(NOTE TO ALL SUBJECTS OF THE BRITISH CROWN: The intent of this story is to entertain, not offend, hence, your tolerance is requested.)

Ray Doyle knew as soon as he entered George Cowley's office that he was being set up by his trusted partner if the man's smug yet innocent facial expression was any indication - which it, of course, was. He was also about to suffer Cowley's revenge for his latest infraction, namely saving George Cowley's life against orders - Cowley's own. Bodie had had a hand in the affair but somehow Cowley's wrath had passed him by, as it all too often seemed to do.

As he waited for their boss to acknowledge his presence, Doyle could picture the scene in this very office only moments ago. Cowley had no doubt been prepared to include Bodie in whatever this payment-for-disobedience assignment was to be, but Bodie, sweet talker that he was, had obviously redirected Cowley's ire, shifting it subtly so that he, Doyle, would bear the brunt of it. Translated, it meant he would have the worst part of the job. As always, the challenge then would be to make it look so easy Bodie was convinced he'd somehow received the worst of it afterall and that Cowley was a spiteful, little old man.

Sighing softly as a smile grew on his lips, Doyle was delighted with the prospect of turning his partner's game back on him. He'd been doing it for years, and Bodie still hadn't caught on, although Doyle was certain Cowley knew, played the game too as it was one of the few ways he could actually penetrate Bodie's arrogance. It also made them both feel as if they weren't always under the dark haired agent's thumb, at least not as securely as Bodie liked to think they were.

Doyle glanced at his boss only to find the grey-blue eyes watching him. Shielded from Bodie's view, Cowley smiled slightly, having apparently read and agreed with Doyle's most recent thoughts. Doyle's own smile became bolder.

Cowley took a breath, preparing to speak.

The faint noise drew Bodie's attention away from whatever he was scrutinizing so intently in the park.

This time Cowley sighed. Aware of what Bodie'd been staring lustfully at, he wondered why the best were also the most juvenile. Given that they were, the assignment he had selected as punishment for the pair should prove quite suitable. "Sit down, Doyle," he instructed as he removed his reading glasses.

"Despite the fact you should both be in Records for the rest of your unnatural lives, I am going to give you an assignment. Consider it a test. Handle it well and, god preserve them, you'll be on the streets again. Fail, or cause any sort of disturbance, and I mean any sort, Bodie," Cowley continued, looking directly at his most recalcitrant agent, "and you'll both be back in Records for the next 92 years. Am I understood?"

Both men nodded their acknowledgement, biting back the smiles their boss' mini-diatribes tended to elicit. Bodie scanned the park below, checking to make sure that once this was over he could locate the mobile ice cream cart he'd been watching. Doyle looked at his trainers, deciding the Star Wars shoelaces needed replacing. Something day glo would do nicely he thought as he glanced at his partner and strained to see what Bodie was looking at so intently.

"Ice cream," Cowley supplied with a tired tone, convinced three year olds had a longer attention span than the two operatives in front of him.

Laughing, Doyle jabbed Bodie in the ribs. "Listen up, butterball. Mr. Cowley's trying to give us an assignment."

Having not eaten since Doyle, very early in the morning, Bodie groaned. "Just about to pass away from hunger, sir," he added, turning his baleful blue eyes on his boss.

Even Cowley had to smile at the expression. Shaking his head, he returned to the task of giving the team their new mission. "Then this job should be most appropriate, Bodie." When he had their attention, he proceeded. "The Princess is giving a birthday party for Prince William." He paused, waiting for the obligatory round of disclaimers.

"Palace security, sir," Bodie began.

"The Yard, sir," Doyle contributed.

"MI6, sir," they chorused, turning to smile at one another.

"CI5, gentlemen," Cowley told them. "We've been asked for additional security because of terrorist threats against the heirs. Two highly trained agents, proficient in undercover work, were called for. You two fit the bill." Cowley stared at his men, daring defiance.

"I hate children, sir," Bodie allowed.

"He also kicks dogs . . . sir," Doyle added helpfully.

Ignoring them, Cowley pressed on. "You'll report to a Miss . . . " he searched through an open file for the name, "Jameston at the Palace in twenty minutes to pick up your fancy dress."

"What?" Bodie asked, certain he hadn't heard correctly.

"Costumes," Doyle stated, wishing he'd heard incorrectly.

"Didn't I mention that this was a costume party?" Cowley replied innocently.

"I hate costume parties, sir," groused Bodie.

"Good. While you're at the Palace, check out their security and familiarize yourself with the layout. They're expecting you in . . . " Cowley glanced at his watch rather than look at his agents whom he knew were about to threaten mutiny, ". . . in eighteen minutes."

Bodie turned to Doyle, a grimace contorting his features. "Rather be in Records," he whispered to Doyle, none too quietly.

In response, Doyle sighed, his eyebrows rising in a gesture of helplessness.

"What was that, Bodie?" Cowley asked, well aware of what his agent had said.

"Nothing, sir," Bodie replied with a sigh of martyrdom.

"On your way, then," Cowley instructed with a wave of his hand, biting back a small smile.

As one, the operatives rose and headed for the door, knowing further protest would be fruitless.

"And, Bodie . . . " Cowley called just as the taller man reached the door. "If there's any trouble, even the faintest whiff . . . "

"No more ice cream for you," Doyle interjected, poking Bodie in the vicinity of his stomach.

"Records," added Cowley sternly.

"For the next 92 years, I know . . . sir," Bodie replied, hastily closing the door.

Doyle, who was thoroughly prepared to berate his partner for getting them into this even though he'd been the one to actually disobey Cowley's orders, turned to confront Bodie. The sad blue eyes and dejected aura, however, destroyed even Doyle's resolve. Since they'd become lovers over two years ago, Doyle had found that his resistance to Bodie's light blue moods, as he called them, had evaporated. It was especially true on days such as these when he was all too glad they had both survived an arduous assignment. Doyle relived the moment of horror he'd experienced earlier as Bodie made himself an obvious target, thus allowing him to carry Cowley to safety after a falling rafter in an old warehouse had pinned the smaller man.

Needing the solid reassurance of Bodie's touch but aware of their location and Bodie's obsession with privacy, Doyle flung an arm about the larger man's shoulders, gathering him into a loose embrace that others could interpret as one of friendship. "Buy you an ice cream on the way," he said softly.

Bodie brightened considerably.

As they passed the broom cupboard near their boss' office, Bodie's hand snaked around Doyle's waist. With fluid movements, he opened the door and pulled Doyle into the room after him. Pinning his partner against the door, Bodie bestowed a deep, loving kiss on the picture-perfect lips of Raymond Doyle.

Before Doyle could respond as his cock would have him, Bodie was drawing him back into the corridor. Without missing a beat, he said hopefully, "Chocolate?"

"Yeah . . . chocolate," Doyle told him, wondering how anyone refused Bodie anything.

Supersleuths that they were, they tracked down the roving ice cream cart in a record six minutes. Two more minutes were spent in blissful gobbling before they raced to Bodie's car. The blaring red siren Doyle was so fond of . . . the one which Bodie judiciously insisted on using only on the most unimportant of occasions . . . brought them to the Palace gates at the precisely appointed time of their expected arrival.

