The ride to Doyle's flat was the longest of Bodie's life. Full of rage, he drove his reckless best, using the knife-edge of danger to release his tension and anxiety. And, he had to admit to himself as he waited impatiently at a traffic signal, he wanted to scare Cowley, if such a thing was possible.

Bodie glanced at his boss, who looked as imperturbable as ever. Damn you, Cowley. You cold, unfeeling son of a bitch. How could you walk out of that hospital with Ray about to go under... Bodie took a deep breath. Unfair, old son; he was right. There was nothing we could do there. He narrowly avoided plowing into the back of a blue Volvo. The small, barely perceptible intake of breath from the man beside him satisfied Bodie's need for revenge; he drove the remaining distance just a bit more carefully.

Cowley flashed him an exasperated look as they got out of the car. Walking behind, Bodie stuck out his tongue. It was then he realized how dangerously out of control he was, his emotions seesawing between the manic and the depressive. On the pretext of examining the building's facade for some sort of clue, Bodie stopped outside the main entrance to draw in a series of deep breaths. He closed his eyes to shut out the reality of the world, of Doyle near death, as he began a mantra he didn't understand but knew would help. With practiced ease, he slipped into a light trance, willing himself to calmness, letting the peace of that in-between state pervade his being. When he opened his eyes, seconds later, he was on a short fuse, but had at least gained a semblance of control. Walking into the building, he found Cowley waiting for him beside the lift.

In silence, they rode up to Doyle's floor, but Bodie knew Cowley had been observing him. When their eyes met briefly, Bodie saw understanding as well as the steel beneath. He took another deep breath and paused to let Cowley exit ahead of him.

A moment of panic seized Bodie upon entering Doyle's flat. The activity of agents searching for clues made him frantically examine his memory. For an instant he drew a total blank. Although they prided themselves on their discretion, he methodically tried to remember if any of the rooms might contain evidence of their year old relationship as lovers. With a casualness he didn't feel, Bodie carefully looked around. His gaze was ultimately drawn to the drying stains on the carpet. Tears threatened as he again felt the warmth of Doyle's blood on his fingertips. Fighting morbid thoughts that had been with him since he'd found his partner, Bodie hastily headed for the kitchen, intent upon continuing his visual inspection there, away from the reminder of Doyle's precarious condition.

Seeing nothing amiss in the tidy room where so much of his partner went into the creation of healthy meals, Bodie's eyes nonetheless lingered on the small seascape hanging between two of the many windows. The sound of the surf came back to him, echoing through him as he recalled the day on Brighton beach when Doyle had painted it. They were there courtesy of CI5, having successfully solved the Cabrelli narcotics affair. Normally, Cowley wouldn't have ordered them anywhere on leave, but he witnessed those tense moments when the bomb strapped to Doyle's abdomen had been disarmed. His mind lost in the watercolour sea, Bodie could again hear Doyle speaking softly, encouraging him. "Take a deep breath, sunshine. Wearin' your jumper, remember? Steady, use those fingers, Bodie, those fingers that drive me wild. Come on, Bodie. Remember your trainin'. Prove to me you're better at bombs. Child's play for a man like you. Breathe, Bodie. It helps. I'm breathin', see? You're gonna make sure I go on, aren't you? I trust you, Bodie, to keep me out of trouble, keep me in one piece. So good with those fingers. Another breath, on the count of three. One . . . two . . . three . . ." Poised in a moment of uncertainty, then as now, Bodie could feel the warm weight of Doyle's arms draped over his shoulders, the physical contact conveying Doyle's unshakable belief in him. About to snip the last wire, he'd glanced up. Silently, Doyle mouthed the words "I love you", giving him the courage to act.

The memory merged with another, similar one, Doyle on the beach a day later, his arms again over Bodie's shoulders. This time the gentle voice told him, "If you don't stop prattin' on like a two-year-old who's just discovered his tongue, it's off to the concession stand with you -- for the rest of the day, sunshine." Smiling to himself, Bodie remembered how he'd deliberately continued. Doyle had pressed a paint-stained finger to his lips and said, "I'm warning you. One more word and you'll never get this painting." Much as he had wanted the painting, he'd rattled on, happy that Doyle was alive for him to tease. His feeble smile grew as he again focused on the watercolour with its liquid blues and greens -- Doyle colours.

By this time, without conscious thought, Bodie's feet had carried him into the small alcove where Doyle painted. Glancing at the table where the brushes and paints were set out in a neat accessible array, Bodie couldn't ignore his curiosity when he noticed the covered easel. Lifting a corner of the old sheet, what he saw brought a lump to his throat. Doyle, using a photograph he'd taken that evening in Brighton, was painstakingly painting another, far better, watercolour. Instinct told him it would be his Christmas present. He took a deep breath, hoping to quiet the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. Forcing himself back to the task at hand, he looked around. Noting nothing suspicious, he returned to the main room. His eyes were automatically drawn to the abstract sculpture he'd given Doyle for his last birthday. It'd cost too much and he didn't really understand it, but the smile in those green eyes had been worth every pound. Besides, its very akimboness reminded him of Doyle on a morning after.

"Hey, look at this." The voice called Bodie back, his mind quickly returning to the scene unfolding in front of him. Tim, a new trainee, was holding a big, furry-black teddy bear by the ear. "Imagine Doyle having a Pooh bear," he laughed. Bodie clenched his fists, fighting the urge to save "Bodie-bear" and shove a disrespectful Tim through a nearby window. Standing motionless, however, he managed to ignore the comments. When no one responded -- everyone else knew better than to make fun of Doyle in Bodie's presence -- Tim stuffed the bear into an empty cubbyhole in the bookcase.

