"Saturday night, just got paid..."

He couldn't help grinning at his reflection. Yeah, Saturday night -- He was off-duty with a long weekend ahead, and he was heading for a good time at the disco. He dragged the comb through his hair once more for good measure, flipped it into his back pocket and checked his jacket: wallet, keys -- all set. He flicked the lights out, slammed the door, tripping the Security locks as he went. Saturday night and he was going to ball it up...

The first hint of trouble came as he was standing by the bar. Angie had gone off to powder her nose and he used the time to fetch their drinks. At the other end of the counter was a youngish bloke, with bottle-blond hair and a pretty face. Gay, he thought dismissively. He shifted uncomfortably. Not that he had anything against homos -- well, he didn't know an awful lot about them, except what he and his mates had learned in school -- he just didn't fancy the idea of, you know, fellas doing -- things -- to each other. His world was a hard one, with no room for faggots and fairies -- people like Bodie {whom he was secretly trying to emulate) and Doyle, whose temper was legendary in the corridors of Whitehall. Then there were guys like Cookie, happily married with a sprog; and his own partner, Lucas, who had just gotten engaged...

Two men had closed in, one on each side of Blondie. They were talking to him, but McCabe was too far away to hear the words over the driving beat of the music. He watched the younger man's face: the lad looked distinctly unhappy. One of the strangers caught hold of his elbow and tried to pull him off the bar-stool, but Blondie struggled.

Without conscious thought, McCabe moved to the opposite end of the bar. "These blokes bothering you, son?"

Hope flickered in the frightened eyes. The man who had grabbed the boy turned on the agent, sneering. "Think your playmate wants to join us?"

McCabe raked a glare over the antagonist: no problem to take him, he reckoned, but there were strict rules about brawling in public -- like, you didn't.

"Why don't you leave the kid alone? He doesn't want to go with you -- do you, mate?"

Blondie shook his head quickly. The hand on his elbow tightened, and he flinched. McCabe caught the bigger man's wrist and exerted digital pressure to inflict maximum discomfort. The beefy mitt relinquished its hold. The sneer became a scowl and the man rubbed his injured arm.

"I'11 remember you, POOFTER!" he spat and backed off gracelessly with his accomplice.

Blondie watched them wend their way through the dancers, heading for the exit. He turned back to his rescuer. "Thanks -- thank you," he gulped. "You didn't have to -- can I buy you a drink or something?"

McCabe shook his head. "No thanks," and walked away.

Blondie started after him, stung by the curt dismissal. He edged off his stool and followed the agent with his eyes.

Angie was standing at the other end of the counter, looking upset. McCabe pinned on his brightest smile and jostled in beside her. "Come on, Angle, let's dance..."

Her tiny nostrils flared in anger. "If you think I'm dancing with a bloke who chats up other fellas --"

"Angie!"

She gave him a shove and stormed away. He caught up with her as she bolted across the dance floor.

"It wasn't like that!" he protested, dragging at her wrist.

"Let GO!" she swiped at him with her free hand and one of the dancers bumped him so that he lost his grip.

"Angle, please, love --" he called, but she had gone.

Angrily, McCabe turned back towards the bar... Tempted to sink as much as possible, get himself blink drunk and have a good time with first available bird that walked past, he was sorely disappointed. No sooner had he worked his way back to the counter, than Blondie appeared at his side. "What do you want?" snapped Mac.

"To buy you a drink, to apologise. I -- saw your girlfriend leave --" He was studying the CI5 man intently.

"Look, mate, let's get one thing straight. I -- don't -- drink -- with -- queers. These guys were leaning on you, looking for trouble. I was just preventing a fight, NOT picked you up. Clear?"

Somewhat crestfallen, Blondie nodded. "I'm sorry you bothered."

"Right at this moment," retorted McCabe, "so am I!"

Blondie backed off and Mac found himself alone in the crowd.