As the guards led them to the office of one Barbara Jameston, the two agents checked their surroundings, making mental notes on entrances and exits and the like. It wasn't until they entered the tiny, cluttered room that Doyle began to worry. Costumes of all sorts were everywhere, reclining in artful abandon as they waited for a person to wear them, animate them, become them. Bodie promptly tripped over a large, green, papier-mache lettuce leaf, earning them both the scornful scowl of Miss Jameston herself. A frail, grey haired woman with horn-rimmed glasses, she was dressed in a brown tweed dress that made her the image of dowdiness. Doyle, who was trying not to watch Bodie extract himself from the folds of now wilted lettuce lest he laugh, surveyed the room and its contents, finding it hard to believe the lackluster woman glowering at his partner had created the wonderful designs.

"You must be Dodie and Boyle," she said, once Bodie was free of the defunct lettuce.

"Bodie and Doyle," Doyle corrected, pointing out who was who.

"Awful with names. Haven't time for them," she explained, searching her workbench for a discarded needle. Locating it, she added it to the pin cushion adorning her wrist much as a gaudy bracelet.

"Costumes for the party, you're after?"

"Ah, yes," Bodie began, "but if you don't have any to spare . . . "

"Or in our size . . . " Doyle added.

"No problem, Mr. Dodie," she said staring at Bodie. "Your Mr. Cowley gave me your measurements early this morning, so they're all ready."

"Bodie - my name is Bodie."

"I know, you're Dodie and he's Boyle," she responded impatiently, moving from behind her workbench. Fussing to herself in inarticulate syllables, she began to search for the costumes she'd created for the two CI5 men.

Bodie flashed Doyle a look of complete hopelessness.

In response, Doyle smiled, as much a reply to Bodie's gesture as to his own imagings of what his partner would look like in the Christmas fairy costume he saw hanging on a nearby hook. He pointed to the outfit in question.

Striking a fey pose, Bodie discreetly covered his groin with his hands.

Just as Doyle was about to suggest that Bodie would be most fetching in a Loch Ness monster affair draped across the back of the sofa, Miss Jameston stopped muttering. Purposefully, she went to the cupboard door and extracted a large brown and white bundle of fabric.

"Come here, Mr. Dodie," she instructed, indicating a small, cleared area at the side of the workbench.

Resigned to his fate, Bodie sighed and stepped into the designated space.

Quickly, Miss Jameston hung the folds of cloth on Bodie's body. Mumbling again to herself, she adroitly pinned a jagged piece of white material across Bodie's shoulders and torso. When that was accomplished, she bent down to check the length of her creation, turning up the edge of the cloth so that only the tips of Bodie's scruffy trainers showed, Standing then, she stood back to admire her handiwork. Her expression was quizzical till she realized what was lacking. After rummaging in the cupboard for a moment, she returned with three huge, holly leaves and a bunch of holly berries. A few moments at the workbench transformed them into a headpiece which she placed on top of Bodie's dark hair.

Doyle had watched in fascinated silence, unsure of what, if anything he could say that would not earn him Bodie's eternal vengeance.

For his part, Bodie remained quite still, a model of aggrieved patience.

"There," Miss Jameston pronounced happily, obviously pleased with himself.

Bodie glanced at Doyle, his eyes clearly revealing his intention to make Cowley pay for this . . . forever. He looked at himself in the mirror on the far wall.

"What am I?" he finally blurted out, unable to deduce what, precisely, he was representing.

"Why you're a Christmas pudding, silly," she told him, already on the prowl for Doyle's costume.

"Look good enough to eat," Doyle said guilelessly, his green eyes conveying the lewdness absent from his voice.

Bodie groaned slightly, certain he hadn't joined CI5 for this.

"In fact," Doyle said softly, suddenly, from beside Bodie, "could do with a lick right now."

Before Bodie could move, Doyle's tongue darted into his ear, eliciting goosebumps and a bright red flush. Quickly, Doyle stepped back out of Bodie's reach, his face a mask of boyish innocence when Miss Jameston re-emerged from her magical cupboard.

The blush turned into the redness of hysterical laughter as Bodie watched Doyle being fitted with what appeared to be a chicken sandwich.

Having long ago vowed to respond to Bodie in the most obstinate, mysterious of ways, Doyle began camping it up, seizing a nearby skull, and declaring himself to be a ham sandwich instead. As he grabbed a bat to transform himself into a club sandwich, Miss Jameston was called from the room. Immediately, Doyle landed on the couch, his legs and arms spread wide.

"Let me guess," Bodie said, laughing. "Sandwich spread."

"Give us a bite," Doyle replied, thrusting his hips up, suggestively indicating what part of the sandwich his partner should eat first.

As Bodie persistently tried to find a way to maneuver in his cumbersome costume, spasms of laughter shook Doyle each time he caught sight of Bodie's holly headdress.

"Gentlemen, the Princess of Wales," Miss Jameston announced from the doorway upon her return.

Doyle was still awkwardly attempting to get to his feet when the tall, slim woman entered. His own urge to laugh again when he inadvertantly caught sight of his suddenly somber partner presuming to be Bodie-cool while dressed as a Christmas pudding with holly garnish made his first meeting with royalty an inauspicious one.

The Princess, following Doyle's line of view, was also reduced to genuine laughter when she saw the formal looking man with the crooked holly headdress. Her amusement increased when she realized Doyle was wearing a sandwich.

Even Miss Jameston smiled - slightly.

Bodie, the object of most of the hilarity, was obviously not amused, which, of course, fueled the next round of merriment.

For an instant, Doyle was worried that Bodie might be unnecessarily rude. His fears were allayed, however, when his partner affected a reasonable approximation of a bow. What happened next made Doyle marvel anew at Bodie's brand of arrogant charm.

Looking the Princess in the eye, Bodie said, solemnly, "Bodie, Your Highness, CI5's top Christmas pudding, complete with holly headdress at your service." In his best swashbuckling, continental style, he kissed her pale hand.

Her slight blush and nervous giggle sent Doyle's active imagination into hyperdrive. Such presumption, he knew from the few history texts he'd ever read, earned mere commoners - especially those dressed as Christmas puddings - the Tower. Suddenly he realized everyone was looking at him. He closed his mouth, which he found hanging open, and prepared to introduce his oddly unnerved self when Bodie interceded.

"And this tongue-tied ruffian is our hammiest sandwich, Raymond Doyle."

Convinced they were already damned to Records for the rest of their lives, Doyle kissed the hand shyly extended towards him.

Again the woman giggled.

"Thought it was against the rules for a Princess to laugh," Bodie said smoothly, covering any potential awkwardness.

"Oh," Princess Diana exclaimed, her hands touching her face experimentally, "Did I crack my mask?"

"No," Bodie replied, shaking his head. Adding his most charming smile, one guaranteed to make even Medusa fall for him, Bodie added, "All is intact and quite beautiful."

This compliment elicited another blush. "Mr. Bodie . . . "

"Just Bodie," he corrected gently, smiling once more. "Come to get your costume or to see how dashing your security personnel are in theirs?"

Before the Princess could reply, Miss Jameston reasserted her presence, reminding one and all that within the four walls of this room, she was the queen.

Long accustomed to the foibles of her head seamstress, Diana said, "These are lovely, Miss Barbara." She indicated Bodie and Doyle with a regal wave of her arm.

"Thank you, ma'am," Miss Jameston responded, automatically curtsying slightly despite the fact that this was her domain.

"Look good enough to eat, don't I?" Bodie interjected wistfully, surveying himself in the mirror.

"How can you be hungry?" Doyle asked.

"'M always hungry," Bodie pointed out, deliberately staring at Doyle's costume.