Again, Bodie took a deep breath. Seeing the bear mistreated returned him to the local fair where he'd rescued the stuffed animal from certain harm at the sticky hands of Doyle's four-year-old niece, Arabella. When her mother, Colleen, had required an emergency appendectomy, on the very day she was to take Arabella on this long promised outing, the cavalry, in the form of Uncle Ray and Uncle Bodie, had been summoned. Already thoroughly charmed by the child, he had insisted they go, feeling the day at the carnival would do all three good, especially Doyle, who'd been suffering from a bad cold.

The fair reminded him of the street bazaars in Dakar. Certain that this must seem every bit as wonderful to Arabella as those far-away, teeming streets had been for him, he'd defied Doyle's virtuous warnings about upset tummies as he and Arabella sampled every confection the place had to offer. Late in the afternoon, when the seemingly tireless Arabella was beginning to feel queasy, Doyle had made her sit still for a while. To entertain her while she sat on his lover's lap, something Bodie, himself, wouldn't have minded doing, the CI5 dart champion had won Bodie-bear. Refreshed by the relatively peaceful - foodless - interval, they'd toured more of the fair. He earned a large white stuffed cat with green eyes at the coin toss. Intending it for Doyle, he discovered Arabella about to feed the then- unnamed bear a wad of cotton candy. Rescuing it from a fate worse than unstuffing, he'd handed both prizes to Doyle and made himself the recipient of her cotton candy.

Much later, when they'd finally tucked her into bed, he'd been surprised to see her cuddled up with the cat, whom she'd named Jasmine. The bear was nowhere in sight. He found it snuggled into bed with Doyle, who had said he was keeping the bear because of its Bodie-blue eyes.

"Give us some room," he'd groused, edging toward Doyle's side of the bed. "Tell it to the bear. He's the porker here." "He hoggin' the blankets too?"

Outside, a thunderstorm had begun to rage. The first loud thunderclap had been followed by a creaking sound as the bedroom door opened. Both had been out of bed, reaching for their weapons when they'd realized it was Arabella.

"What's the matter, sunshine?" he'd asked, scooping her into his arms. "Jasmine's afraid of the storm."

"Jas...? The thunder won't hurt her, you know." She'd put her small arms around his neck and kissed his stubbly cheek, making him grateful for the cover of darkness. "I know," she'd replied bravely. Another thunderclap caused her to tighten her hold. The next flash of lightening revealed her huge eyes -- Doyle-green and even wider. "Would Jasmine like to sleep here tonight?" "Meow," had been her soft response. "Please." He'd placed her in the middle of their bed. When he climbed in, she'd snuggled against him, stifling a big yawn. To Doyle, who'd remained standing by the window, she'd said sleepily, "Uncle Ray, it's time for bed."

Another round of thunder and lightening had shown him the smile on Doyle's face, the one which affirmed the widely held belief that he, William Andrew Philip Bodie-tough man, was a sucker for females of any age. When Doyle was neatly curled around her other side, Arabella has asked, "Where's Bodie- bear?" "Grrrr," the bear replied with assistance from Doyle as he joined Jasmine in Arabella's arms. Each of the animals and Arabella bestowed kisses on all present.

"Uncle Ray," she'd said before falling asleep, "you have to kiss Uncle Bodie goodnight." As Doyle had complied, he'd wondered what Arabella thought of them -- would think of them when she was twenty with a lover of her own. That made Bodie wince. "Have to get well, Ray... to be there for the wedding," he whispered to the image of Doyle he carried in his mind.

Looking at the bear, now awkwardly wedged into the too-small opening, Bodie admonished him silently, telling him he'd failed his mission, to guard Doyle's back when he wasn't there to do it. Mumbling to the bear, he said, "Should leave you in there, you know." He retrieved the animal, placing him on the couch where he'd at least be comfortable. Somehow, Bodie resisted the urge to hug the stuffed animal.

A shiver crept over him as he realized Cowley was watching him. Their eyes met. In Cowley's, he could see the question his boss wanted to ask. But he knew Cowley didn't want an answer. With resolve he dredged up from some dark recess, he leaned against the wall, focusing his attention on the report Hogan was delivering.

"Entry was gained with an ordinary combination key." "That means Doyle didn't set the second locks," Cowley mused. "Went out to the shops. Wasn't expecting anything. Made it simple for them to get in." "Them?"

"One. Two. Male. Female. Anyway, the alarm wasn't triggered till they went through the window."

"Neighbours?"

"Nothing. Silencer obviously. But there is this... a slug from the wall." The realization that there was hard evidence roused Bodie, evoking his ire. "Origin," he demanded.

"Can't tell you yet. I'm not ballistics," Hogan replied. "Yeah, well, get it to ballistics." Against his will, the anger entered Bodie's voice. "We're wasting time."

"All right, all right. We've just dug it from the wall, Bodie." His fragile control shattered, he muttered, "Yeah...okay...sorry." Needing to escape, lest Cowley have his answer after all, Bodie sought refuge in the bedroom.

Much to his chagrin, Cowley followed as soon as Hogan finished. Trying desperately to school his features into a less revealing expression, he automatically began his own report. "Nothing seems to have been touched. If they were looking for something, they knew where it was." He glanced around again, puzzled by the entire incident. "What did he have that they would want?"

Looking up, he noticed Cowley eyeing him, their gazes meeting in the reflection of the mirror.

