Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 2 of 8)

The last thing that Doyle wanted was for Bodie to help him to the bog. That thought was what motivated him to push away the last of the cobwebs in his head and slip his legs over the edge of the mattress.

Doyle pushed himself up, hoping Bodie wouldn't notice him. That the man would keep watching out the window through a crack in the curtains. Doyle wasn't feeling completely steady on his feet, but he figured with the wall nearby, he'd be fine.

He had taken only one step before his luck ran out and Bodie detected his movement. A few quick strides across the room had Bodie standing by his side. "How are you feeling?" Bodie asked, his eyes measuring Doyle's body as though he were absorbing every single detail.

"Need to use the loo."

Bodie nodded. "Dizzy?"

"A little. Nothing I can't handle."

"Mmmhmm," Bodie mumbled, not sounding at all convinced. He reached a hand out to grab Doyle by the upper arm, not so tight that it hurt, yet with enough pressure that if Doyle were to stumble, Bodie would be able to stop him from falling flat on his face. Doyle allowed himself to be escorted to the bathroom then gave Bodie a scowl that told him that he would take it from here. Bodie just grunted, and leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Be right here if you need me."

Doyle forced himself to stand fully upright and fix Bodie with a glare. "Won't need you for this," he said and firmly closed the door in Bodie's face.

Once inside the bathroom, Doyle rested both hands against the edge of the basin, breathing deeply in hopes of abating the throb and spin of his head. Whatever drug that he'd been shot with had one heck of a wallop. Of course, he'd missed a few meals since this whole mess had started which could also count towards his dizziness.

Now that he was vertical and able to think more clearly, Doyle took stock of his situation. He still had no idea where he was, or who, exactly, Bodie was. Doyle assumed he worked for the military, or some such organisation, but there was a chance that Bodie wanted him to think that. For all he knew, Bodie could be a spy, sent to gather information on the decryption algorithms Doyle had been working on.

Doyle wasn't daft. He knew the power his solution would give to any intelligence agency, be they government or otherwise. As soon as he realised just how far he could take his work, he refused to continue, knowing that it was too powerful a weapon to develop. Whoever had control of it would never again have to worry about breaking any code. Doyle's solution wasn't a one-time-only deciphering tool. If finished, it was pretty definite that given enough computing power, Doyle's work would come close to artificial intelligence. Feed it enough cyphertext, and eventually it would have enough data to not only break any code, it would actually be able to predict future codes based on historical information. It was extremely possible that the system would at first learn, then it would teach.

Developing something that complex would take years. However, Doyle could imagine how it would work and knew that it was not only possible, but very much within his ability to create.

He had never told anyone how far his solution had advanced. And if he wanted to stay alive, he'd be sure to keep it a secret. As long as no one knew what he was capable of, there was no risk that he would be forced to work on what he considered the ultimate code-breaker.

There was one question in Doyle's mind that remained to be answered. If no one knew how far he'd progressed, then why did those men come after him at his house? And why had Bodie come to save him?

And, most importantly, could Doyle trust Bodie?

Looking around the cramped bathroom, he noticed the frosted-glass window above the toilet. He eyed the window for size and figured that if he could open it, he'd be able to fit through.

Although the door to the bathroom was locked, Doyle knew that it wouldn't take Bodie much effort to break it down if he heard Doyle attempting to escape. Perhaps he could tell Bodie that he was going to take a shower and while the water was running to mask the sound, quickly sneak out.

The dizziness had abated somewhat and though Doyle's legs still felt rubbery, they were stronger than before. He could try to make a break for it. But should he? What if Bodie was the only thing standing between him and whoever was trying to kidnap him? It did seem rather foolish to run from a man who had done nothing except try to help him. However, that helpfulness could be a trick to lull Doyle into a sense of false security. When Doyle mulled that over, he didn't think it was true. There was something honourable about Bodie. Yes, the man may be a tad gruff, but he had protected Doyle. Had got Doyle out alive. All of his instincts were telling him that Bodie was a good man. That he could be trusted. Staying with Bodie was a hell of a lot safer than trying to wiggle out a window and face the unknown alone, weak and unarmed. He figured that for right now, Bodie was his best bet.

When Doyle came out of the bathroom, Bodie was still there, lounging against the wall. "Glad you didn't try it," Bodie said.

"Eh? Try what?"

"The window."

Doyle did his best to keep his features straight-faced before Bodie could see his shocked reaction to him knowing what he'd been planning. "Don't know what you're talking about."

A flicker of amusement flashed across Bodie's eyes. "You're too smart not to have thought about going out that window, professor. I can assure you that you wouldn't have got very far before I'd have tracked you down."