"Oh, no. You're not having a bite of me," Doyle allowed, awkwardly maneuvering into a position behind the Princess.

Always ready with the joke, if anyone would permit her such a plebeian moment, Diana put her arms out, protecting Doyle from Bodie's feigned lunge. The holly headdress, however, unbalanced him, sending him right into the Princess. Grabbing her as he tumbled, he edged her back, letting Doyle and his sandwich break both their falls.

The innocent horseplay made the Princess recall what was lacking in her life of late - laughter from adults. Giggling as she extricated herself, with the help of a disapproving Barbara Jameston, Diana decided she needed to keep Bodie and Doyle nearby - at least for the day. When she was again standing, she asked, "Can you stay to tea?"

"Love to," Bodie answered promptly for both of them, having no intention of returning to CI5 and the stuffy Records section. "But I have a better idea," he continued in a conspiratorial tone. Winking at Doyle, he ushered the Princess into the corridor.

Doyle grimaced. He knew he was going to regret whatever Bodie had in mind. On his way to join the pair, now whispering and laughing outside Miss Jameston's studio, he forgot about his costume. As he tried to walk out the door, the sandwich caught both jambs, turning him into a rubber ball as he bounced back into the room and landed in a disgruntled heap at a smiling Miss Jameston's feet.

Deciding that her smile was as near as she ever came to laughing, Doyle sighed, wondering what else could go wrong.

Laughing, the Princess and Bodie helped a befuddled Doyle to his feet. Bodie then turned his partner sideways. Ruffling the wild curls affectionately, he said, again in a conspiratorial tone as the three moved into the hallway, "Bit thick at times."

About to describe his plan in detail, Bodie glanced at his friend. The wider than usual eyes, the tousled curls, the humor of the costume made him want to kiss his lover. Knowing that he couldn't, he did the next best thing. He permitted himself to touch by putting his arm around Doyle's shoulders - in an appropriate way, of course.

Doyle smiled shyly, understanding that Bodie had long ago deliberately curbed his tendency to touch. When he did permit himself the luxury of physical contact, Doyle had come to interpret it as a sign of just how much he was wanted; that Bodie still lusted passionately after him always made him aware of just how much he loved his partner.

Although he knew what Doyle was thinking about, Bodie continued, pulling the Princess into a close huddle with himself and his partner. In hushed tones, laced with that undeniable charm, Bodie explained. "Know this little place in the West End that serves the best chocolate mousse torte."

"I can't just pop over to a 'little place in the West End'," Diana whispered.

"Why not?" Bodie inquired.

From the way he asked, Doyle knew something that Diana didn't yet understand, Bodie was ready to counter every argument; Bodie would get his way. Deciding that since they were either on their way to Records forever or the Tower - he didn't know which was worse - he might as well lend his considerable charm to the venture.

"I must have the palace guards, my retainers . . . "

"We can protect you," Doyle said, smiling. "We really are with CI5."

Diana laughed, clearly wanting to escape but not daring to think it possible.

"Be fun - just an afternoon of laughing and eating. Being free," Bodie added.

That appealed to the reluctant Princess. "But I've the party details to plan. And the children to look after."

"Isn't that what you have a staff for?" Bodie asked. "Look, it'll just be for a few hours."

Unsure of why they were attempting to convince the Princess of Wales to run away with them, but catching the illicit fever of doing the improbable from Bodie, Doyle moved to parry the remaining arguments. "We could smuggle you out in our car. Get you a disguise and go have tea. This place really does have the best chocolate mousse torte, and I don't like sweets . . . "

Several years of being in the spotlight, of being royalty, of being a princess warred with the intense need to be free once again, not to be surrounded by half of England, not to be gawked at. Sensing that the two amusing men dressed in outrageous costumes could accomplish this secret desire of hers for just a few hours, as Diana, the Princess wanted to relent. But duty was well inculcated by now.

"Be faint for a few hours," Bodie suggested, exuding charm with his smile.

Looking into the twinkling blue eyes, Diana felt her resolve disappear. She glanced at Doyle, almost hoping he'd save her from herself, but his eyes were equally bewitching.

Realizing that a detailed plan might convince her, Doyle began. "We drive the car up to the servant's entrance. Using the costumes to hide the door from view, you slip into the backseat and lie down.

Bodie picked up the scheme. "We cover you with the costume. No one will look in the car."

"Because you're CI5."

"Right," the pair chorused.

"We stop off at a secondhand store near the cafe. Get you dowdy looking," Doyle elaborated.

"Then we slip into the restaurant, have tea and torte," Bodie continued.

Doyle resumed. "And before you know it, the carriage will turn into a pumpkin."

"The ball will be over," Diana said wistfully.

"Better to be at the ball for a few hours than not at all," Bodie added.

Looking at the woman beside him, Doyle realized how very much she wanted to accompany them. He saw, in her blue eyes and young face, the urgent need to be free - even if just for a few hours. Thinking that such opportunities to shed the mantle of responsibility were too few, he thought of her wearing the cloak of royalty well, but still, too young to be shut off from the simple pleasures of life she could so rarely sample, simply because of whom she'd married. Glad he'd married Bodie and not Prince Charles, Doyle pointed out the exact procedure Diana could follow. "Go to your room. Postpone any meetings. Tell whoever that you feel faint."

"Start a whole new round of pregnant rumors," Bodie said, blatantly ignoring the startled expression on Doyle's face warning him that he was being too forward.

Blushing, Diana stood with her head bent toward the agents, her body language communicating her desire for them to continue.

"Is there a back way down to the servant's entrance?"

"Yes."

"We'll create a diversion, make sure that no one is around to see you slip through the kitchen to the entryway. Wait there and we'll be out directly to get you into the car."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Bodie stated firmly. "Now let's synchronize our watches. In fifteen minutes, we move. You . . . " he looked at the Princess, "have fifteen minutes to tell everyone and get to your room. At precisely," he glanced at his watch, "2:10, you sneak down the servants stair to the kitchen and out."

It'll work if you want it to - this first time. May be the only time," Doyle added softly, looking Diana in the eye.

"You won't be in any trouble?"

"We're already halfway to the Tower now," Bodie allowed, brazenly putting his hands on the Princess' shoulders. "Go for it. We can get you out for those few hours of no responsibility."

A shy smile crept over the young woman's face.

"No harm will come to you," Doyle said reassuringly, smiling his crooked grin, silently encouraging her to relent.

"What should I wear?" Diana finally asked.

Seeing that they'd won the day sent the adrenaline pumping through both men as they subconsciously began to prepare for the illicit adventure.

"Put on a headscarf to hide your hair."

"Running shoes," Doyle said laughing.

Laughing now herself, the Princess asked salaciously, "Nothing else?"

"Just want your beautiful body all to ourselves," Bodie replied wickedly, copying her tone.

"Then I'll be sure to leave my underwear behind," she responded, the mad mood firmly in control of her emotions.

Bodie blushed as he thought for a wild moment she might be serious.

Delighted with his response, Diana laughed harder. "This will be a lark."

Recovering, Bodie added, "Especially if you leave your underwear at home," his eyes wide and dark blue as he apparently considered the prospect.

Cutting in, Doyle said, "Put on a pair of jeans and a shirt . . . and no underwear," he couldn't resist.

Giggling, the Princess looked at both men, her eyes asking permission.

"Fifteen minutes, luv," Bodie replied, granting her request as if he were king.