"Just his life, perhaps," Cowley said.

"Yeah, well they didn't get it -- yet," Bodie answered. tentatively, seeing his own eyes as Cowley must see them. They were desolate, dark and despairing as his emotions were.

Bodie realized that Cowley, obviously reading the tension in him, clearly understanding what he was feeling, was searching for a way to offer him strength. As his boss latched onto a framed poem, Bodie heard the familiar Scots voice.

"Go placidly amid the noise and haste, Bodie..." he began, his tone suggesting that it was a message of sympathy. But Bodie wasn't really listening. He knew he shouldn't have entered the bedroom. They'd made love here only two nights ago. A wave of despair surged through him when he glanced again at the neatly made bed. For a brief instant, he wondered if he'd ever feel Doyle's slender body beneath him again. NO! he shouted at himself. Ray, you must... Bodie sank into his mantra again, seeking comfort in the repetition of the sounds, wishing he believed there was a god to hear the silent prayer that accompanied the chant.

While trying to quell his fear, Bodie was also attempting to dispel the feeling, intensified by Cowley's action, that his boss was an intruder here. This was a place he shared with Doyle, and the poem Cowley was now reading was a part of himself he intended only for his lover.

Fighting back the resentment rapidly replacing his anxiety, Bodie forced himself to concentrate on how he'd come to give Doyle that important part of his psyche. He'd first seen DESIDERATA years ago, when he'd packed a fellow mercenary's meager, private belongings for shipment back to a newly widowed wife. Keeping the tattered verse, he still read it now and then because in an odd way it summarized his philosophy of life.

A few months ago, he and Doyle had had another in a long line of arguments over criminal motivation. They'd moved easily from Locke's theories on the benefits of education to a discussion of Rousseau's notion that people were basically good. Well lubricated by this time, goaded by Doyle's intellectual posturing, he led a spirited defense of the French philosopher, ignoring his own image as a world class cynic.

From there, Doyle had deftly steered him into a heated conversation about his philosophy of life. "What do you believe in, Bodie? Besides your egotistical self?"

"'Truth, justice and the American way'," he'd parroted in reply, evoking a chuckle from his partner. "Good and evil," he'd added softly, afraid to reveal such a private part of himself, even to Doyle, who guarded his other vulnerabilities. Doyle's eyes had grown wide, as they always did when he listened; their avid expression of interest silently encouraged him to elaborate. "There are good people in the world and there are evil ones," he'd said. "How do you know that we aren't all a bit of both?" "Are, in a way, I suppose. But evil people are evil. There's no good in them." "How do you know that?" Doyle had asked, clearly curious. "I've seen 'em murder babies, rape children, kill just for the fun of it." "In Angola?"

"Angola...London...Lebanon...Dublin... there are evil people everywhere." "And it's your job to stop 'em from doin' evil?" "Isn't it yours?" he'd inquired of Doyle, rather sarcastically, he realized in retrospect. "Yeah. Don't like 'em preyin' on people who just want to live their lives in peace," Doyle admitted.

"That's it then, isn't it? Fightin' for the underdog." "Yeah, but why do we do it?" Doyle had wondered. "I mean, why us? What makes us the guardians of right."

He'd tapped his heart in reply, earning a lovely smile from his partner. The ice broken, they'd talked through the night... dawn bringing an awareness of the fact that they'd achieved a new depth of understanding with regard to one another's motivations.

That night had made Bodie realize how important it was to strengthen their relationship at that level, to build a bridge between them that would remain once the job with its shared danger was gone. A few roses and dinner had persuaded Emma Barnes in the cypher department to transfer the faded words of his copy of DESIDERATA onto a creamy parchment adorned with her flowing calligraphy.

He'd framed it himself, relishing the opportunity to work with his hands. While looking at the finished [WORD MISSING] though, he'd been stricken with a massive case of "cold feet". Unable to present it to Doyle, face to face, he'd bided his time, waiting for one of the days they spent apart -- "off days" as they called them -- a long standing concession to their mutual, well-defined need for time alone. Knowing how much Doyle enjoyed non-occasion gifts, and how much he liked giving them, he'd finally posted the framed poem only two weeks ago.

Cowley's voice, as he read the occasional line, drew Bodie back to the present. He watched rather than heard, aware of how visible his emotions were, yet uncaring. Bodie knew that his boss was delivering a covert message of sympathy; but he didn't care about that either. All he could see was Doyle unwrapping the box, knowing who the parcel was from before it was open. Through his binoculars from his station on a rooftop across the street, Bodie had watched his lover scan the poem. Smiling one of those radiant smiles that told him how pleased Doyle was, his partner had looked over at Bodie-bear sitting placidly in a nearby easy chair. The night before, in a fit of slightly drunken whimsy, they'd propped him up there and allowed him to read the copy of THE TEDDY BEARS' PICNIC intended for Arabella.

Was probably readin' it to Doyle, Bodie thought, swallowing hard as he struggled for control, hoping the sarcasm would help. It didn't, however, for his mind was automatically drawn to their subsequent meeting. Doyle had prepared all of his fattening favourites -- fettucini Alfredo, steak-au- poivre, glazed cooked carrots, and chocolate truffle torte.

Predictably, they'd ended up in bed, just as they had two nights ago when massages and moonlight had seduced their senses. Desperately, Bodie fought off those memories of the last time he and Doyle made love in this room. With effort, he forced himself from his melancholy reverie in time to hear Cowley say, "Discovered in a Graveyard, Baltimore 1692." A cold shiver threatened to make him weak-kneed. "Please no," he whispered as Cowley continued, giving voice to his assumptions about the cause of the shooting.

