm just surprised it took the end of civilisation to knock you loose."

Bodie's head came up. Doyle was watching him again. "Now what are we talking about?"

"You. Leaving. This was all just marking time, wasn't it?"

Despite the hurt that stabbed through his middle, Bodie met Doyle's eyes squarely. "No." Good God, no! And George Cowley had gone out of his way to prove that to him over the past five weeks. Bodie would wager the old sod knew the war was coming and purposely assigned him and Ray to the most dangerous of the mounting cases CI5 took an interest in. Close quarters work, last second escapes, victories they had to claw for, depending on each other, knowing each other, keeping each other alive. Sometimes Ray was the only thing that kept his hide safe and snug. And Cowley knew it, damn him to hell!

Ray just nodded his acceptance, falling back into that sullen, brooding silence he had maintained most of the morning. Suddenly, Bodie wished he would smile, wished he would melt the oppressive air that had hung in the room all morning. Bodie wished he could say something to make it happen, tell the man how he felt, thank him for all those times he'd come to his rescue even when he hadn't had to, even when Bodie flayed him with his loud and biting opinion of Ray's interference. He never meant any of it, but he couldn't even bring himself to say that.

Bodie looked down at the remnants of his packing. Most of the items that had started the morning strewn across the bed were tucked neatly in his canvas bag. It hadn't taken long. He wasn't taking much more than survival gear and a change of clothes. And Ray's key ring. He picked the ring off the bedspread, turned it between his fingers as if it could tell him what to say if he stared at it hard enough. But the silent, unadorned brass wasn't much of a talker. It wasn't much of a key ring for that matter. He tossed it into the bag and looked up, decisively opening his mouth to speak his heart for once --

But at that instant Ray spun from the window, searching out his eyes, meeting them, taking the first frightening plunge for both of them. "Bodie --I Ray's voice caught up short, and for a moment Bodie was afraid Ray would leave the first to him, now that he'd lost his nerve for it. That'd be bloody typical. But Ray found his voice and rescued him this one last time.

"Not a lot needs sayin' between us, does it?"

Bodie shook his head, surprised he managed that, the way his throat had swelled shut and his eyes had filled. He tried to clear his throat, afraid he was on the verge of embarrassing himself.

"Well then," Ray went on, strolling across the room and around the bed to him. "Just make sure you come home in one piece."

Home. Where the heart is. Bodie never really knew what that meant until this moment, looking into his friend's well-worn face. Cowley had been wrong when Bodie'd handed in his resignation. C15 wasn't losing the best. The best was standing before him. Bodie's face cracked into a cheeky grin as he impulsively reached out both hands to ruffle the other man's unruly curls. Then, still grinning, he turned to zip the duffle bag shut and toss it at his partner. Ray caught it easily.

"You just make sure you're waiting at the airport, sunshine. Or I may just keep right on going."

Ray smiled at him, for him, erasing all the sharp edges from his expression just for the moment -- just for him. And Bodie knew he could leave now, and come back --

And for once, he'd have something to come back to.

das ende

**Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning. -- The Bridge of San Luis Rey (last lines) Thornton Wilder, 1927