By nine, he was bored with his own company, had had one pint of beer and was forced to admit that the evening was a washout. He got to his feet, and decided to make an early night of it. He fished into jacket pocket for his car keys and skirting the dance-floor, he made for the exit. His car was on the far side of the parking lot beneath one of the security lights...

Mac glanced round, a habit he'd cultivated from watching Bodie and other senior agents. Someone grabbed his elbows from behind and shoved him into the bonnet of an Escort.

There came a rasping, familiar voice. "Well, well, if it isn't our little bum-boy..."

Mac spun round, on the defensive. There were three of them this time, all bigger than him, menacing in the semi-dark.

It wasn't so much of a fight as a massacre: Mac's training stood him in good stead, but it was unequal from the outset. A clout round the head knocked him to his knees and a boot in the kidneys put him onto the ground. After that, he was busy trying to keep his brains and his balls intact.

It was a while before he realised that his attackers had gone and a long minute later it registered that the anxious face and enquiring hands belonged to Blondie. He was too weak to fend the boy off.

"I'11 phone the police," the kid offered.

If he did that, Cowley would get too hear the whole story and he'd get bawled out for brawling by the controller and ribbed rotten by the rest of the squad. "No police."

"But you're hurt -- shall I send for an ambulance."

The same logic applied to medical help and Mac was fairly certain he wasn't seriously injured. "No ambulance. Just get me a taxi..."

Blondie leaned him up against the side of the Escort and took off his own jacket to cover the agent. "Stay quiet -- I'll be back in a minute..."

"Take your time -- I'm not going anywhere," Mac assured him. Then he closed his eyes and toppled over.

"I didn't know who else to call."

The plaintive voice belonged to the kid, of that Mac was sure. "I know it's your free weekend and all --"

"We'll take care of him.'

There was something familiar about the darker tone -- older, deeper, with the hint of an accent.

"Can you see his car anywhere? A white Dolomite..." A third voice, also known but unplaceable. "D'you want to drive him home?"

"Won't be anyone there to look after him. Looks like it's back to my place. Give us a hand, Ray..."

Ray -- Doyle -- 4.5, a fellow agent. And Bodie. How the hell had Blondie known where to find them?

The two operatives got their battered colleague to his feet between them, and sent the boy to open the Capri. McCabe was semi- coherent when they strapped him in the front seat and remembered telling Doyle that he was fine, really.

"We'll get you to the flat, put you to bed --" Doyle glanced at Bodie, "and we'll get you a doctor."

"No doctor," insisted Mac groggily.

"How about an undertaker instead?" Bodie suggested dryly.

"I may take you up on that." the younger man threatened as he passed out yet again.

Bodie and his partner exchanged glances as they opened the door of the Capri. McCabe was well past making it up the front steps under his own steam.

"Take him to the hospital," Doyle advised his mate.

"Can you see the accident report on Monday -- beaten up for defending a queer? We can get Barnet over --" The jingle of keys. "Open up, and I'll carry him in..."

"Can you manage on your own?" There was more than a hint of amusement in Doyle's enquiry that McCabe didn't understand at the time. "I mean --"

"I," Bodie assured, "can manage quite well, thank you. Lead on, McScruff!"

Footsteps receding, and then a strong pair of arms reaching round him...Bodie was lifting him out of the car with just a little difficulty. He felt himself being propped against the front wing while Bodie locked the vehicle. "Come on, Mac -- "

Bodie swung the agent into his arms, carrying him up the steps and through the door that Doyle was holding for them.

Once inside the apartment, they left him on the sofa while Bodie went to change the linen. Doyle phoned the doctor and went to put the kettle on. Mac faded in and out of consciousness, half aware of the activity round him. Bodie sat him up, to ease the jacket from his shoulders carefully, as Doyle undid his shoes. Between them, they took him into the bedroom and dumped him gently on the mattress where they proceeded to strip him. Doyle winced in sympathy as he tugged off the blue jeans to reveal the extent of the bruising.

"Got a real beauty there," he remarked to his partner.

"Stop admiring his dick, and get on with it!" teased Bodie, who had Mac resting against his chest, while he tackled the shirt-cuffs.