"No vendettas, Bodie. No revenge. Whatever happens to Doyle, it was his job... comes with the territory." From somewhere, Bodie found the words to answer his superior, pouring all of his cold helplessness into the reply. "Yeah, being a target for some maniac political assassin."

"You're presuming, Bodie. I want facts. Stay on it. I'm going to the hospital." As Cowley left the room hastily, Bodie remained slumped against the wall, drained of the will to move. He heard his boss give instructions that no one was to enter the bedroom. Realizing that Cowley had provided him with the opportunity to pull himself together rekindled Bodie's dedication to the task ahead of him. He was, after all, a professional. "One of the best," he reminded himself as he glanced once again at the bed... and he'd never had a more important assignment.

---

"Okay?" Bodie asked for the millionth time that day. He stood hovering at the side of Ray Doyle's bed.

"Mmmm. Yes, Mum," Doyle replied, nodding as he flashed one of his best "come-hither" looks.

Bodie reached down to ruffle the wild curls, fighting the stronger urge to climb into the bed with his partner. He kissed Doyle's forehead and left before Doyle could say anything that might tempt him further. He returned a few minutes later with Bodie-bear. "Since I can't..." he said with a sigh, thrusting the bear toward Doyle.

Doyle rewarded Bodie with one of his broadest smiles and a wide-eyed look of lust. "Goodnight, sunshine," Bodie said, knowing he needed to leave immediately lest his resolve abandon him. "On the sofa if you need anything." He groaned when Doyle pointed down to his sheet-covered cock. Muttering obscenities, Bodie practically fled from the room. The doctor had been very emphatic -- no birds for at least two weeks. And that meant him.

Doyle watched Bodie leave, an amused smile still on his lips. He was glad to be alive, he thought as he carefully stretched stiff muscles. "Could use one of Bodie's massages," he told the bear who was sitting on the pillow where Bodie's head should have been. Looking at the bear, Doyle realized how silly it was for him, one of CI5's resident tough guys, to be talking to a stuffed animal that he wouldn't part with for the world. But, he didn't care, he reflected philosophically. He loved the bear and he loved Bodie even more. Crazy, romantic, weird Bodie. "No one else like him," Doyle said aloud, again to his bed companion.

Sinking down into the cool embrace of the sheets, Doyle reached for the bear, setting him on his abdomen. "You should have seen him today," Doyle began, sure the bear wanted to hear every detail. He always did. "Good listener, you are," he said, patting the bear's head. "Tell you anything." Doyle sighed, his mind drifting over the day's events.

He'd been scheduled for a 1 P.M. release from the hospital, but the doctor had come by at 10 A.M. to sign the forms. That Bodie had been responsible Doyle was certain. A slightly maniacal, conspiratorial wink was proof of that. Shaking his head, Doyle told the attentive bear, "After that, there was no stopping him. Spent the rest of the day treating me like a 90-year- old." Hugging the bear, Doyle's thoughts continued as he savored the memory of how Bodie had simply and unabashedly pampered him. "Did everything from carry me laundry to drink me beer," he informed the bear, who was once again sitting placidly on Doyle's abdomen. "So sincere. Who wanted to stop him? Not that anyone could once his mind's made up. Felt silly, it did, but good too."

Sighing deeply, Doyle relaxed a bit more, the pain abating as his pill took effect. "Really could use a massage," he said ruefully, rubbing his own neck. He thought of Bodie, out on the sofa. "Too knackered to... even if the doctor had said we could. He's lost weight since I've been in. Need to fatten him up." Doyle snorted, knowing that wouldn't be difficult. "Not with his appetite." He scrutinized the bear. "Not that appetite, you crud. You're as bad as he is." The bear looked totally innocent. "Don't bat those baby-blues at me. I know you." Again, Doyle hugged the bear, wishing it was the real Bodie. "Can't though," he conceded somberly.

They had to be very careful about their relationship. England was going through another bout of rampant homophobia. And if Cowley knew, he'd probably be forced to kick them out; the blackmail potential for CI5 was too great. "Can't risk the whole operation just for us," Doyle mumbled. "Cowley -- wonder what he'd say, really. Probably nothing since Bodie's involved," he groused, his mind reviewing the many times Bodie seemed to get away with almost anything. "Wonder why he's the prodigal son?" Doyle continued to muse when the bear didn't reply. Cowley clearly tolerated more ostensible disrespect, more wild behavior from Bodie. "Almost as if he expects it, is willing to pay that price to have Bodie's services."

"Bodie is loyal," Doyle pointed out, letting his train of thought continue. With a shudder he remembered again what lengths Bodie would go to for an old mate. "He really came close to killing that damn biker a while back," Doyle whispered, still amazed by Bodie's response to the murder of an old para buddy.

"What did Cowley do for Bodie to earn that fierce loyalty?" Doyle knew it wouldn't be easy, but he resolved to find out. He'd never had a straight story from Bodie about why he was with CI5. And he still didn't understand what had happened to make mercenary Bodie take up the homeland's cause and enlist in the paras and then the SAS. "No scruples," he told the bear, "but a fucking sense of what's right and wrong that's worse than mine," Doyle finished, looking at the silent bear and then over at the framed poem Bodie had given him.

"Odd bit, that," he added, thinking back to the day he'd received it. Bodie had told him it was a mildly philosophical piece that he'd enjoy. But it was more. "Much more," he emphasized aloud. "Part of Bodie, that is." Again, Doyle hugged Bodie-bear. "Explains a lot. It's him. How he lives," Doyle said out loud. "Gift of insight." He pictured the text, its words long ago memorized.