"If I'd wanted to get away, I would have."

"Sure you would."

Doyle gave Bodie a look full of challenge before a sudden pain at his temples made him grimace.

"Head still hurting?" Bodie asked, looking directly into Doyle's eyes.

"Yeah, but I'll live."

"The tranq should have worn off by now, but your movements still seem a bit sluggish. Are you on any medication? Taking any drugs?"

"I don't do drugs," Doyle replied angrily. "Not that it's any of your business."

Bodie glared at him. "Everything about you is my business. I've been assigned to keep you alive, so you won't so much as blink without me knowing about it."

"Assigned? By whom?" Doyle demanded.

Bodie remained silent, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I see. You get to know everything about me, yet I don't even get to know who sent you."

Bodie nodded once. "Right."

Frustrated, Doyle made an attempt to push past Bodie, except it was like trying to move a stone wall.

"Now that you're up, we need to get moving," Bodie said as he turned and walked away.

"Where are we going? No, wait, let me guess. You could tell me, but then you'd have to kill me, right?"

One corner of Bodie's mouth actually twitched with a smile. "Right again, mate."

Doyle sighed, knowing he wouldn't be getting anything out of Bodie. With any luck, Bodie would be taking him to his superiors, where at least Doyle would be able to ask some questions and have them answered in return. He hoped that as soon as he got to talk with someone with high enough rank, they'd get this whole mess straightened out and he could be back home by Monday at the latest.

***

Doyle leaned against the inside of the passenger door and watched the countryside fly by. The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon and the sky was awash with pale yellow, pink and violet. He found himself wishing he had a canvas along with his paints so he could capture the beautiful sight.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the hum of the Range Rover's tyres. As the soothing sound eased his tension, his thoughts once again turned to the man sitting next to him.

At the lodge, Doyle had inconspicuously watched Bodie while he had stripped off his shirt to put on a fresh one. No longer groggy, Doyle had been able to truly appreciate just how gorgeous a body Bodie possessed. The muscles in his chest and abs were an artist's dream. Each movement graceful as Bodie checked his gun and the gear. Doyle liked that Bodie wasn't bulging with muscles, those the man did have were well defined and slid fluidly against each other beneath his skin, bunching and flexing in hypnotic masculinity.

By the time they had left the lodge, Doyle was shaking and he did his best to try to convince himself that it was caused by low blood sugar from missing so many meals. But he couldn't fool himself, he knew it was something more.

It was ludicrous really. He didn't even know the man. For all Doyle knew, Bodie could be married, though he wore no ring on his finger. Hell, Doyle didn't even know if Bodie was straight or gay… or both.

"How much longer before we get to this mysterious destination?" Doyle asked to distract himself.

Bodie gave a quick glance at his watch. "In a few hours. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"There's a transport cafe a few miles up the road. We'll stop there, get some breakfast takeaway." They drove for another four miles before Bodie pulled the vehicle into the car park. "What do you want to eat?"

Doyle shrugged. "Same as you will be fine."

Bodie shifted in his seat, turning to look directly at Doyle, his gaze firm. "Stay in the car. And take this." Bodie reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out his gun, sliding it across the seat towards Doyle.

Not moving a muscle, Doyle stared at the weapon as though it would bite him. "What do you want me to do with that?"

"Take it. If anything happens… if anyone comes after you, use it."

"I…" Doyle paused and swallowed hard. "You want me to shoot someone?"

"Only if necessary," Bodie replied insipidly.

"I couldn't do that," Doyle said, stunned.

"Listen, Doyle. Your life could depend on it. Understand?"

Doyle looked at Bodie then back down at the weapon again. He nodded numbly, wondering if he really could shoot someone to save his own life. Bodie quickly demonstrated how to release the safety on the gun before placing it back on the seat next to Doyle. He watched Bodie hurry towards the building, and the farther away Bodie got, the more anxious Doyle began to feel. He glanced around the near empty car park, looking for anyone who appeared threatening. There were a few people about, however, they were too involved in their own business to pay Doyle any mind. A feeling of being very much alone and isolated bore down on him and he prayed that Bodie would be back soon.

It felt like Bodie had been gone for hours, when in actuality he'd only been inside the cafe for about fifteen minutes. Doyle breathed a sigh of relief when Bodie got back into the truck, handed over the paper bag of food and holstered his weapon.

"Got egg sandwiches and sausage," Bodie said while Doyle removed their meal from the bag. "The coffee is mine. You get juice until that rubbish is totally out of your system."

"Yes, sir," Doyle growled, and attempted to throw the sausage at Bodie's head instead of eating it.