"You know, you've got a mind like a Welsh railway," Doyle accused.

"One track, you mean?"

"And dirty with it," Doyle agreed, tossing the jeans onto the floor.

Bodie plumped up the pillows and arranged them comfortably as Doyle threw the duvet over the semi-lucid operative.

Bodie looked down at the pitiful mound in the bed, and behind him Doyle sighed. The doctor had pronounced McCabe battered and bruised with the possibility of mild concussion. He had prescribed a good night's sleep, but with somebody checking on him, in case of complications. "Fucked our weekend, hasn't it?" grumbled Doyle.

"I'd still like you to stay."

Doyle laughed softly. "With Mac next door?"

"He's out of it."

"Floor's too hard and there's not enough room on the settee..."

"The sofa opens into a double bed," Bodie informed him with an impish grin. "He won't be able to move without one of us hearing him -"

Doyle went to shift the coffee table.

Sofa sounds drifted through the open door, filtering into McCabe's mind. Tender words and heavy breathing, half stifled giggles...Bodie had someone out in the lounge with him, was probably having his end away with some bird...

Mac didn't want to intrude, but if he didn't get to the bathroom, there would be an accident in a moment. Cautiously, he stretched and rolled across the mattress. His feet touched the carpet and found the edge of a battered tube. He crouched, steadying himself against the bed to pick it up. He frowned at it, but couldn't quite make out what it was. He put it on the night-stand and crept forward, alert for any sound in the semi-dark flat. Using the wall for support, he slipped into the living room, and paused to re-orient himself. Bodie would be sleeping on the sofa - it opened into a double bed, Mac recalled him telling Doyle...

The rhythmic breathing was broken for a minute as the sleeper wriggled into a more comfortable position, with a gentle protest from the furniture.

"Maggot," Bodie accused affectionately. He kissed the offender -- Mac heard the tiny sound, and the unladylike grunt it elicited. Something wasn't right -- but his bladder was bursting. He edged forward, hoping against hope that his host wouldn't hear. The rustle of a cover, a soft warning -- "Hold on, love --"

Mac froze. Bodie was out of bed, belting his robe around him. A moment later and the agent had turned on the bathroom light and was coming to help.

"Sorry, Bodie," groaned McCabe. "Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do -- "

Bodie looked mildly amused and waited till he'd finished. "Give us a shout if you need anything else, mate."

Mac nodded carefully and drooping against his colleague, allowed himself to be taken back to bed. "Apologise to --"

"I will," Bodie assured, as he tucked the younger man up. "Go to sleep."

Obediently, Mac closed his eyes. The sense of disquiet persisted. He caught the tiny scrape as Bodie removed the tube from the cabinet and he strained his ears listening to the soft noises in the flat. The door shushed halfway again, so he sat up and homed in on the whispers as they spoke...

"It's okay, he's asleep now -- slide over, will you?" Then, "Look what I found --" Bodie presented the tube.

"It's illegal, you know," mumbled Doyle, budging reluctantly onto his back.

"What, having a pee at two o'clock in the morning?" Bodie was being deliberately dense.

"Having it away, with another person in the flat."

"I'm not having it away with another person -- I'm having it here with you..." Bodie's mouth covered his briefly. "Come on, Ray..." he cajoled.

"Acts of indecency," Doyle quoted dryly, knowing how to wind up his other half. "Buggery -- "

"With a consenting male over the age of twenty-one is not a crime..."

"It is if there's anyone else involved," Doyle snorted, sticking to his guns. "And Mac being under the same roof constitutes involvement. Go to sleep, Bodie. We can make up for it tomorrow --"

"It's tomorrow now," Bodie pouted, placing the lubricant under the pillow between them and turning away from his partner. He squirmed back against Doyle's flank and waited. One minute -- two...

Doyle sighed. "All right, where'd you put the gel?"

