"What is it with them?"

Backup sighed and looked up from her study of printouts. It was always amazing to her that in this day and age the agencies they were supposed to be working with had no problems with providing information in hard format but were chary of sharing it electronically, which meant that she and Richards were reduced to a manual trawl for patterns instead of being able to run some of the sophisticated algorithms that the hacker could cook up. Still, monotonous it may be but it was a break from the hectic activity of the last few months.

"What is it with who?" she asked Wiersbowski a little irritably.

"Those two," he replied, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. She followed the line of his gesture to Curtis and Keel, who sat on the opposite side of the room apparently engrossed in the report they were writing.

Richards had also looked up, and he snickered softly. "If Keel is report writing without complainin'," the Londoner said, "'e must be sickening for somethin'."

"Holiday," answered Spencer, coming up beside them on silent feet, still absorbed in his rota. "They want it, so Keel has no choice but to help Curtis write their report for once."

"That's what I mean," insisted Wiersbowski. "Those two."

Backup suppressed another sigh. Ever since their South American mission she'd had to listen to a stream of complaints from the American, everything from Sam being a cold hearted son of a bitch for leaving his own partner rotting in the jungle while concentrating on the mission to veiled suggestions that the only reason he'd extracted the other team was because he had a soft spot for Backup herself. She'd grown very tired of it very quickly and only her normal diplomacy had prevented her from demonstrating her unarmed combat skills to an unappreciative audience. She knew that Wiersbowski didn't mean to be a pain in the ass - the American just seemed to bear grudges, even if they weren't merited. Sam didn't seem to care though, mainly because Sam didn't seem to care about anything at the moment but Chris.

"Those two what?" she asked with visible patience.

"Well, holidaying together. What's with that?"

"They're mates," replied Richards, a little nonplussed.

"Yeah, but they've been living in each other's pockets for months..."

"So?"

Here we go, thought Backup.

"Well, who would want to go anywhere with Curtis?" Wiersbowski asked. "He's a cold son of a bitch."

Wasn't life wonderful when you weren't disappointed?

"They're mates," repeated Richards, frowning a little. "An' no matter what you think, Mike, Sam's a good guy. 'E's a good laugh..."

"He's charming," added Backup, leaping in to defend her friend. "He's fun to be with..."

"'E always buys his pint." To Richards, that was the clincher.

"A lot of people holiday with friends," interjected Spencer calmly.

"I don't," scowled the American.

"Prob'ly cos you don't 'ave any," murmured Richards, unable to resist getting a dig in.

Wiersbowski's scowl deepened, but he knew better to comment when the Londoner was on a roll. He contented himself with muttering darkly, "If I didn't know better, I'd say they were gay."

Richards howled with laughter. "Those two? Gerroff. The pair of them 'ave worked their way through the bleedin' typing pool, or as good as."

Spencer wasn't laughing, Backup noticed, but was watching Wiersbowski with cool eyes. "If I were you, Mike," he said mildly, "I wouldn't go around spreading rumours like that. People might ask why you spent three days staying with Dave last month."

"My flat flooded!"

Spencer gave the man a sweet smile that had Backup giving him an internal cheer. "If you say so." He glanced down at his rota again. "Anyway, I've agreed that you and Dave can have a week off in three weeks time, providing nothing comes up in the meantime. Okay with you?"

"Fine," muttered Wiersbowski, gazing sullenly at the Ops manager from under lowered brows.

"Yeah," chipped in Richards cheerily. "Dave can 'elp you repaper your flat. Interior design should be right up his and your street." He chuckled heartily at his own joke while Wiersbowski turned his glare on him, to no effect, before stalking off, his outrage clear in his stiff back.

"What's his problem?" the hacker wanted to know.

"Curtis, apparently," replied Spencer dryly.

"Well, that means 'e gets an earful of Keel then," Richards commented, his tone pragmatic, and then, dismissing the matter from his thoughts, he asked, "Anyone want a cuppa?"

"Why not?" Backup answered, stretching a kink out of her back carefully. She watched the hacker bound off before turning her thoughtful gaze onto her remaining colleague.

"How long have you known?" she asked him calmly.

He gave her a long, steady look, not even trying to pretend he didn't understand the question, before finally replying, "When Chris and you were in South America, and we weren't sure whether Chris would make it back. Sam... well it was obvious that Sam cared, more than just partners and maybe more than just friends. And then Malone decided to increase the frequency of their partnership reviews. They weren't the only ones - most of the partnerships were under some strain, but it still seemed a little strange when..."

"When they seemed to be coping better," she completed.

"Yeah." He gave her a little self-deprecating look. "So I started to watch them, and a couple of things started to add up." His look turned piercing. "You?"

"A while," she smiled. "At first I thought I was wrong, but then..." She shrugged her shoulders but he understood, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he said before brightening noticeably. "Still, anything that keeps Keel's temper relatively even has to be a good thing."