"We'll say we kidnapped you, if anyone asks." Doyle told her, suddenly realizing that he would lie for her, that she personally had his loyalty.

"That's right. Diana's men till the end," Bodie intoned, trying to bow in his pudding costume.

Doyle laughed this time, grabbing Bodie by the creamy scruff of his attire just as his partner, who'd again forgotten the holly headdress, lost his balance.

Somehow Bodie's silliness congealed her resolve. "Fifteen minutes," she said as she went off, obviously determined to set the plan in motion.

The agents glanced at one another, confirming that they were about to embark on this adventure. Smiling, they turned to face a stern Miss Jameston.

"You'll need my help if you're to get out of those in time," she told them.

Bodie leaned over slightly to kiss her on the cheek. When she smiled, Doyle also kissed her.

Clucking at them like a mother hen to hide her embarrassment, she shoved them into her studio.

As they popped out the door, into the corridor, Bodie stuck his head back around the door jamb, gazing into the magic room with childlike innocence, fully appreciating the atmosphere of fantasy for the first time. If he were a prince, he knew, he'd spend his time here, being other people. "Bring you a piece of torte."

Barbara Jameston smiled and waved him out.

Scurrying off like two schoolboys playing hooky, the top CI5 team operationalized their plan. Within twenty minutes, they were tooling along towards the West End cafe with their royal charge perched on the edge of the back seat, peering eagerly ahead at the sights.

"Different, are they?" Bodie asked, noting her avid expression.

"Somehow," Diana agreed, drawing in a deep breath.

---

Meanwhile, back at the Palace, Prince Charles decided to pay an unexpected afternoon visit to this wife, knowing how much she enjoyed an unplanned tumble into bed. Surprised when he heard of her faintness, he went into her suite to check on her wellbeing. When he didn't find her, he initiated a few discreet inquiries which soon had him on the phone to George Cowley.

"This is an honor, Your Highness," Cowley said smoothly, senses suddenly on red alert as he attempted to divine why the Prince of Wales would be calling him.

"Well, I'm afraid it might not be, Mr. Cowley. Seems my wife is missing."

"Bodie and Doyle," Cowley said softly, knowing instinctively they were involved - at the center of it, no doubt.

"What was that, Mr. Cowley?"

"Was she seen talking with my men, sir?"

"Yes, I believe she was." There was a pause before Prince Charles asked, "Do you suppose they've kidnapped her?"

Wondering how even he could extricate his top agents from this, and cursing them at the same time that insight dawned, he was about to reply when Charles interrupted.

"Are they good men, Bodie and Doyle?"

"The very best, Your Highness." Realizing that Charles did understand what had probably happened, Cowley smiled fractionally, deciding that the Prince sounded as if he would have liked to escape also.

"Thank you, Mr. Cowley. I shall be in touch."

"Yes, sir." Cowley responded, hanging up. He went to get a scotch. When he sat down, he leaned back in his chair, savoring the stinging flavor, pondering what, if anything, he should do.

A few minutes later, he depressed the intercom button. "Betty, if you were Bodie and Doyle, where would you be now?"

Puzzled by the cause of the request but not particularly surprised, she replied, "At the Ami Cafe, having chocolate mousse torte."

Send McCabe, Murphy, and Jacobs in."

"Right away, sir." As she paged the three agents in question, Betty wondered what trouble her two favorite agents had gotten themselves into this time.

When the three men arrived, Cowley explained briefly that he wanted them to act as back up; but unless called for, they were to remain totally unseen by Bodie and Doyle.

Confused by their assignment, the three nonetheless went off to do as they'd been instructed, wondering what Bodie and Doyle had gotten themselves into this time.

When he was alone again, Cowley indulged in a second scotch as he contemplated a suitable punishment for this escapade.

---

After chocolate mousse torte, the CI5 men wisked the Princess off to a local amusement park. She and Bodie giggled their way through countless rides and several cotton candies before Doyle spotted the fortune teller's booth as well as Murphy and McCabe trying to be inconspicuous in suits.

Corralling his younger charges when they emerged from the ride through the spook house. Doyle suggested they take in the ferris wheel - one of the few rides he enjoyed. The Princess, her cheeks flushed and blue eyes wide, quickly agreed, leading them off. A glance at the smug smile on Bodie's lips confirmed Doyle's suspicions. When his partner winked at him, he knew that Bodie had stolen a kiss in the dark tunnel portion of the ride.

"Havin' fun?" Bodie asked, his eyes aglow with merriment.

Up to that point, Doyle might have responded with a halfhearted "No" designed to make his partner feel guilty, but the excitement and simple joy radiating from Bodie made him feel good, very good. He made a mental note to bring Bodie here again before replying, "Yeah." The smile he was rewarded with made him feel like a giddy teenager in love for the first time.

Knowing his own happiness had affected Doyle, Bodie reached over to ruffle the coppery curls, needing to touch his lover, confirm his reality after their last near escape.

"Bodie, Ray," the Princess called.

With a start, the two men realized they'd been lost in their own private world. Redirecting their attention, they joined their ward for the afternoon in the short lineup for the ferris wheel.

Soon the three, the Princess in the middle, were surveying the surrounding countryside form the wheel's double height. Glancing down at the grounds, Bodie spotted a few familiar faces. He looked over at Doyle, who nodded slightly.

"Trouble?" Diana inquired.

"Nope," Bodie replied easily. "Just locatin' the nearest ice cream stand," he added smoothly.

"Let me guess . . . you're chocolate," she said to Bodie, "and you're . . . ah . . . vanilla?" she asked of Doyle.

"Strawberry," he corrected with a smile. "You're an Italian ice lady - any flavor."

"How did you know?" A puzzled smile formed on her lips.

"It's written right here," Bodie explained as he touched her forehead, using the movement to readjust the Princess' concealing scarf.

She laughed in response, her attention then drawn to the panoramic vista the top of the wheel afforded.

"Scary, innit?" Doyle asked softly, referring to the fact that now this was all her domain.

"Yes," she admitted in a hushed voice.

As he took one of Diana's hands and kissed it, Bodie added, "Any time . . . "pleased when she looked at him, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

Watching, Doyle felt a surge of jealousy threaten his hard-won, lighthearted mood. There was an undeniable chemistry between Bodie and the woman who would one day be their queen. Deciding that the only way to beat it was to join in, he seized Diana's other hand and copied Bodie's action. "Any time . . . " he reiterated, earning him one of her smiles. A different sort of warmth replaced the darker emotion he felt. Given free rein, his imagination conjured up the Elizabethan era, a favorite of his. He could easily picture himself and Bodie as special guards, friends even to a Queen who dominated her world. He laughed suddenly as he realized how much alike Elizabeth the First and George Cowley were.

Bodie turned at the sound of Doyle's laughter to see what his partner found so amusing. The laugh itself delighted him, for it was genuine. Doyle flashed him a rather wild look which he didn't quite understand. Given the expression on his lover's face, however, he didn't mind. Seeing Doyle enjoy himself so freely was sufficient.

Obviously touched by their declaration of loyalty, Diana spoke, forcing Bodie to re-direct his gaze. "Thank you both. I can't remember when I've had so much fun."

"Our pleasure," Bodie replied for both of them. He squeezed the hand he still held for emphasis.

They finished the ride in silence, each lost in respective thoughts and the scenery the wheel afforded. When they were safely on the ground again, Doyle led his companions to the fortune teller's booth he'd discovered.