The morning seemed brighter than it had a right to be. McCabe opened his eyes slowly, winced and rolled gingerly over. He remembered Blondie and Angle storming off, and being beaten up -- at least his head didn't hurt as much this morning, unless he moved it suddenly -- then Bodie had brought him home and put him to bed...

Bodie's bedroom was spartan after the comfortable clutter of his own place. Everything was neat and tidy -- even the jeans Mac had been wearing were folded on the chair. He struggled into a sitting position and swallowed. His mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage. Carefully, he got to his feet, glad to find the room wasn't spinning too much. He made it to the door safely.

The kettle was warming and the delicious scent of bacon drifted through the lounge. As he leaned against the frame, a jean-clad Doyle emerged from the kitchen and thumped down on the sofa bed. He leaned over, his head disappearing from view behind the back of the settee. He snuffled a bit, then blew sharply. There was a grunt and a dark head bobbed up for a second, cropped hair sticking out at crazy angles.

"Morning, sunshine," Doyle greeted. "How'd you like your eggs?"

Bodie gave an exaggerated yawn. "Like you --" he struck with the speed of a cobra, tipping Doyle across the mattress, pinning him there, "Over 'n' easy!"

Doyle made a token struggle -- for a moment, Mac was tempted to believe Bodie was hurting him -- then their breathing altered and he knew they were kissing... Mac swallowed, not wanting to believe the evidence before him.

The curly head jerked up and for a second as their eyes met, he could've sworn that Doyle could not see. Sanity returned with earth- shattering speed, and Doyle knew there was no way he could deny what he and Bodie had been doing. The question that sprang to mind was how much their unexpected lodger had seen or could guess at. There might be a remote chance that they could pass it off as high jinks --

Bodie struggled up and half-twisted so that he could see what his lover was starting at. "Oh, morning Mac," he greeted the younger agent as if it were the most normal thing in the world to be caught snogging with another man. He put his hand to Doyle's chest -- between nipples he had lovingly sucked only hours before -- and gave him a friendly shove. "Time to turn the bacon, Ray." He returned his attention to McCabe as Doyle unfolded and disappeared kitchen-ward.

"Come in, Mac." Bodie sat up properly.

McCabe pushed off the wall and ventured into the living room, a blank look on his face. He stopped short of the make-shift bed and spoke the first words that came to mind. "I'm sorry -- I didn't know you were --" He halted. "Christ, how was I supposed to know..."

"You weren't," Bodie told him dryly. "It's my fault -- for being - - indiscreet."

Mac laughed incredulously. "Indiscreet! I walk in here and find you kissin' your partner..." Doyle appeared with three steaming coffees, and silently handed one to Bodie before kneeling on the mattress to reach McCabe. He folded down to sit beside his mate, regarding the situation over the rim of his mug.

Mac kept staring at them. "I don't believe this -- any minute now I'm gonna wake up and this'll all be a dream -- YOU can't be bent?

Bodie frowned. "Why not?"

"Because -- because you're always going out with birds, and you go climbing, and you're the best rifleman we've got."

"So?"

McCabe stopped, gathering himself. "So -- it doesn't go together - - you, doing all that --"

"And me as well," Doyle added, then at Bodie's glance, "you, doing all that, and doing me on the side..."

"What I get up to in bed doesn't affect my performance in the field," Bodie glanced at his companion for confirmation. "Does it?"

"If anything," Doyle took up the theme, "I'd say it gives us the edge. More incentive to stay alive -- to keep each other alive. That's why we're Cowley's top team."

Mac shook his head slowly, eyeing each of them in turn. "Do you know what the Old Man'd do if he ever found out?"

Bodie raised an eyebrow.

"Threaten certain parts of our anatomy with extinction," Doyle hazarded, sipping his coffee. "Oh, sit DOWN, Mac, before you fall down -- I'm serving breakfast in a moment -- that is," he smiled at his partner, "if Sleeping Beauty here would care to shift his carcass --"

Bodie lolled back in the bed, with the obvious intention of staying put.

"Come on through," Doyle got off the mattress and turned back to the kitchen. Mac followed him, still in shock.