Bodie just gave Doyle a lopsided grin and took a big bite out of his sandwich.

***

Bodie turned the Range Rover onto the narrow gravel road. When the vehicle hit a nasty hole, he stole a glance at Doyle. Doyle released a small groan, but remained asleep.

After eating a decent breakfast, Doyle had curled up against the passenger door and drifted off before Bodie had a chance to convince him to cooperate with CI5.

They had finally arrived at the safe house, where they would meet up with at least a half dozen others – CI5, military and other government agents – who would pressure Doyle into helping them.

It's the right thing to do, Bodie thought. Hell, it was the only thing to do as far as he was concerned. They would never find The Hive without some decent intelligence and right now, Doyle was the only shot they had.

Without a doubt, Bodie wanted those terrorist bastards dead, but it did bother him that Doyle would be used in a game where he didn't even know the rules.

After pulling into the drive at the back of the old farmhouse, he cut the engine and glanced around. The second he had driven onto the property, Bodie knew they were being tracked by the scopes of at least four sharpshooters. It was a relief to know that these guys were on their side. This was the safest place for Doyle to be.

Bodie scanned the area one last time and was able make out one marksman on the roof and another just inside the tree line. Looking back at the house, he noticed Cowley standing in the window, behind him stood two suited men. He had hoped to have seen Murphy and Jax with Cowley. It would have been nice to have his old mates and fellow agents at his back for this op. Would have definitely made him feel a whole lot better about moving Doyle around in the open.

He turned his attention to Doyle and rested a hand lightly on the other man's shoulder. "Rise and shine, professor."

Doyle stirred, opened his eyes and yawned widely. "We here?" he asked sleepily.

"Yeah. We need to get you inside where it's safe. I don't like just sitting here."

"All right." Doyle stretched then reached for the door handle.

"No. Keep the door closed. I'll come around to get you."

"I am perfectly capable of opening the door myself."

"I know. And you're also perfectly capable of getting shot in the head while standing out there without me to cover you."

Bodie's tone was harsh, much harsher than he had intended, but he couldn't let himself care if he offended Doyle or not. The only thing he needed to care about was protecting Doyle – no matter what.

Quickly, Bodie moved around the Rover to open the car door for Doyle. With one hand planted firmly on his weapon, he put an arm around Doyle's shoulders, feeling the fine tremors coursing through him. As they moved towards the house, Bodie was careful to shield Doyle with his own body by pulling him tightly against his side. If there was a sniper taking aim on them, then Bodie was determined that he'd take the bullet, not Doyle.

Bodie tried his best to ignore the way Doyle felt against him, but it was a hopeless feat. He revelled in Doyle's closeness, the way they melded together so perfectly. It was the kind of fit that had Bodie wondering just how well the rest of them would fit together.

All of a sudden, he found himself wanting to whisk Doyle away to a place where no one would ever find him. He desperately wanted to erase that look of fear and uncertainty from the large green eyes. Bodie wished he could go back in time and kill every single member of The Hive before they'd managed to spread like a disease – before they could threaten Doyle's safety and ruin his life.

As much as he wanted those things, he knew all of that was impossible. He couldn't change what had already happened. All he could do was protect Doyle to the best of his ability.

Doyle had no idea what he was about to go through once he was inside the house. He would be questioned, pressured, manipulated. Whatever Cowley and the others felt they needed to do to gain Doyle's cooperation, they'd do it.

The urge to protect Doyle burned even stronger within Bodie, and along with wanting to guard Doyle's life, he also wanted to protect the other man's comfort as well. What Doyle was about to go through would not be comfortable, and that angered Bodie. More than anything, he wanted to spare Doyle the gruelling ordeal of being interrogated.

Bodie couldn't do that, though, and he wouldn't be allowed in the interrogation room with Doyle either. This was the last chance for Bodie to give what little support he could offer, Right now, the best thing he could do was arm Doyle so the man could fight his own battles. Doyle's knowledge and skills were weapons – very formidable weapons.

"Don't let them scare you in there," Bodie told Doyle in a low whisper against his ear. "Remember, you're the one who has something they want. You have power. You're in control."

Doyle quickly looked at Bodie, surprise shining in his eyes. From that split-second glance, Bodie knew that Doyle understood, and he was relieved that Doyle was smart enough that he didn't need help connecting the dots.

The door in front of them opened and they hurried inside. Instantly, Doyle was surrounded by Cowley and a group of men in suits then was whisked away to a room down the hall where the interrogation would begin.