The three, holding hands, laughing, entered the darkened, heavily curtained room. Doyle's eyes adjusted first so he guided his friends to the table at which sat the medium who wore an expression of expectancy, as if having predicted their arrival.

"Be seated, seekers," a husky voice commanded.

The quality of the tone made Doyle scrutinize the psychic intently. Almost immediately, he realized their fortunes were about to be told by a transvestite. In trying to catch his partner's eyes, he happened to glance at the man seated behind the table.

"You do not believe, sir."

A weak, almost apologetic smile touched Doyle's lips.

"He may not," Bodie interjected, "but we do."

Smiling benignly at the speaker, the medium extended a well manicured hand toward the Princess. "Madame . . . "

Shyly, Diana gave the fortune teller her hand.

As he scrutinized her palm, tracing its lines, mumbling, Doyle observed the man closely. Judging by his hands, and sitting height, he was tall and of slight build. He wore a black velvet robe that hid his flat chest beneath the costume, however, there was something vaguely familiar about the man.

Though ostensibly concentrating on Diana, the seer caught Doyle's eye and smiled slightly.

With a chuckle, Doyle decided he wanted to have his fortune told.

Bodie, standing behind the Princess, watched Doyle perform the task of assessment, one that was second nature to his partner. He thought of how secure that routine made him feel, how often it had saved them. When Doyle's eyes focused on the medium's face, Bodie followed his gaze, noting as Doyle did, the revealing earring. He, too, decided that having one's fortune told by a gay psychic would be quite interesting, even if there was something about the man he couldn't quite place.

"You, madame," the man began, claiming the wandering attention of the men, "have a long, happy life in store." His finger slid down a prominent line on Diana's palm. "There will be burdens to bear but three sons to help."

Doyle smiled at Bodie, who'd looked his way. They'd both decided the man knew to whom he was speaking.

"Three . . . I have only two," Diana said softly, apparently caught in the spell woven by flickering candles and incense.

"The third is yet to come."

"What will his name be?" Diana asked eagerly.

"Raymond Philip," the man replied without hesitation.

Quickly noting the Princess' rapt expression, Doyle bit back laughter as the finally recognized the man in the psychic outfit to be Lew Jacobs, one of CI5's newest members.

Bodie stifled a smile as he too suddenly realized who the fortune teller was.

While Jacobs continued to spin a tale of logical predictions, Bodie signalled toward the door. Outside they met Murphy and McCabe.

"The Cow's on to us, eh?" Bodie asked needlessly.

"Yeah. But you're not supposed to know."

"How could we not, Murphy. That suit in an amusement park!" Doyle shrugged helplessly.

"Can't teach you a thing about undercover can we, Murph?" Bodie added.

Murphy laughed as he shook his head.

"You know what this means, don't you, Bodie?" Doyle said, grimacing at his partner.

"Records . . . "

"For the next 92 years," Doyle hung his head in mock despair.

"If you don't get chucked out on those cute arses first," McCabe interjected. When both Bodie and Doyle gave him their most menacing scowls, he continued. "Word is the Prince himself called the Cow."

"Oh, shit," Bodie mumbled.

"The Tower," the pair chorused in unison.

"We'll visit," Murphy volunteered with a wide grin.

"Thanks," Doyle replied, looking at his companion in trouble. From the look on Bodie's face he could tell they were about to go deeper into the Tower dungeons. "Let's have it, mate," he told Bodie, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder, willing his fingers not to caress.

"Have a plan. You go back in with Diana." Without another word or waiting to see if Doyle obeyed, Bodie headed off toward a concession stand.

"He can't be hungry," Doyle commented with a groan, patting his stomach before he returned to the fortune teller's presence, leaving a chuckling Murphy and McCabe.

At a covert signal, Jacobs wrapped up his presentation.

Diana's smile was large, satisfied when she turned toward Doyle. "Where's Bodie?"

"The loo," Doyle replied.

"Your turn, sir," Jacobs commanded, extending his hand to Doyle.

Tempted now to say no, Doyle found himself reaching out, needing to stall for time till Bodie returned.

For a moment, the disguised CI5 man methodically examined the various lines on Doyle's right palm. "Mmmm . . . mmm" was all he would say. Gauging the level of Doyle's impatience, he finally said, "A bleak future, sir. I see a Cow - a bull judging by his anger. A dank, dark place - files everywhere . . . "

Jacobs continued to spin a gloomy tale for the future.

"Will he get married?" Bodie asked when he finally returned.

"Yes . . . to one with soft, short black hair, twinkling blue eyes, horse's appetite, good bum though."

Everyone laughed at this, everyone except Bodie who was blushing.

"Go on," Doyle prodded, delighted with his lover's discomfort.

Waving his arm dramatically, Jacobs said, "That's all I can see for you." He discarded Doyle's hand as if it were a dirty dishrag.

Without asking permission, he seized Bodie's hand and began to follow its various lines.

"Will he get married?" Diana asked.

"Yes . . . let me see . . . yes . . . to one with cat-green eyes and a good body. Beware of the temper this one possesses and of the blond, blue-eyed goddess - no, princess - who could steal your heart."

Bodie blushed again, even as he realized Jacobs was making it up to draw in their royal charge. He blushed because he could see the jealousy in Doyle's eyes and it excited him to know his lover still felt so possessive.

Deciding it was definitely time to end this, Doyle made a show of looking at his watch. Even Diana caught the none-too-discrete hint.

"Thank you," she said to the fortune teller. Turning, she began to walk out of the booth, expecting her companions to follow. Her emergence startled Murphy and McCabe who pretended to be examining the electrical wiring of a nearby pole.

Catching up, Doyle and Bodie took her hands once again. They proceeded in silence, the air grim, as if they were headed for an execution.

Deciding this was no way to end a pleasant afternoon, Bodie diverted them to a flower stall, where he bought a yellow rose. Turning to Diana, he said, smiling at his future queen, "Smile."

When she did - for no woman had ever been known to resist that expression - he handed her the flower.

"Whenever you feel blue, look at a rose and remember this afternoon," he told her quietly.

Doyle, bent on being dour after his second unchivalrous bout with jealousy, had to smile at the whimsey his partner was capable of. He knew he would also think of this afternoon whenever he saw a rose.

Again driven by a need to conquer the negative feeling lurking near the surface, Doyle added, "Consider it our private signal. Send us one and we'll be there." He smiled automatically as the Princess said something, probably in keeping with her blush. Doyle's attention, however, was focused on Bodie's blue eyes, filled as they were with surprise, delight and love.

"Your men to the end," Bodie announced with a small bow to cover the fact that his partner hadn't heard Diana's softly spoken thank you.

To hide her own embarrassment, Diana darted into a nearby restroom. Leaving Doyle to guard the door, Bodie slipped away, returning a moment later with a red rose. "Love you," he whispered. Using his body to shield them from the CI5 guards, he handed the flower to his lover.

In response to the attack of sentimentality, Doyle glowered at his smiling, pleased-with-himself partner, knowing it to be an ineffective attempt to conceal the sudden rush of tears he felt. He wasn't prone to crying, but occasionally Bodie could be so wonderfully sweet that Doyle had yet to devise a defense against it; he didn't want to, either. Unable to look at his lover lest he embarrass them both, Doyle sniffed the rose, its dying fragrance a reward in itself. Thus he hated himself even more when discretion bade him toss the fresh flower into a nearby rubbish bin. Feeling very much alone, he sniffed a bit as he extracted his sunglasses from a pocket. Even though it was nearly 5, he put them on, presuming they would hide eyes whose expression he knew he couldn't control. Inwardly cursing the world that forced this sham on him, he hoped Bodie would understand that his actions were diametrically opposed to what he felt; the tears threatened again.