As soon as they disappeared, Bodie scrambled out from beneath the covers and headed for the bathroom.

Mac sat, head in his hands as Doyle dished up the bacon and eggs. He studied the other man covertly, trying to resolve what he knew to be true with what he'd seen in the past few minutes. Doyle slid into the empty seat opposite and watched him in return.

"You're dying to ask, aren't you?" He helped himself to toast. "Go on, what do you want to know?"

"I -- how -- WHY?" asked McCabe.

"How," Doyle mused, "was by accident."

Mac's expression was one of disbelief and Doyle couldn't suppress his laughter.

"It's the truth. We got drunk one night -- I sort of wound up on his sofa -- haven't you ever been out with Lucas and gotten well-oiled? Then you know, you talk about the weirdest things -- things you wouldn't say if you were stone-cold sober..." He struggled. "That's how it was. I said something about how nice it was not having to spend the evening with some bird chattering away, and we just... started fooling around." He paused to judge the younger man's reaction. "If you had a bird, who started teasing you -- touching you, cuddling up, what would you do?"

"I'd," Mac had to clear his throat, "I'd think that she was giving me the come-on, and I'd let her have it."

"Same with a bloke -- we ended up on the settee all night. Was strange, waking up in the morning -- thought I'd been dreaming -- then he woke up and kissed me again, and WHAM! that was it --"

"But -- WHY, Ray? I mean, you and Bodie've both got girls falling over themselves to go out with you..."

Doyle shrugged again. "Dunno -- well, actually, that's a lie. I DO know. Bodie understands me. He's my best mate -- share anything with him, and he'll stand by me in a situation even after we've argued... All the nice things about going out with a girl, without all the hassle."

"It's cheaper as well." Bodie breezed in, the robe belted modestly about him, his hair still wet from the shower.

Doyle poured his coffee and looked a question at his other half.

"He doesn't have to buy flowers or chocolate, or spend a fortune on a night out to make up for some piddling broken date..." He dragged over a chair and parked himself at the table. Doyle conjured the breakfast from under the grill. The situation was so -- ordinary -- Bodie, wolfing his meal, while Doyle picked at his meat -- it was hard to imagine that they could've been in bed together, let alone...

"If you don't want that bacon," Bodie eyed Mac's plate, 'I'll finish it." His fork hovered menacingly.

McCabe staked his claim; Bodie looked mournful, so Doyle passed over his as a consolation. It disappeared rapidly. Mac couldn't help a wry smile of amusement. He'd seen them do things like this so often in the canteen -- well, he and Lucas did the same... Perhaps their relationship wasn't quite as inexplicable as he'd first thought. There were times, he admitted, when he felt -- something -- for Lucas, but Lucas had gotten engaged, so, of course, he couldn't...

Doyle put the kettle on again. Bodie collected up the dirty dishes.

"Forgot to ask how you're feeling this morning." Bodie glanced over his shoulder. "Your bruises are coming out nicely."

Mac looked down at his chest and stomach to find himself splotched with various shades of purple and blue.

Doyle told him to stand up, and (he) placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to turn him, presenting his back to Bodie.

"That looks bad. You're not fit to be left on your own today," Bodie pronounced. "Hope you don't mind sharing with a pair of limp- wristed poofters." He quirked a devilish eyebrow at the younger man, knowing exactly what McCabe thought of him.

"Won't I be in the way?" Mac shot a troubled look at Doyle who shook his head.

"Nah, we'll just pack you off to bed and check on you from time to time. We promise we won't jump you while you're sleeping," he assured the other agent with an impish grin.

"That's -- nice to know," Mac replied unconvincingly. Bodie started to laugh.

Had he been at home, Mac would've made the effort to finish his chores. Here, with the others, he was put to bed and spent the morning asleep, which eased the nagging headache.