***

Doyle shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying to find a more comfortable position while waiting for the next round of questioning to begin. They had been at this for hours and the routine was starting to get old. He was tired of answering the same questions over and over. He was tired of sitting in the same dingy room with a bunch of men who looked at him as either a freak or a tool. But most of all, he was just plain tired. His leg ached where he'd been shot with the dart, his mouth was dry, and his nerves were frayed.

While Doyle, once again, repeated to the suited men the events that occurred the night before, the reality of his situation began to truly sink in. He had been hunted down and attacked. On the plus side, the men who had attacked him wanted him alive, however, knowing that didn't do much to make him feel any better.

The door to the room opened once again and the older man, the one who had stayed in the shadows while the suits had questioned him, came in, followed closely by Bodie. Doyle's heart jumped with relief at the sight of Bodie.

Bodie – the only familiar face in a sea of strangers.

Doyle found himself gripping the edge of the chair to stop himself from rushing over to Bodie's side. Sure, Doyle didn't really know Bodie. Had no idea if Bodie was the man's first name or last. Didn't even know whom Bodie worked for, but he was a comforting presence compared to the men who had come and gone from this room all day long. Men who had been trying to convince Doyle to give them what they wanted – something Doyle was not willing to give.

Bodie came closer and placed a glass of water on the table in front of Doyle, meeting his eyes before moving to lean back against the wall.

The man with Bodie stepped up to Doyle and extended a hand. "George Cowley."

Doyle shot a glance to Bodie, and at Bodie's slight nod, he decided to stand and shake Cowley's hand.

Cowley lifted a surprised eyebrow as he noticed the exchange between Doyle and Bodie, but said nothing about it. Instead he turned to the interrogators and told them to leave the room. Cowley waited until it was only himself, Doyle and Bodie left before he turned his attention back to Doyle.

"Would you like to take a break? A trip to the loo, perhaps?"

Doyle shook his head. He just wanted this whole thing to be over.

"Please. Sit down," Cowley said, motioning to the chair.

"I'd rather not," Doyle replied. "Me bum has fallen asleep and I'd like to stretch my legs."

"Aye, lad, that's fine." Cowley slid into the seat across from where Doyle had been sitting and placed a folder on the table.

"Already told you what happened last night, Mr Cowley." Doyle walked around the small room, glad to be up and moving again. "I'm sure Bodie can corroborate my story."

"I'm not interested in that, Mr Doyle."

Halfway through his second trip around the room, Doyle stopped, straightened his shoulders and looked the imposing man straight in the eyes. "Then the answer to all your other questions is no."

Cowley leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, laced fingers together and met Doyle's stare. "No?"

"No." Doyle shook his head. "As in, no, I won't work for you. No, I won't finish developing those encryption algorithms. That about covers everything, does it not?"

"Doyle," Bodie said in a low, coaxing voice. "Don't be stubborn. Just listen to him."

Doyle glanced across the room at Bodie. Bodie looked knackered, worried, and Doyle wondered if Bodie had stayed up all last night watching out for him – protecting him. He did want to repay Bodie for his help, except Doyle couldn't bring himself to compromise his own principles.

Looking away from the two men, Doyle briefly closed his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he conceded and prepared himself for more hours of interrogation. "All right. I'll listen. Just don't expect me to suddenly change my mind because you keep asking the same questions. I may be tired of answering, but my answers won't change."

Cowley nodded, and Doyle thought he saw a look of respect flash across the older man's eyes. "How far did you get with the encryption algorithms – the ones you were offered the grant money to develop?" Cowley inquired.

Doyle sent a fleeting look at Bodie, suddenly remembering what Bodie had told him. That they wanted something from Doyle. That Doyle was in a position of power. He was smart, and perhaps he could figure out a way to play that to his advantage.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded Cowley. "Before I answer anything, I want to know who you work for."

A faint, indulgent smile tugged at Cowley's mouth. "I am the controller of CI5."

Doyle frowned. "CI5?"

"We're an organisation dedicated to fighting terrorism and crime-related activities in the UK," Cowley explained.

"And Bodie –"

"Works for me."

Satisfied with those answers, Doyle then asked, "Who were those men who broke into my house?"

Cowley shook his head. "Now you answer my question. How far had you progressed in your development?"

"More than halfway." It was a vague enough answer. Truthful, yet holding no real information.

Oh, yes, Doyle thought. I can definitely play this game.

"How long would it take to complete the work?" asked Cowley.

"Who were those men?" countered Doyle.

"They were members of a terrorist group." Cowley's eyes twinkled, appearing pleased that he had matched Doyle's vagueness.