Bodie's soft laughter told Doyle his partner did understand. He smiled slightly and said, "When we get home, sunshine . . . "

"Countin' on it, I am." Bodie replied lightly, his voice low and lewd.

Diana rejoined them at this point, and they returned to the car.

Determined to maintain a light mood, Bodie prattled on the entire ride back to the Palace, telling jokes, spinning tall tales that kept the Princess and Doyle laughing.

A block from the Palace, Bodie pulled over to the curb. Together, he and Doyle hid their royal companion beneath the concealing fabric of the sandwich costume.

Doyle's suspicion that it was an unnecessary exercise was confirmed when the Palace guards waved them through with no more than a cursory glance at their identifications. He looked over at Bodie, who winked in response.

The servants' entrance and corridor leading to the back stairs were curiously devoid of activity, although Diana, still caught up in the excitement of her illicit afternoon, didn't seem to notice as Doyle helped her reach the concealing darkness of the stairwell.

"Thank you," she said softly, pulling the CI5 agent into a loose embrace.

To Doyle's astonishment, she kissed him - on the lips. Never one to be too shy and having Bodie set a precedent he felt obligated to uphold, Doyle kissed back, enthusiastically since he knew he was doomed to the Tower's deepest dungeon. When they parted, both were slightly breathless.

"Upstairs, Cinderella, before we got caught and shipped off to the Tower."

Giggling, the Princess pulled off her headscarf. Shaking her hair free, she smiled, turning to go up the steps. "You are coming tomorrow." It was not a question, but rather a softly spoken command.

"With lettuce on," Doyle replied.

Another smile that reached the blue eyes - a lighter shade then Bodie's midnight dark ones, Doyle noted - a wave, and she was off to resume her royal life.

With a sigh, Doyle turned away to face his not so royal life. , he thought as he headed out to rejoin his compatriot in crime.

"All safe?" Bodie asked when his partner climbed into the car.

"Yeah. What'd ya set with the Cow?"

"Just that she wouldn't know she'd been discovered."

"Like her, don't you?" Doyle heard himself inquire.

Bodie responded with a wide smile. "Jealous?"

"Yeah," Doyle admitted, looking out of the side window, unable to confront Bodie directly.

"Don't be."

Bodie's tone was earnest and very serious, forcing Doyle to turn toward his lover. Words were an inadequate response to the love he saw in Bodie's eyes - love he knew was reserved for him alone; he smiled shyly.

The small smile on Bodie's face became a huge grin as he reached over to ruffle his partner's curls. Unwilling to cope with the charged emotional atmosphere, he sought to moderate it by changing the subject. "Where shall we eat our last meal as free men?"

Recognizing an old tactic, astounded that Bodie could even consider eating after all the junk food he'd stuffed into himself during the afternoon, Doyle asked, "How can you possibly be hungry?"

Noting the incredulity in Doyle's voice, Bodie replied, "Can't get chocolate mousse torte in the Tower."

"Oh," Doyle groaned at the mention of their probable fate.

"Know another little place in the West End that might suit your fancy."

"Yeah?" Doyle looked at Bodie, marvelling at the man's ability to sniff out the best of London's smaller restaurants. "Should have known you'd have some place in mind." He smiled and shrugged. "So where is this culinary wonder."

When Bodie rattled off his address, Doyle could only laugh and thank whatever gods there were for blessing him with Bodie. But then, he'd always maintained they deserved each other. Playing the game, he asked, "Can we get a reservation on such short notice?"

"Know the owner personally."

"What's the house specialty?"

"Christmas pudding . . . with lots of cream," Bodie added, his voice tinged with erotic innuendo.

"'M starved, mate. Let's go." He reached over to feel between Bodie's legs, not surprised by the hard knot he found. "Cookin' already, are we?"

Bodie laughed as he started the car. "No sneakin' a bite till it's ready."

"Can't lick the spoon?" Doyle asked.

"Not yet," Bodie replied sternly, smacking Doyle's hand just as they arrived at the Palace gate.

Withdrawing his hand quickly, Doyle laughed softly, his thoughts turning to what he wanted to do to Bodie once they were safely behind locked doors. Without realizing it, he gave voice to those fantasies. He was hard with desire by the time Bodie brought the car to a screeching halt a few inches from a neighbour's red Porsche. The jolt roused Doyle from his daydream. Glancing at his partner, he noted the tension in Bodie's body. Unaware that he'd created it with his musings, he stood watching as Bodie tried to tear the costumes from the back seat. Bemused, he finally stepped in to save Bodie from the sandwich. A strained silence stretched between them as they carried the costumes to the front door.

With uncharacteristic clumsiness, Bodie dropped the keys in obvious haste to get into the flat.

Curious as to what might have brought on this odd mood, Doyle preceded his lover into the flat, moving quickly to prop his sandwich against the sofa so he could turn his attention to Bodie. A loud string of angry curses spun him around to see what happened.

Bodie, his Christmas pudding costume lying in disarray at his feet, was fighting with the stuck zipper of his rust leather jacket. As he struggled to free himself, his face flushed red with impatience and anger.

For a few seconds, Doyle could only watch as love, lust and amusement vied to be his response. At any other time, the image of Bodie with the facial expression of a child who thinks himself to be forever zippered into his coat would have made Doyle laugh even as it evoked paternalistic feelings. Tonight, however, the bulge in Bodie's dark brown slacks sent shivers of lust through him as he realized that it was his lover's desire for him that inspired the impatience. "Here, let me help," he said softly, hoping his independent minded partner wouldn't feel belittled by the offer. When Bodie's hands dropped away from the offending zipper, Doyle knelt down to inspect it. The jacket's lining was snarled in the teeth of the zipper.

Knowing it would take some time to undo the mess Bodie had created, Doyle unfastened a zipper that would open easily . . . the one beneath the fly of Bodie's trousers. When he'd freed the rigid cock, he kissed the rosy head in greeting before swallowing it. As he sucked more of the phallus into his mouth, Bodie moaned sharply, leaning towards his lover, his fingers entwining themselves in luxuriously silky curls. It required very few of his skills as a cocksucker to make Bodie come. Doyle was about to chide his partner for his lack of control when he was pulled up and kissed thoroughly.

His head swimming from lack of oxygen and his own need for Bodie, Doyle finally broke the kiss. Breathing deeply of Bodie's scent, the musk of sex, and air, he commanded in a voice that was low and sultry. "Down on your knees, sunshine. I want your ass . . . now."

Bodie's smile as he obeyed was all lewd smugness. While they both preferred the bed for such games, there were times when passion overcame the discomfort of inopportune location. As he began to unfasten the belt Doyle wore with his green moleskin trousers, his fingers were slapped.

"Don't . . . " Doyle ordered, his face contorting into a frown. He knew his own limits. If Bodie so much as breathed on his throbbing cock, it'd be all over. Bodie's deep chuckle made him fumble with his own zipper.

"Uncooperative?" Bodie inquired, hovering near his lover's confined cock.