"'Go placidly amid the noise and haste...' That's him, always cool, whether it's bullets flying or Cowley in a mad dog mood.

"'Remember what peace there may be in silence...' Never been with anyone who's so comfortable when we don't talk. Course he can prat on, too...

"'As far as possible without surrender, be on good terms with all persons...' He's that. Can't think of anyone who knows him who doesn't fall for that 'little-boy-innocent' look, including Cowley... and me. Do find him now and then chatting up the oddest people." Doyle's voice trailed off as he thought about what he had heard from the other agents. He could hardly believe the Bodie he knew holding Mai Li's hand on the way to the hospital. "Hard, but truly compassionate," Doyle told his audience before continuing.

"'Speak your truth quietly and clearly...' He never hesitates, even with Cowley, though the part about quiet doesn't exactly fit," Doyle explained. "Problem is figuring out just how Bodie's truth relates to the truth." He laughed as he thought about some of the tall, almost believable, tales Bodie had spun on stakeouts over the years. "Still don't know if there are sandworms in the desert or if they're just in his head," mused Doyle, absently rubbing Bodie-bear behind the ears.

"'Listen to others, even the dull and ignorant; they too have their story...' 'bout the only dull and ignorant person Bodie doesn't listen to is me," he grumbled. "Be upset if he knew we know about the old flower lady he tries to have tea with once a week, or the cat he's feedin' at his place when she can't hunt up enough herself. But we won't tell, will we?" Doyle asked the bear in a hushed voice.

"'Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit...' Does do that, unless they're pushing some poor sod around. Favors underdogs, he does. Hates to see people... or bears... bein' bullied." Looking Bodie-bear in the eye, Doyle asked, "Think that's why he joined CI5? To play Superman? Just because he is?" When the bear returned his stare, Doyle said, "So you think he's super too, huh? Good taste.

"'If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself...' Should skip this one. Bodie thinks he's the best even when Macklin's got him pinned to the floor and is itchin' to break his back. But he's not afraid to admit he doesn't know it all, at least with me," Doyle added, thinking about the numerous occasions throughout their partnership when Bodie had deferred to his -- and even Cowley's -- detective skills, learning from them to out-think, rather than out-gun, the people they were after. "'course he can't resist a short-cut, 'cause he thinks he's smarter..." Doyle knew that Bodie-bear thought Bodie was the best there was, so he wasn't surprised by the bear's disbelieving look. Rather than argue the point, especially since in his own heart Doyle agreed, he went on.

"'Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans...' Certainly does that, Bodie does. Not a modest bone in his body and he never fails to tell you either when he's done something he's proud of. Remember the day he captured Franz Myer? No, of course you don't. Weren't here then, were you?" Doyle inquired, touching the tip of his index finger to Bodie-bear's cold black nose. "Well, you should have seen him, sitting there in Cowley's office, in that silver/gray suit -- you know the one, with the tight pants -- both hands bandaged, smiling that smug smile, so pleased with himself I thought he'd pop his shirt buttons. Didn't help either that Cowley was delighted to have that gang off the streets of England." As he had done then, Doyle laughed.

"'Keep interested in your career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time...' Just a humble civil servant he would say to the birds. Used to worry he'd simply disappear one day, back to the jungle, but he's happy with CI5." He paused, "All right, and with me," Doyle agreed with the bear. "Likes the set up, the time off, the perks..." Doyle smiled. "Yeah, he thinks I'm one of the perks, you randy little sod." Doyle reached past his companion to rub his slowly pulsing cock. "Randier than you are," he admitted, fighting the growing need for Bodie's touch.

Seeking diversion and strength of will, he continued analyzing the poem. "'Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery...'" Doyle laughed, still amazed at Bodie's ability to convince Cowley to sign for the most outrageous of expenses. The most recent example came quickly to mind as Doyle wiggled, the texture of the silk sheets seductively soft after hospital linen. "Still have no idea how he conned the Cow into payin' for these. Probably told him they were for undercover work," Doyle grumbled, picturing his partner solemnly explaining to Cowley. "Secret's in the timing," he added, pulling Bodie-bear close to whisper in his ear. "Always waits till Cowley's havin' it out with a minister or MI5. Seein' how he collects gossip, Bodie probably gives the Cow a tip and bein' grateful, the Cow signs without an argument," Doyle explained. "Or maybe he gets birds for the Cow... nah... Cowley's forgotten about sex. Too bad I can't forget." With a deep sigh of longing, Doyle kissed Bodie-bear's nose and returned him to his abdomen.

As he did so, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He looked every bit as silly as he felt, talking to a stuffed animal. But there were days, such as this one, when he had to tell someone about how wonderful he really thought Bodie was, about how much he loved his partner. He could tell no one he worked with since their relationship had to remain secret, always hidden behind a facade of bickering and insulting commentary. "Cowley probably knows," Doyle groused aloud. "Knows everything, he does."

Thinking about it, Doyle couldn't come up with any workmate he'd want to confide in, even if he could. No one would believe what he said about Bodie. He'd toyed with the idea of telling everyone -- except Bodie -- that he'd fallen for a girl named Willomena to whom he could ascribe Bodie's better qualities. The notion had been quickly discarded, however, because of the risk it posed to them as a couple and the danger it held for destroying Bodie's image with the other agents. Knowledge of the real Bodie was privileged information he would guard with his life. "That's what makes it so wonderful," he told Bodie-bear. "He really knows me too. And he still loves me. Me... Bodie loves me," he added proudly, though the why of it was still a puzzle to Doyle, but he'd long ago decided that if he was good enough for Bodie, he shouldn't question it -- too often.