Doyle held back his sigh of frustration. At this rate, they were going to be here all night, and neither one of them would obtain any useful information. Doyle decided to give in a little, hoping Cowley would do the same. "It would take me two more months to complete the work."

"And if you were to be given a different sample of text? How long would that take?"

Doyle shrugged. "Can't say without seeing it."

Cowley opened the folder in front of him, pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across to Doyle's side of the table. Curious, Doyle moved back to his chair and sat down. When he looked at the page, his heart began to pound with excitement. Once, a few years ago, he'd seen something similar from a Russian professor that he had been working with at the university. The symbols were the same, but their use was completely different. Doyle could already make out a very complex pattern among the flowing symbols. It was something vague and elusive, but definitely there.

"This isn't just text," Doyle stated. "It's mathematically based as well."

Cowley frowned. "How can you tell? You've only just looked at it."

"These symbols here," Doyle pointed them out on the paper, "lead me to believe that their sequence and placement are variables in some kind of equation – or equations."

Doyle noticed Cowley share a guarded look with Bodie. "Now we know why they wanted him," Bodie spoke up. "The Hive must have figured out there was a mathematical angle and knew Doyle was one of the few who could figure it out."

Doyle's finger's twitched, yearning to grab hold of the paper and study the symbols more closely. This was exactly the type of puzzle that he loved to solve. It was a true challenge. Doyle always loved working on something that was this exigent and thought-provoking. Before he could begin to see a pattern, though, Cowley took away the paper, slipping it back into the file folder.

"We need you, Mr Doyle. I've had a team working on this for months, and they haven't got nearly as far as you have in only a few seconds."

"Think I can do better than your team, do you?" Doyle asked.

"You already have, laddie. This is important."

"How important?"

"This text contains the location of several… misplaced weapons from the Cold War."

War. So it's come back to the military again, thought Doyle.

He tamped down on his disappointment when he realised that he would never get the chance to see that text again. Wasn't going to be able to tear it apart into the correct pieces, then put it back together again so that it all made sense.

"Wish I could help," Doyle said, meaning it. "But I won't get involved in military projects. I can never be assured that my work won't be used offensively."

As the room filled with a palpable tension, Doyle saw both men clench their jaws in frustration.

"We need to have the solution to this text, Mr Doyle," persisted Cowley.

"Then I suggest you start looking for another expert, Mr Cowley."

Cowley leaned forward and Doyle could sense a frightening quality in him that would make even a man as strong as Bodie show respect. "If I don't get your cooperation, then I can no longer protect you. You'll be on your own. No doubt you'll be captured within days, if not hours. The men who take you will ensure that you do this work by any means necessary." Doyle felt his stomach drop, true fear slithering down his spine. Before he could say anything, Cowley continued, "This is not a game, Mr Doyle. This is a matter of national security. Neither I, nor the men out in the other room, will let you fall into enemy hands. You're simply too dangerous." Bodie stepped forwards, but Cowley held out a hand to stop him.

"I would never help them," Doyle protested adamantly.

"You would. In the end, you would. You're not trained to resist torture. They would find your weakness and use it. And once you served your purpose, you would no longer be of any use to them. They'd kill you."

Cowley's last few words hung heavily in the air, cold and thick. Doyle's chest tightened in fear. He didn't want to die. Didn't want to endure torture and help an enemy of his country. But more than that, Doyle didn't want to be the cause of the death of countless others. He knew now, more than ever, that his work could be twisted into something dangerous – something deadly.

It was the hardest thing Doyle ever had to do, but he took a deep breath, looked Cowley in the eye and said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

***

In all the time that Bodie had worked for Cowley, he had never seen his boss so disconcerted. Cowley was a man who hid his emotions well, so it was odd that he would suddenly become so transparent.

Bodie didn't like it when things were odd. Because that meant two things, either he was being played, or something was really wrong. He just didn't know which one it was – yet.

"You've got to admire Doyle for his determination," Bodie said, watching Doyle on the monitor by means of a hidden camera. Doyle was sitting down, elbows on the table, head resting in his hands. His body language spoke of a man who was beyond exhausted – of a man very much alone. Bodie bit back a curse and looked away, trying to control the nearly overpowering need to rush back into the room and somehow comfort Doyle.

"Aye, he is a stubborn lad," Cowley replied. "And it just might be the death of him."

Bodie's body tensed. "Surely you don't intend to let anyone kill him."

"This is big, Bodie. There's only so much I can do. The man's knowledge is too dangerous. The British government won't let Doyle fall into enemy hands. If he refuses to cooperate, he'll be executed as a threat to national security."