Before she could comment on that, Richards bounded up with some coffee and the moment passed. She did wonder idly whether or not to let Sam and Chris know, but finally decided with another internal shrug that what they didn't know wouldn't harm them.

*****

As was often the case, Chris didn't realise that he'd fallen asleep until he woke up again. His neck was stiff; sleeping with your head tilted towards a cold car window wasn't conducive to comfort. He shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, trying to stretch muscles as much as he could given the constraints of wearing a seatbelt, and blinked blearily at the view through the front windscreen. It was very dark, no streetlights and they obviously weren't on the motorway anymore.

"Where are we?" he asked his partner, his voice still rusty with sleep.

"Almost there," Sam replied soothingly. "According to the instructions I got from Jeff and Trish it's at the end of this track."

Chris absorbed this information silently, a scowl forming on his face. "I thought we were going to share the driving?"

"You fell asleep," Sam replied a little defensively. "Didn't seem much point in waking you up - it's not that long a drive."

"Three hours," Chris stated flatly.

Sam shrugged. "So it's only three hours."

"You should have woken me up."

"You were tired."

"So are you."

Indeed, Sam did sound tired as he answered, "Well, we're here now."

Chris felt a little guilty. He hadn't meant to have a go at his lover, but it was typical of the man to carry on with something and not complain rather than ask for help. In his more pessimistic moments he wondered if it was something that Sam would ever overcome or whether he'd be stuck with a man who was unable to even ask him to take over the driving. Strange, really. Sam wasn't this touchy or reluctant to share chores in their working lives, but in their private lives...

It was that depressing thought that had him saying, "Fine. But I drive back."

Sam sighed again and replied, sounding even more tired, "If you want."

Another surge of guilt, and Chris swore to himself that he'd lay off. They were supposed to be on holiday, having fun, and yet here they were - fighting before they'd even arrived.

Actually, they weren't. They didn't fight. Chris got argumentative and Sam got reasonable and if that didn't work his partner backed off and waited until he cooled down before broaching the issue, whatever it was, again. Once again, a strange departure from their working relationship where Sam had no problem with getting in his face if he thought Chris deserved it. But once the door shut behind them at home it was a different matter - maybe because they were both still tiptoeing around to a certain extent.

He sighed heavily and sensed rather than saw Sam's concerned look in his direction. "Okay?" asked his partner, an undercurrent in his voice Chris couldn't quite identify.

"Yeah. You're right, I'm tired. Can't wait to get to bed. Wonder why that is, and don't tell me it's 'cause I don't pace myself."

At least that got a chuckle. "The home stretch."

"What?"

"This is the home stretch. We're on holiday, and barring emergencies will be for at least a week, and so you know you can relax. So all of the exhaustion you've been holding at bay suddenly hits."

He thought about this for a moment. "Sounds reasonable. Now we've identified a problem, do you have a solution?"

Sam chuckled again. "Normally, I'd say sleep for a week, but given we only have a week..."

"I don't know," Chris grinned in response. "Staying in bed for a week sounds promising. Not sure about the sleeping though."

Another chuckle and then the car headlights finally illuminated a building in front of them - a cottage by the looks of things. "This it?" asked Chris hopefully, looking forward to getting out of the cramped car and stretching his legs.

"Yep. You want to take the key and get inside, and I'll grab the bags?"

"No," corrected Chris firmly. "You get the key and I'll get the bags."

He thought that Sam looked at him again, but without streetlights and only the moonlight to go on, now that Sam had switched off the beams, it was difficult to say, Sam only a patch of darkness against a dark sky. His partner didn't comment though, just exited the car without a word.

It was almost as cold inside the cottage as it was outside; he noticed that as soon as he got through the door with their bags. There was no sign of Sam, although as he'd been switching lights on Chris did the only logical thing and followed him from lit room to lit room.

He found Sam in the kitchen, muttering to himself and fiddling with a thermostat. He was rewarded by a soft 'woomph' as the central heating came on and he gave Chris a triumphant smile.

"Let there be light?" Chris quipped.

"Let there be warmth," his partner retorted. "Should be nice and toasty by the time we get up tomorrow."

"Good," Chris replied, shivering slightly. "And talking of getting up, where's the bedroom?"

He thought he heard Sam muttering something about a one-track mind but there seemed to be no heat in it and so he managed to shut it out quite successfully and began stalking through the house.

Bedroom...? Bedroom...? A-ha... bathroom!

"Hey, Sam? You seen the size of this bath?"

His partner was tracking him down, obviously, his answer growing closer and closer. "No, Chris, since I actually haven't been here before and you know exactly what rooms I've been... Christ!"

"Big bath," grinned Chris smugly.

"Hmmm," smiled his partner in reply, raising one eyebrow sardonically. "I always knew that Trish liked her luxuries. Still, at least it isn't pink."