"Can't tell Bodie, either," Doyle allowed out loud. "Gets embarrassed if I go on too long. So I just tell him enough to make him blush, but I could continue for hours," he pointed out wistfully. "Besides, he'd be absolutely insufferable if he really knew how terrific he was." Looking at the bear, Doyle said sternly, "And don't you tell him." Accepting the bear's silence as a tacit promise, Doyle continued, "Leaves only you to tell me secrets to. Probably sick to be prattin' on to a stuffed bear but..." his voice faded as he hugged the bear again, grateful it would listen. With another sigh, he moved on to the next line of DESIDERATA.

"'But let not this world blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals and everywhere life is full of heroism...' Doesn't believe that, he's seen too much. Thought he'd go crazy the time we broke up the child porn ring," Doyle confided to the bear, who was again seated on his abdomen. "Took three of us to keep him from killin' the creep who ran the operation. He would have done it too, without remorse, if we'd let him," he said in a tone tinged with wonder. "Believes those kind of people shouldn't live." A chill shivered through Doyle as he pictured the ice-blue eyes, cold and ready for the kill. "Seen a lot, meself, but I don't buy the eye-for-an-eye routine. Bodie does, I think." Wondering what else his partner could have experienced to make him feel that way, Doyle automatically thought of the poem's next line."'Be yourself...' "Still don't know all there is to Bodie. He puts on false fronts as regularly as I put on shirts, yet... there's always something very Bodie there too. Think I've psyched out the real one, mostly, just a few bits to iron out," he told the bear confidently. "'Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass...' Bodie's smooth as silk with the birds. Never led them on, never made them think there was more he could give. Always thought it was because he was so cynical, before I saw what it hides. He'd been burned, badly, he had. Wasn't about to give his heart away again till he was sure." Doyle became introspective as he thought about Bodie's confession of what had made him sure he was in love. "Set me up, the friggin' sod," Doyle began telling Bodie-bear. "Spent 20 minutes tellin' me he was in love with a green-eyed, brown-haired beauty. Had a body that was so sexy he was half-hard all the time. Got me goin' just talking about it. Told him I thought it was lust not love. Smiled one of his sexy smiles and said he knew it was more, knew it was love. Like a bleedin' fool, I tumbled, asked him how he knew. Looked me in the eye and explained how he craved me veggies, and he wasn't referring to the zucchini and tomatoes I stuffed in me jeans but the real ones I fixed for dinner. Just stared at him like a moron as the words sank in. Blushed then, I did. Couldn't see straight after he kissed me, right there in the day room." Doyle smiled at the bear as the memory chased away the earlier chill. Glancing down he noted, with dismay, his half-hard cock. "Forget it. Doctor's orders," he told his disobedient phallus.

"Want him..." he said, drawing in several long breaths, trying to dispel the passion surging through him. "'Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth...' Sort of Bodie," Doyle told Bodie-bear with a deep chuckle. "He's none too graceful about it, but he has given up claims to five times a night. Old age, that. 'Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune...' Does that. Never known Bodie to be down for long. Always fights back, always ready." Doyle stopped as he mulled over the vague memories he had from his shooting. He could feel Bodie touching him, trying to stop the blood. There was desperation in the way the hands touched him, held him till they arrived at the hospital. Instinctively, he'd clung to Bodie's strength of will. When they were separated, when the warm hands could no longer urge him to fight, he'd sunk into despair. "Could learn from him, I could," Doyle chided himself. It hadn't been till after the operation, till Bodie had touched him again, that he felt real. The experience still made him uneasy. Bodie's strength of will, communicated through his whole being, had summoned him back from the edge of unconsciousness. "Or was it Bodie's need?" Doyle asked the bear. "Don't know," he answered, shaking his head as he thought again of the poem's words, about Bodie's resilience. "No one I'd rather have guarding me back." Doyle gave the bear a disparaging look. "Me back, me back, not me ass..." Sighing, Doyle forced his thoughts away from what Bodie could do to his ass right now. He glanced at Bodie-bear who was looking at him with sapphire blue glass eyes, obviously waiting for him to continue.

"'But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness...' Taught me that, he did, the night before the attack on Parsali. Don't know why I was so nervous. But Bodie was cool as ice even though he was scared too. Kept tellin' me it was bad to talk about dyin'. Felt good lying next to him in the sleeping bag, listenin' to his heartbeat, strong, steady -- till he made love to me that is." The memory came back, bringing with it the recollection of sensations created by Bodie's hands and lips as they calmed him, then kindled a raging fire of a different sort. Doyle's fingers, possessed by a mind of their own, grasped his firming cock, rubbing the silk sheet over it in a sensuous glide that left Doyle wanting Bodie's warm mouth there. A glance at the bear -- turned involuntary voyeur -- brought him back to reality. He laughed as he thought of DESIDERATA's next line -- how, at the moment, he'd like to use it as an excuse to continue masturbating. The doctor had, however, been emphatic. No sex -- and he specifically included masturbation -- for two weeks.

"Fuck," Doyle swore. "Not fair," he told Bodie-bear with a sigh as he returned to his comparison of Bodie's life and the poem. "'Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself...' Disciplined of mind and body he is, but the spirit... he overindulges that." Doyle laughed, recalling the last time they'd been to a French restaurant -- on assignment, of course. Bodie had skipped dinner and eaten half the dessert cart's offerings instead. "Go to me grave picturing him stuffing a Swiss roll in his big mouth." The thought of those lips made Doyle shiver. "Want that mouth now," he murmured to his wide-eyed companion. "Discipline," he reminded himself as he resumed his litany.