"What?" bellowed Bodie. "They can't do that!" Rage bubbled just below the surface, along with something else – something deadly. There was no way in hell he was going to let Doyle die. He had brought Doyle here for protection. Bodie would kill anyone who tried to harm him.

"They will if we don't convince Doyle to help."

Bodie release a string of vile curses.

"Aye. I agree, 3.7."

Bodie took a long look at Cowley. He respected the man more than almost anyone, yet Cowley stood there, talking about Doyle being killed as if it were just another op. Bodie almost felt sorry for Cowley and all the shit he must have lived through to make him hard enough inside to be so casual about killing. Instead, Bodie found himself hating the man for even thinking of hurting someone as innocent as Ray Doyle.

Bodie had spent most of his life killing and suffering to protect the innocent. Yes, he had done some horrible things in Africa, things that still haunted him to this very day. And, yes, there were times when he wanted to throw it all away and find a different line of work. But in the end, he knew what he did was the right thing. He killed scum so that the innocent could live.

And now Cowley was talking about killing one of those innocents whom Bodie had devoted his life to protecting. Somehow, that put the two of them on opposite sides of an invisible line. Bodie stepped away from Cowley, unable to look him in the eye without giving away the burning anger that flooded his gut.

Cowley walked up to him and patted Bodie on the shoulder. "We've still got time to change his mind," said Cowley.

"You've already threatened Doyle with torture and death, and he still hasn't come around. What the hell else do you think will work?"

"Think, man. You were with him longer than anyone here. You must have some idea of how to convince him."

Bodie searched his memory trying to come up with some weakness in Doyle's armour. Doyle didn't have a wife or kiddies, for which Bodie was grateful for they would have been used as a pawn. The two weeks of gathered intel that Bodie had read on Doyle said that he didn't go out much. Went to work, came back home with an occasional trip to the shops or library. Doyle's mum was still alive and he did have a younger sister. Both those family members lived up north, but threatening to harm them wouldn't make Doyle warm up to the idea of agreeing to help.

Bodie ran a hand over his short, dark hair. The only thing he could think of at the moment was the way Doyle's eyes lit up when he had looked at the paper Cowley had shown him. Maybe they could entice Doyle enough to get him interested in solving the puzzle just for the sake of knowing the answer.

Of course, even if Doyle did break the code, would he present it in a format that would be useful to CI5 and all involved? Just because the man knew the answer didn't mean he had to share.

Bodie released a sigh of frustration and scratched at the stubble of his day old beard. There had to be something he was missing. He didn't know Doyle well, but there had to be some way to convince the man.

That code would tell them the location of weapons, including several nuclear warheads, which had been hidden by the Russians during the Cold War. It was the reason why The Hive was so intent on breaking the code before anyone else.

Time was running out and Bodie had to quickly find a way to weaken Doyle's resolve. There was only one thing Bodie could do, yet just the thought of it made him break out in a cold sweat. His past was not a very friendly place. If he were to share it with Doyle then Doyle would know how horribly Bodie had failed. And even if he did reveal his mistakes, bared his soul, it still might not be enough.

Bodie released a sigh, knowing he had no choice. He had to try. Whatever it took to protect Doyle, Bodie would do it. Even if that included facing his past again.

***

Doyle's leg was aching, but not nearly as much as his head. To add to his discomfort, the temperature of the room was cold, causing his body to shiver. In an attempt to warm his bare arms, he wrapped his hands around them and began to rub briskly. God, what he wouldn't give to have a warm bath, a hot cuppa and pretend that none of this had ever happened. He shivered again, this time enveloping his upper body with his arms. Hell, he'd just be happy with a blanket.

A thought floated through his mind. He contemplated the idea that this was, perhaps, some sort of interrogation technique to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible so he'd be more willing to get out of here by giving them what they wanted. Ha! He wasn't about to give in that easily.

Getting up from the chair, Doyle paced the room and wondered if Bodie was still in the house. Out of all the people he'd had to deal with over the past twenty-four hours, Bodie was the only one to show the least bit of kindness.

Doyle's head throbbed harder and he brought his hands up to massage his temples. Walking over to the door, he tried the knob, and wasn't at all surprised to find it locked. Raising a fist, he pounded a few times on the wooden structure. "Hello!" he yelled. "May I have some aspirin?" When no one answered, Doyle sighed and moved to the other side of the room. He sat down in a chair, resigning himself to either die from freezing to death or from an exploding head.

Just then the door opened and Bodie walked in with a glass of water in one hand and a folder in the other. Doyle's stomach fluttered at the sight of him. Bodie's face showed the shadow of a beard and though Doyle could see signs of fatigue under the blue eyes, Bodie held himself tall, as if he would keep on going until it was convenient to stop. The expression that Doyle saw on Bodie's face gave him some hope that his situation might not be as bad as he'd thought.