"Trish. Jeff's wife?"

"Partner," corrected Sam absently, still giving the bathroom a once over. "Yes, she is. We were all at Edinburgh together."

And that seemed to be the sum total of the information he was going to get. He stifled another internal sigh. He could push, he knew, but it was late, or early depending on how you looked at it, and he wanted to get some sleep. Still, if the luxury of the bathroom was anything to go by, they were going to be comfortable this week, in environmental terms if nothing else. He let his eyes drift appreciatively over the room again. Apart from the large corner tub, which rather than being sunken had the floor built up to it so that steps led into its tastefully curtained alcove, there was also a deep pile carpet, a separate shower cubicle and the normal accoutrements, all colour and design co-ordinated and screaming of vast expense.

"So, what does Jeff do again?"

"Merchant banker."

"Trish?"

"Has her own PR agency."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Ever regret that you didn't follow them into a career for the stinking rich?" he asked.

Sam gave him a wry look. "What, and give up the chance of crawling through insect infested swamps and dining on cassava root instead of caviar? Must be joking."

"I'm sure Malone is glad to hear it," he grinned back.

"I'm sure he has his regrets sometimes. But can you honestly see me behind a desk? Even one as big as Jeff has?"

Chris gave him a long, slow look, raking his eyes up and down Sam's lean frame, which was a sight guaranteed to raise his blood pressure even when hidden by Sam's bulky jumper and jeans. "I can see you on a desk," he replied honestly.

Sam looked completely confused.

"Sort of naked and sprawling there... A nice big desk... I'm thinking Malone's."

His partner flushed most attractively. "You really are a sick puppy, Keel," he muttered. "You do realise that next time I walk into Malone's office I'll have that image in my head."

"Me too," murmured Chris happily. "It's something to get me through his never-ending briefings."

Sam shook his head and sighed theatrically. Glancing up at him, Chris suddenly noted the bags under his partner's eyes and the exhaustion clear in those grey-green orbs and experienced another pang of guilt. "Hey," he said gently. "Let's forget exploring and get some sleep, 'kay?"

The suggestion earned him a wan smile. "Sounds like a plan." Sam glanced down at their bags, still clutched in Chris' hands.

"We can unpack in the morning," Chris said in answer to his partner's unspoken thoughts. "It's late, we're on holiday and since we're on holiday I pray you haven't packed anything that's going to wrinkle."

Another wan smile. "Nothing that won't keep."

Chris gave a decisive nod. "Good. Bed then."

The bed was almost as cold as the cottage, the sheets icy beneath his skin and he shivered violently until Sam joined him and he could wrap his arms around his lover and press himself into Sam's warmth. Sam didn't even make a token complaint, just cuddling back up to him. That nasty little voice in his head told him that it was just because Sam was as cold as he was and he slapped it forcefully down again. After Sam and he first got back together, before he'd started to suspect his partner wasn't happy, that voice had disappeared entirely, but now it was coming back with a vengeance. The voice of his insecurities, he knew, and this time he was determined not to listen and do something he'd regret. He tried very hard not to think about how Sam, even now more than two months after their reconciliation, had yet to tell him that he loved him.

Comforted by Sam's warm presence he was beginning to drift towards slumber when his partner's voice caught and held him on the edge between sleep and wakefulness.

"What do you want to do this week?"

He cursed to himself. Typical Sam, unable to switch his mind off until they had a plan. "Don't care," he mumbled, trying to bury himself deeper into Sam's side and hoping his partner would take the hint and let him go to sleep.

Sam sighed. "We don't have to decide now..." Good. "I just wondered..." Bad. And what was worse was that that tone was back in his voice, the one that hinted at some underlying misery that he couldn't or wouldn't share with Chris.

Chris sighed himself and dragged himself back from the brink of sleep. "It doesn't matter what we do, Sam," he murmured. "As long as I get to spend a week with you."

Sam chuckled slightly. "We can't spend all week in bed, Chris, no matter what you had planned."

Was that what his partner thought he meant? Seriously? Once again, it was too dim for him to make out the expression on his lover's face and he cursed the remoteness of this place that meant there were no streetlights to help him. He had to go with his instincts on this one, and replied, as nonchalantly as he could, "In bed. Out of it. Doesn't matter, Sam, s'long as it's with you."

"Really?"

Oh Christ. He tightened his arm convulsively around his lover, somehow trying by that one physical act to pour all of the reassurance and love into his partner that he could to undo whatever damage he'd unwittingly done or to take away any doubts that were plaguing Sam. "Really," he confirmed.

Sam said nothing else but pressed a little closer to him. It seemed to take him a long time to drop off, but eventually his even breathing told Chris that his partner had at last succumbed.

It took Chris even longer to fall asleep, listening to his partner's breathing with a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding he couldn't quite shake.