"Get away from me," Doyle said hoarsely, the effort to contain his lust and the hard authoritative edge too much in the face of Bodie's nearness. He half turned and stepped backwards at the same time. The awkwardness of the two contradictory motions sent him to the floor in an unceremonious sprawl. Before he could react, Bodie was on top of him, pinning him into helplessness. Squirming, Doyle tried to free himself, but all he succeeded in doing was grinding himself into Bodie. Feeling the point of no return approaching, Doyle knew he was lost when Bodie took his mouth in a demanding kiss. The rhythmic movement of Bodie's hips over his sensitive groin, the passionate kiss, the overwhelming presence of his lover pushed Doyle over the edge.

The contentment of his orgasm banished the discomfort of coming in his pants and the hardness of the floor. Bodie shifted slightly, letting him breath easier. A troublesome thought crept into his unguarded consciousness, making him open his eyes and poke his partner.

"Bodie," he said urgently. "Bodie."

"Yeah?" was the sleepy reply.

"Would we still be so randy for each other if we weren't in CI5?" His eyes grew wide as he waited for Bodie's response.

Noting the innocent "I trust you to tell me the truth" expression in the intent green eyes - Bodie sighed. Soul-searching and sex seemed to be hopelessly intertwined in Doyle's psyche. "Did you always ask your birds questions like this after fuckin' their feathers off?"

Defenses shattered by orgasm, Doyle blushed as he always did when Bodie questioned his need for earnest communication after lovemaking.

"'S okay, sunshine," Bodie said gently, kissing various parts of his lover's face.

As the rich voice held no denigration, Doyle smiled shyly, marvelling still that he could be so vulnerable around his partner. "Answer me question."

Again, Bodie sighed as he considered. Doyle's questions were too thought provoking to ignore and after two years experience with them, he knew that if he didn't answer now, he'd only defer the inevitable for a few hours. Doyle was single-minded in his pursuit of a response. Even further lovemaking couldn't totally deflect the need for a reply. So Bodie pondered the questions seriously.

Safe and warm - if just a little squashed - beneath the bulk of Bodie's body, Doyle watched his lover, wondering what he would say. He'd already decided that the life and death nature of their job did enhance their passion. But it was a factor in the intensity only; the job was not responsible for the passion itself. Still, he needed to know what Bodie thought about the matter.

As the silence lengthened, or seemed to, Doyle found himself reflecting on Bodie's ability to rationalize. Although that smooth tongue could justify pizza, beer and hut fudge sundaes at 3 a.m. or con Cowley into a nip of scotch or talk him out of the last of his chips, it also had a way of making him see more of the other sides of an issue.

Over the stretch of their partnership, Bodie had taught him a bit of his skill at seeing each and every side of a problem. He jokingly attributed the rationalizations-explanations to Bodie's Gemini nature, but he couldn't deny that many times his own conscience had been eased by Bodie's clear perceptions.

Affectionately, he reached up to kiss his lost in thought lover. "Forget me, sunshine?"

"No, just thinkin'." he paused before looking into the green eyes. "Days like yesterday only keep us from taking each other for granted. They are not responsible for what we feel about each other." There was unmistakable sincerity in his voice and blue eyes.

"That's what I thought," Doyle said happily.

"Then what the fuck did you ask me for if you already knew the answer?"

"Just wanted to be sure you felt the same way."

Bodie couldn't miss the note of trepidation in that softly spoken response. Kissing his lover's forehead, he asked, "Haven't told you lately how much I need you, love you, have I?"

"Told me yesterday when you played target."

"But haven't said it, have I?"

"This afternoon . . . " Doyle allowed.

"Yeah, but - " Bodie stopped to consider. "Been over two weeks since I've told you. I love you. I need you."

At one time, Doyle'd have felt guilty when he made Bodie remember his vow to verbalize - often - how much he cared. Now, he felt only the warmth of Bodie's love as the words were articulated, given meaning by Bodie's own emotions.

"Good. Now that that's settled, can we get cleaned up?"

"Forgettin' something, aren't you?" Bodie demanded, shifting to pin his partner beneath him once more.

Smiling, Doyle whispered, "Love you, William Andrew Philip."

Accepting the use of his given names with a small shake of his head, Bodie asked, "How much?"

"This much," Doyle replied as he pulled his partner's head down, capturing the open mouth in a kiss that, had they not so recently exhausted themselves, would have been sure to ignite the smoldering passion they shared.

Bodie felt himself stir and knew that he still had another go-round in him for later that evening. "In a bit . . . " he hinted lasciviously when he broke the kiss.

"Gettin' old?"

"Yeah," he admitted with a sigh as he rolled off Doyle. He sat up then, determined to free himself from his jacket.

Watching, Doyle couldn't help laughing.

"And just what the fuck are you laughin' at?" Bodie asked, wounded dignity oozing from every inch of his being.

"You, sitting there with yer pants at half mast, shoes on, jacket zip stuck, shirt tail crumpled and hidin' this . . . " he reached over to uncover Bodie's flaccid cock.

"Wouldn't talk, mate. You're a sight yerself." Bodie's blue gaze stared at the wet, dark stain covering the front of Doyle's moleskins.

"Can't see that now, can I?" Closing his eyes, Doyle let the sense of well-being wash through him. He must have drifted off, he decided, when he heard the muttered curses. Glancing up, he saw the anger in Bodie's face.

"Where the fuck are the scissors?"

Sitting up with a start, Doyle said, "You're not going to ruin that jacket. One of my favorites, it is."

"Then you get me out of it."

Biting back laughter, Doyle slid into a position to work on the recalcitrant zipper. He tugged at the ensnared lining, manipulating it till some of the fabric was free. "Cover that up," he told Bodie, looking down at the exposed cock.

"Affect your concentration, does it?" Bodie inquired, his eyes wide with the knowledge of precisely what effect his genitals had on Doyle. "Have to remember that next time we go to bomb school."

Smiling in the superior way that galled his partner, Doyle didn't bother to reply. It was common knowledge that he was better at defusing bombs than Bodie, so much so that Bodie resorted to any tactic to break his focused attention.

"Now what are you laughin' at?"

"You, exposin' yourself at bomb school."

"If it'd make you fuck up, I'd do it." He hated being bested at anything.

"I know you would. That's why I'm laughin'." Doyle replied as he finally disentangled the zipper and the cloth.

Bodie's deep sigh of relief made Doyle look at his partner. "You act like I've just done a bomb."

"Well." Bodie began in a slightly higher than normal voice, his eyes wide with innocence and sincerity, "it's the same really. Could have been trapped here forever, you know."

Doyle wondered how he'd lived without Bodie for 30 years, how he'd go on living if anything happened to his younger lover.

"No ghosts, Doyle."

"Huh?"

"The shadows, sunshine, in your eyes. You're thinking of me dying."

"Don't die, Bodie."

"Not without you, Ray. I promise." Pulling his suddenly frightened partner into an awkward embrace, he held Doyle for a while, stroking away the tension in knotted muscles that he could feel beneath the deep green, SAS issue jumper Doyle'd "borrowed." "Okay, sunshine?" Bodie asked finally, leaning back so he could see the cherubic face of his fallen angel.

"Yeah. Yesterday was too close," Doyle replied.

"We're here, aren't we? Starved, aren't we?"

Green eyes grew wide with incredulity. "Starved? You can't possibly be hungry." It was a statement.

"I not only could be, but am." While he wasn't particularly hungry, Bodie knew the ploy would rouse Doyle from his melancholy mood. "What are you fixin' for dinner?"

Before Doyle could retort snidely, the sound of beeping R/T's filled the flat.

"Shit," Bodie muttered as he scrambled to his feet. He pulled his own R/T free and extended his hand for his partner's.