"'You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here...' Arrogant bastard really... He is!" Doyle added indignantly when the bear refused to believe him.

"'And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should...' Believes that, he does. Only he feels obligated to help it along. Never worries about tomorrow. I do enough of that for the both of us.

"'Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive him to be...' Does he believe in God?" the bear was asked. When he received no answer, Doyle shrugged at their lack of knowledge and went on.

"'And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul...' Always sleeps like a babe... anywhere... Want him to sleep here know," Doyle told Bodie-bear. "No offense, mind you, but you're not the same," he added, kissing the bear's nose.

"'With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world...'" He marveled at Bodie's ability to find beauty in the oddest places... and the strangest people... Bodie's assortment of contacts, acquaintances and friends -- Doyle always felt as if he knew them well... such wonderful people until he met them. More than once he'd been surprised. "What does he say about me?" Doyle asked the bear. "He says you eat too much," he added, poking the bear's tubby tummy.

"'Be cheerful...' So bloody cheerful in the morning I'd like to smash his face in sometimes," Doyle grumbled. He hated mornings but Bodie seemed to thrive on them... "Once you manage to wake him up, that is.

"'Strive to be happy...' Thinks that's his bleedin' right too. Grabs for it... Only go round once and all that rot. Sounds like a beer ad when he gets goin'." Doyle looked wistfully at the bear. "Part of Bodie, it is," he said, referring to DESIDERATA.

He was silent for a moment. "Oh, he has his faults, too..." When the bear flashed him an incredulous look, Doyle elaborated. "He... give us a minute to think... don't be so smug... He drives too fast; he eats me out of house and home... I'm working up to the big, be patient... Hey, that's one; he's impatient... Two weeks before we can... we'll never make it... oversexed bastard that he is....... so bloody wonderful," Doyle whispered, afraid to tell even the bear just how much he loved Bodie. "Too much for me own good," he said aloud as he climbed out of bed, intent on talking to, touching Bodie.

Hugging his naked body as he shivered in the cool air, Doyle padded softly into the living room. His partner was already asleep. "Keep peace with your soul... " Doyle murmured as he sank into a nearby chair and watched Bodie sleep. When he'd soaked up enough of the calm that came from just being with Bodie, he returned to the bedroom, an idea taking shape. He checked the curtains to make sure they were tightly closed. Bodie-bear joined the poem on the dresser. "Sorry, mate," Doyle said as he gave him a final pat. "At least you can watch," he added wickedly as he pivoted for the door.

When he entered the living room, he gathered pillows from various chairs. Mindful of his diminished stamina, he settled into one directly across from the sofa. With unerring accuracy, he began chucking pillows at his snoring partner; he'd learned long ago, the hard way, about being too close when Bodie awoke suddenly. "Booodddie, Boooooddddie," Doyle called, continuing to assault his target.

Bodie finally awoke with a start, turning his head in time to have a pillow hit him square in the face. Dazed, he sat up. About to throw his last pillow, Doyle made the mistake of looking directly at Bodie... the blue eyes were oddly blank, making him realize that he'd roused his partner from a dream; he'd seen the look several times before. Concerned, he sat down beside him, placing a hand on his clothed thigh. "It's okay, Bodie. I'm here."

Bodie slowly turned to look at Doyle, his eyes still unfocused. Knowing he couldn't embrace Bodie in front of the windows, Doyle settled for putting his hand on the apparently dazed man's shoulder. He poked Bodie, trying to bring him around. "Bodie, it's me... Ray."

"Doyle," Bodie murmured, his eyes now locked on the pillow lying in Doyle's lap. "Your partner, remember?" Doyle coaxed, unaware of the direction of Bodie's stare. "Partner?"

Suddenly, Doyle realized Bodie was making a grab for the pillow. Automatic reflexes took charge as he squirmed away. He was half-way across the room when the purloined pillow hit his rump. The effort brought him shortness of breath and a pain in the chest. Trying to divert Bodie's attention from his weakness, Doyle rubbed his derriere. From the couch, Bodie laughed. "Give you a pain in the ass, did I?" "Booo," Doyle hissed at the obvious pun, still running his hands over his injured bum. "The bear not keeping you warm?" Bodie asked as he moved to his lover's side. Looking at his partner, Doyle could see the concern in the blue eyes. "You okay?" Bodie inquired softly, fully aware of what their moment of playfulness had cost Doyle.

Nodding, Doyle placed a finger on Bodie's lips to forestall further conversation. He waggled his finger then, indicating that his partner was to follow him into the bedroom.

"Follow you anywhere long as you're dressed like this," Bodie whispered as they entered the other room. "Not supposed to for two weeks," he added when arms were wrapped around him. He held on lightly, still half-afraid of hurting his partner.

"Know that," Doyle replied, obviously ignoring what he knew as he kissed Bodie. "You're kinky enough without help from the sofa," he added when he broke the kiss. "You've slept on it then," Bodie grumbled, rubbing his back ruefully. "I could use a massage," Doyle said hopefully. Bodie reached down to fondle Doyle's semi-erect cock. "So could this." He was silenced with another kiss during which he was pulled down onto the bed. "Not supposed to," Bodie mumbled as he rolled onto his back, shifting Doyle into position on top of him.