Doyle produced a very good lunch -- with more hindrance than help from his partner -- and Mac dozed off again in the afternoon, coming round once in a while to listen for any tell-tale noises from the living room. He made a couple of sorties to the bathroom. First time he emerged, he found Doyle sharpening a vicious-looking knife. Bodie was on the -- reassembled -- sofa, in the middle of cleaning both his own weapon and his partner's.

"How's the head?" Doyle enquired as he tested the blade.

"Fine." Mac eyed the knife suspiciously. "Is that regulation issue?"

"Only for Government troops in the Congo," Bodie replied dryly. "Some idiot was waving it about, threatening to use it -- I took it off him."

The tone left the younger agent in no doubts as to how Bodie had acquired it. McCabe carried on to the bathroom. The second time he entered the lounge, Bodie was lying on the settee reading a book, while Doyle sat on the floor watching the TV. An ordinary Sunday, two friends spending a peaceful afternoon together...

Hearing Mac moving about, Bodie ruffled his lover's hair. "Coffee?'

"Please."

Neither man made a move towards the kitchen. McCabe reappeared. "It's part of your forfeit,' Bodie reminded.

"Meals only," Doyle corrected.

"Make the drinks now, and I'll count that as supper," Bodie bartered.

With a snort, Doyle scrambled to his feet and trawled off to put the kettle on.

Grinning, Bodie glanced up at McCabe. "There's no sense in having a partner if you can't make use of him!"

It was almost midnight. He rolled off the bed more smoothly now that his muscles were easing, and padded into the lounge. The reading lamp was still on and McCabe finished his call of nature without resorting to the bathroom light.

Bodie was asleep in Doyle's arms, his face pressed against the hairy chest. There was something appealing about the sight -- Bodie, all arrogance and self-assured when he was awake, and now so vulnerable and -- childlike, as he dreamed. Doyle, however, was dog-watching, and opened his eyes, alert for any potential danger to himself or his mate.

For a minute, the two agents regarded each other across the sleeping man, then Mac smiled and passed on. He went to the bedroom, where he crawled under the covers and dozed off quickly, to dream of warmth, and loving...and Lucas...

Doyle drove him back to the disco the following morning so that he could collect his car. Neither of them spoke much on the way -- there was an unvoiced agreement between them not to discuss what had happened back at the flat.

Doyle pulled his Capri up beside the Dolomite in the deserted car- park, and they sat in silence for a moment. At length, Mac said awkwardly, "Well -- thanks for -- the weekend, Ray. For -- looking after me and -- everything..."

Doyle smiled. "A friend in need..."

McCabe nodded and opened the door.

"Give my regards to Angie," Doyle added. "You've got tonight to make it up to her -- just don't be late tomorrow morning!"

Mac stopped and looked pensive for a moment. "Somehow," he said slowly, "1 don't think I'll be seeing her again." He paused, gathering himself. "When she said -- what she said about me and other blokes, I was hurt, angry --" He met Doyle's eyes levelly. "I didn't understand how it could be -- between two men. I don't know if I could ever get involved -- have it like you and Bodie, but --" he faltered. "I think what I'm trying to say is thanks for letting me see how good it could be."

Doyle's smile became a full-fledged grin and he cuffed Mac lightly round the ear before ruffling the dark hair. "Get out of here," he laughed, "before I decide to take you back to my place for a practical lesson!"

With a chuckle, McCabe levered himself out of the Capri, and into the bright sunlight of the day. His joints still creaked a little from Saturday's pasting, but a long soak would sort that out. Clean clothes, tidy up the flat, and later, a quiet drink at his local -- maybe he'd get lucky with the barmaid... Or maybe, he mused, I'll phone Lucas and ask him out...

Doyle watched him until he drove away. It wouldn't take young Mac long to find out that he wasn't the only one on the squad who had doubts about his sexuality, and his feelings towards his partner. He started the engine -- but for one drunken night, he would've been in the same position himself... He swung the Capri out of the car-park and got his foot down... Mac would work it out for himself, he decided. In the meantime, Doyle had plans of his own for the rest of Monday...

-- THE END --

For Ian, with suitably insincere apologies.