He suddenly found himself wishing that Bodie would touch him again like he'd done at the lodge. Something as simple as an arm around his shoulders would go a long way toward making Doyle believe that he was going to make it through this.

Bodie closed the door, came closer to Doyle and placed the glass of water along with two white tablets in front of him.

"Ta," Doyle said and quickly washed the pills down.

Bodie took off the leather jacket he'd been wearing and draped it around Doyle's shoulders. The warmth that clung to material from Bodie's body seeped into his skin and Doyle sighed in relief. The jacket smelt like Bodie. Doyle breathed in deeply, the rich, spicy scent comforting him as well as soothing his nerves.

"What's going to happen to me?" Doyle asked.

Bodie grabbed a chair, moved it beside Doyle and sat
down. "I won't lie to you. It doesn't look good. They want this code broken before anyone else."

"They're really going to kill me, aren't they? That wasn't just a trick to get me to cooperate."

Bodie's steady blue gaze slid away and silence stretched out between them.

Doyle had his answer.

"How long?" Doyle whispered.

"I don't know what their plans are for you, exactly." Shifting his body slightly, Bodie held up two fingers then four on a hand hidden from the camera that was set up in the corner of the room.

Twenty-four. Was that days or hours?

Once he met Bodie's eyes, Doyle knew. He had twenty-four hours to live.

His heart began to race and the room started to fade away as his fate loomed large before him.

At this time tomorrow, he'd be dead.

It was all so surreal. Now that he knew it was going to happen, it was almost as bad as when he'd been clueless. At least then he could pretend that things were going to work out okay.

"I don't want to die, but I will if I have to. I won't let you use my work as a weapon."

Bodie's jaw clenched and his lips pressed tightly together. "Listen, Doyle, not everything we do is about killing. We do keep the country safe. We protect people."

"But you do kill," Doyle stated.

"When it's necessary."

"And who gets to decide that?"

Bodie scrubbed a hand over his head and took a deep breath as though to calm himself. "There are a lot of bad people out there. It's not exactly something we broadcast on the nightly news if we can help it. We like for the public to not have to worry about whether or not they're going to end up dead in ways they can never imagine."

"You keep saying 'we'. Tell me, Bodie, are you one of those people who get to choose between life and death for another human being?"

Bodie exploded out of his chair. "Yes, I am, damn it! I've had men in my rifle sights and pulled the trigger. I've set explosions in buildings knowing that everyone inside will be blown to hell. I've even killed with my bare hands. It's nothing for me to break a man's neck or choke the life out of a body." Bodie turned, leaned one hand on the table and glared at Doyle, blue eyes frigid with anger. "And I'm not sorry. I knew what those men did. I knew what they'd be capable of doing had they lived."

Doyle shifted back in his chair, attempting to put some distance between himself and Bodie's anger, yet even in the face of such rage, Doyle did not fear him. "It's still wrong, Bodie. Killing is wrong."

Studying him intently, Bodie placed a file folder directly in front of Doyle. His voice lowered yet the coldness remained. "No, Doyle, you're the one who's wrong." With that, Bodie opened the folder to reveal a stack of eight by ten coloured photographs.

Doyle gasped in horror when Bodie spread the photos over the table. There were pictures of people beaten and mutilated so badly that they were nearly unrecognizable. Dead men, women, children, and two babies. Pictures of severed ears, fingers, tongues, even half a penis.

Doyle fought the urge not to vomit. Never in his life had he seen anything so horrific. His body began to shake and he broke into a cold sweat as his mind struggled to understand what Bodie was showing him.

These photos couldn't be real. How could anyone perform such hideous acts?

"This," Bodie said in a quiet, pain-filled voice, pointing at the pictures. "This is what those men I killed have done."

Doyle didn't want to look, except he couldn't stop himself. His stomach twisted painfully as he forced himself to face the images of death and violence and evil.

He knew everything about these were real. Real men and women. Real children.

When Doyle's vision blurred, he blinked back the moisture and looked up at Bodie. There was no way he could miss the anguish that burned in the blue eyes.

"And this one." Bodie's voice was nearly a whisper and tinged with grief. With an unsteady hand, Bodie showed Doyle a set of photographs of what had once been a very handsome, young blond man. "His name was Nicolas. He was only twenty-five years old."

In one of the pictures, Nicolas was bound to a metal chair by ropes around both wrists and ankles. He was naked and covered with cuts and bruises, and there was a large pool of blood under his chair. Another pictured showed deep slashes along Nicolas' blood stained chest and arms. And in a third, mutilated hands, and a table with fingers lying neatly in a row.