"Since when do we play by the rules?" Doyle replied as he began to undress his partner. Bodie resisted until Doyle began kissing his ear, then his resolve melted. By this time Doyle had Bodie's shirt unbuttoned and was working on his pants. After he had the zip down, he returned to Bodie's nipples, lavishing kisses on them till they hardened. As Bodie began wiggling to remove his confining trousers, the R/T in the other room buzzed. Both ignored it for several minutes. Finally, Doyle moved aside, allowing his partner to stand and pull his pants back on.

Bodie swept into the living room, the picture of rage. Doyle followed. "3.2 here," Bodie said deliberately, flopping morosely onto the sofa. "Alpha here, 3.7." Bodie flashed Doyle a look which meant, "Fuck the old man." "Yes, sir. Good evening, sir."

"You're very cheerful..." Cowley said thoughtfully. "Oh, but it's a beautiful evening, sir. The moon's out, the stars are bright, Doyle's okay, I'm drunk..." Bodie's voice trailed off as he silently mouthed for Doyle's benefit, "and I was about to get sucked off..." When Doyle began to laugh, Bodie grabbed a pillow and pressed it into his face to smother the noise. "What'd you call for, sir?" Bodie asked bluntly into the extended silence. He was sure Cowley was trying to figure out what they were doing.

"Two weeks, Bodie..."

Doyle's eyes grew wide as he suddenly stopped laughing. "He knows..." he whispered. Bodie, also caught off guard, said nothing. From the silence on the other end, Cowley knew his choice of words had been perfect. "Two weeks, Bodie, is how long it will take you to complete the job I have for you -- in Liverpool."

"Liverpool?" the agents groaned in unison. "That's too far away... sir," Bodie stated defiantly. "I didn't quite catch that, Bodie."

"Sir," Bodie pleaded, "Doyle is... Liverpool?" His voice faded. Doyle shook his head. Only Bodie could get away with questioning Cowley's orders. "Yes, 3.7, Liverpool."

"But I can't go without Ray," Bodie told his boss, looking longingly at his partner. "Yes, you can. There's to be no rough stuff, Bodie. It is a reconnaissance job -- something even you can handle alone."

"Why don't you send Murphy then? He loves those sorts of jobs... sir." Doyle suppressed a smile; with his eyes he told Bodie that Cowley would never buy the line.

"Bodie..." Cowley warned.

"Better yet, sir, send that new lad -- Tim's his name -- that little twerp would love it." Bodie had obviously not forgotten or forgiven the rough handling of Bodie-bear. "Bodie..."

Doyle took the R/T from his partner. "Sir, 4.5 here. Bodie's not in top form, you know. I've noticed a marked deterioration from his peak, tip-top shape." Bodie looked at the ceiling and groaned, knowing this wouldn't work either. "You mean he's finally lost that extra weight he's been carrying around." "He's knack... eh... very tired, sir," Doyle added as Bodie collapsed onto the sofa with feigned exhaustion.

"From inactivity, no doubt," was Cowley's calm reply. Doyle shrugged in helplessness.

"Tell 'im I've come down with something," Bodie whispered as he sat up. "Like what?" Doyle asked, covering the R/T. "Asiatic Priapismic Fever?" When Bodie began to laugh, none too quietly, Doyle put his hand over his partner's mouth to muffle the sound. As Cowley's patient silence became obvious, Bodie decided to try the one ploy remaining in his repertoire. "But, sir..." he began.

"I'll expect you in 15 minutes, Bodie. I want you on your way tonight." "But, sir..."

"15 minutes, 3.7."

"Yes, sir." When Cowley had clicked off, Bodie stormed into the bedroom, obviously very angry. "He did that deliberately," he railed as he retrieved his clothes and returned to the living room. "Not even time to stop first at my place to pack. Bastard." Doyle had remained sitting on the sofa. He looked over at Bodie, quite concerned. "Suppose he knows?"

"Must. With timing like that, he must have your arse bugged." Bodie had thrown his shirt and jacket onto the chair. He glanced over at his partner, hoping the sarcastic comment would lighten Doyle's suddenly somber mood. He was rewarded with a wry smile.

"Let me..." Doyle said, standing, indicating that he'd help Bodie dress. When he finished, he chastely kissed his partner on the cheek and said, "All ready for school."

Bodie's anger, however, had not subsided. Doyle was glad he wouldn't have to face Bodie. He could picture the session with Cowley. Bodie, irritated, would question every detail, every nuance till Cowley blew up and kicked him out. "Nah, probably give him a scotch," Doyle grumbled out loud.

"What? Talking to yourself already, mate?" Bodie asked. Since it was Cowley he was upset with, Bodie easily set aside his anger, saving it for the proper person. He drew Doyle into the bedroom and gave him a kiss that left them both frustrated. "You crud," Doyle responded, pouting.

Bodie smiled smugly.

"To bed," Bodie whispered seductively before swatting Doyle on the backside. "Hey, that hurt," Doyle replied as he quickly crossed to the bed and slid in, determined to prevent another such ass-ault.

Bodie retrieved the bear and handed it to Doyle. "Two weeks..." he said sadly, bending to kiss his partner goodbye.

Taking a deep breath then, Bodie began to silently chant his mantra as he walked out of the room. When he'd gone, Doyle looked at the equally wistful bear and said, "He'll never make it. Lay you odds to even that he's back inside a week."

Silently, the bear accepted the bad bet, knowing he'd lose.

-- THE END --

Originally published in Poems, Prayers, and Promises, Phoebe Entwhistle, 1986