"Nicolas was my partner... my lover." Bodie's voice wavered. He cleared his throat before continuing, "The Hive did that to him. CI5 was closing in on their organisation, so they kidnapped Nicky. They beat him, raped and tortured him. They sent me the bracelet I had bought him, along with one of his fingers."

It was the quiet grief in Bodie's voice that made Doyle look at him. He could easily see that Bodie had loved Nicolas – had loved him deeply and those bastards had mutilated him… murdered him.

Suddenly, all those people in the photos became very real, not just images on paper. They had parents, brothers and sisters, and friends who had loved them. They'd laughed and cried. They were people who had been alive. And now they had been turned into something too grotesque to ever imagine.

Looking into Bodie's eyes, Doyle could see all the pain, regret and self-hatred inside of him. Somehow, Doyle knew that Bodie felt like he should have saved his lover from such a gruesome fate. And there was no doubt in Doyle's mind that Bodie had done everything humanly possible to protect the man he loved.

"This is what we're fighting, Doyle," Bodie said quietly. "This is why we need your help. Without you, The Hive will find those weapons and they won't hesitate to use them. More people will die. You're the only one who can stop that from happening."

Doyle glanced down at the photos again. Bodie was right. Whoever had done this needed to be stopped before they killed again. No matter how ugly or horrible the task, someone needed to do it. But Doyle wasn't sure if he was strong enough to be the person to help accomplish that job.

The blank, glazed over eyes of the dead stared back at him, appearing to plead with him to help. When he focused on the picture of Nicolas, the man's light blue eyes bore into him as though begging Doyle to save his lover from his own prison of grief and self-loathing.

It all became too much for Doyle to handle. He bolted from the table, dropped to his knees and bent over the small rubbish bin, vomiting. He gulped in air, trying to breathe, attempting to force out all the horrible images swirling around in his head. Except nothing helped and he couldn't stop his stomach from heaving again.

Immediately, Bodie was there, kneeling behind him. He put one hand on Doyle's shoulder and the other went around to Doyle's stomach, rubbing in light circles to help alleviate the cramping. Bodie said nothing, but just the touch from the other man was enough to allow Doyle to regain control.

Gradually, Doyle was able to breathe normally again and he leaned back against Bodie's chest. He briefly closed his eyes when Bodie's hand moved from his shoulder to brush the curly, sweat-damp hair back from his face.

"I'm sorry, Bodie. I didn't know," Doyle said.

"I know." Bodie's arm tightened, holding Doyle close, comforting him. "I'm sorry you had to see those pictures."

"Did you kill those men who did… that… to Nicolas?"

Doyle felt Bodie's body tense, felt every muscle in his chest going taut, yet Bodie didn't move away. "I thought I did, but I was wrong. There's at least one left. Perhaps more."

"So The Hive is active again," Doyle guessed.

"Yes," Bodie replied, his voice tight with hatred.

Doyle had no idea how difficult it must have been for Bodie to lose his lover in such a horrifyingly violent way. And he wondered what sort of strength Bodie must possess to be able to go on after something like that.

"The Hive needs to be eliminated," Bodie said. "I can't do that without your help."

Unable to turn away from Bodie's plea, Doyle braced himself for what he had to do. Something had to be done to stop those murderous bastards. Perhaps Bodie was right and the only way to stop them was to kill every last one of them.

As much as Doyle hated the idea of arming the military or CI5 with the knowledge that could be used offensively, he knew he had to be strong like Bodie. He would have to do something he despised because it was necessary.

Moving away from Bodie, he shifted around on the floor so they were face to face. "Can you give me your word that my work won't be used against anyone other than The Hive?"

Bodie nodded. "I will do everything within my power."

"And if I give Cowley what he wants, can you promise me he'll let me go afterwards?"

Bodie's eyes lowered. "No. I'm sorry, I can't. But if they don't let you go, I'll break you out of wherever they're holding you." He gave Doyle a feral grin. "Even if it kills me."

"No, Bodie." Doyle pinned him with a fierce stare. "I won't let you die for me. I'm not worth the price of your life."

"You're a lot more valuable than you think." Bodie spoke quietly, his expression softening.

"So are you," Doyle told him.

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

Even more than helping to break the code, Doyle wanted to help Bodie recover from losing Nicolas. He wasn't sure how he would do it, but he was going to do his best to prove to Bodie that his lover's death wasn't his fault.

"Yes, mate," Doyle replied. "It does."

***


Part 3