Doyle pointed to the sandwich costume near which he' placed his R/T on the sofa.

Jerking up his trousers, Bodie grabbed the noisy device. A few purposeful strides took him into the kitchen where he opened the freezer door. Quickly, he stuffed the R/Ts in and closed the door.

"Bodie . . . "

"Shh," Bodie hissed from the kitchen. "Take the phones off." He poked his head back into the living room to see if his partner had obeyed. "MOVE IT, DOYLE," he shouted.

"Yes, sir," Doyle called, reaching the phone just as it rang. Without hesitation, he lifted the receiver and put his finger on the button to break the connection. As he held it there to be certain, Bodie zoomed past him, bedroom phone bound since it was on a second, back up, circuit.

"Bodie, he'll send the boys out."

"No, he won't," Bodie replied, picking up the phone as it rang.

"This is a recording. The numbers in this building are out of service until 10 a.m. tomorrow." He repeated his message even as Julia said, "Bodie, if that's you and you don't report to Alpha in ten minutes, I can't be responsible." Bodie continued his imitation of a tape recording till Julia broke the connection.

"He'll send the boys," Doyle insisted.

"Yeah." Sighing, Bodie went back into the living room. He picked up his abandoned costume, folding it neatly before placing it next to Doyle's on the sofa. Glancing at his watch, he said, "We've got eight minutes. Plan One, Doyle. Go." Without waiting for a reply, he headed out to move the car.

Doyle, willing to cooperate as long as there was a chance to elude their boss, even briefly, dashed into the bedroom. A moment's search produced a pair of Bodie's sweat pants. Stripping quickly, he slipped into their warm folds, under the bed. They were already doomed to Records for the rest of their lives.

A few moments later, Bodie returned. He hung up the phone in the living room before continuing into the bedroom where he flopped down onto the bed, fully expecting the reaction he received.

"Bodie, you cretin. Nearly gave me heart failure. Get under this bed, now."

Laughing, Bodie quickly smoothed the down duvet. He then crawled under the bed.

"You're getting too chubby for this," Doyle accused, poking his partner in the side.

Replying with a goose that made Doyle scream and hit his head on the slats, Bodie then hissed, "Shh," as if he hadn't done anything to precipitate the outburst.

Unable to see, Doyle could still feel the smugness radiate from his companion. Awkwardly, he reached back to dislodge the hand that was cupping his left buttock.

Bodie's chuckle was cut off by the sharp tapping on the door. Stealthily, he moved his hand up to clamp it over Doyle's mouth.

Resisting the urge to bite the fingers on his lips, Doyle licked them instead.

Surprised by the wet reception, Bodie decided to play the game. His index finger slowly outlined the sensuous lips. Doyle opened his mouth and Bodie gently thrust the finger in to explore the teeth, the tongue, the warm expanse of Doyle's mouth. The lips closed around the intrepid digit. Bodie drew it out slightly, then eased it back in in imitation of what he wanted to do to Doyle later.

Shifting uncomfortably as his cock began to swell, Bodie clamped his hand firmly over Doyle's mouth when his partner began to giggle.

Footsteps at the bedroom door sobered them both. The light was switched on. They watched as the brown-shoe clad feet went to the bathroom and then the clothes cupboard. Suddenly, a flashlight beam shone under the bed. Murphy's face followed. CI5's top agents smiled. Murphy smiled back and stood, saying loudly. "See anyone?"

The newer agent accompanying him replied, "No," as he entered the bedroom, munching a Swiss roll he'd taken from the kitchen.

"Shouldn't be eating Bodie's Swiss rolls, Thompson," Murphy enunciated slowly, for the hidden man's benefit.

It was Doyle's turn to clamp his hand over Bodie's mouth to still the rush of outrage he knew would be forthcoming if he didn't act.

"He won't mind. He's a good bloke."

"Well, there are two things in this world his good will doesn't extend to," warned Murphy, enjoying the opportunity to needle Bodie. "And Swiss rolls are one of them."

"What's the other?" Thompson asked, flopping down on the bed.

Bodie bit Doyle's fingers as a slat smacked him squarely on the rump.

Thompson was off the bed like a rocket. "What was that?" In his haste to get his gun out, he dropped the half-eaten confection.

Deft Bodie-fingers snaked out to grab the roll. Doyle bit his lip to stop from laughing.

"Now you've done it, mate. Broken a slat of Bodie's infamous, two bird-size bed. When he finds out . . . "

"You won't tell him, Murphy?" Thompson asked, his voice thick with worry.

"Thought you said he was a good bloke," Murphy teased, shamelessly setting up his young ward for blackmail.

"He is, but . . . "

"But . . . "

"He'll kill me." Thompson thought of the stories of Bodie's legendary skill with women. He was too new to know the tales were ancient history.

"Well, I could be persuaded . . . " Murphy began.

"Anything. I'll owe you, Murphy, if you don't tell."

"Okay. Just remember . . . "

"I will, I promise."

"Okay. Better call the Cow," Murphy said, picking up the phone.

Flustered, but relieved, Thompson remained standing.

"Alpha, 6.2 here. No sign of them, sir. No evidence of any foul play. Bodie's car isn't here either." There was silence as Murphy listened to his orders and the other agents in the room held their breaths.

"We're to check Doyle's and call it a night," Murphy told everyone in the room.

His word choice told the concealed men that there was no emergency, just an irate Cowley.

"Let's go."

"I'll buy you a beer after," Thompson offered.

"Okay, old son." Murphy accepted, ushering his charge out of the bedroom. He took a Swiss roll for himself from the kitchen before steering Thompson through the front door and into the car.

When they were sure they were alone, the two men emerged into the dark of their bedroom. Ignoring his still smarting ass and the Swiss roll he held, Bodie pulled his partner down onto the bed.

"Let's get undressed this time," Doyle whispered when he finally came up for air.

Some time later, sated and comfortable, Doyle was roused by a rather loud rumbling noise.

"'M hungry," Bodie mumbled from beneath the quilt, his words tickling Doyle's left nipple.

With a small sigh, Doyle picked up the abandoned Swiss roll from the night-stand. "Mind the crumbs," he said, lifting the duvet to hand the food to his drowsy lover.

Bodie ate the treat, licking the crumbs that fell from Doyle's chest. "Night," he murmured, the echo of thunder in his stomach receding as he went back to sleep.

"Love you," Doyle whispered sleepily, his arms tightening around the already somnolent body of his lover.

---

From the corner where he was keeping a discrete watch on the door, Doyle could also see Bodie once again assiduously attempting to avoid the maid dressed as a spoon. The woman had been threatening to taste his Christmas pudding cream all afternoon. Doyle smiled at the thought of tasting Bodie's cream, something he had managed earlier in the morning.

A particularly loud scream of shrill joy emanated from a diminutive pirate across the room, drawing Doyle's attention back to the party itself. It had gone well enough, the only embarrassing moment coming when the Princess had insisted he and Bodie be photographed with her -- the chicken sandwich, the Christmas pudding and the Princess -- sounded like the title of a play, he thought, eyes focusing on Prince William.

He liked children, still occasionally longed for a few of his own. But long ago, when he'd joined the police, he decided marriage and children were a luxury he couldn't afford. He'd never thought it fair to marry, have kids and be killed in the line of duty, leaving them all to fend for themselves, maybe get into trouble without a father to help out. It'd happened in his own family, and he'd vowed never to put a child through the type of difficult adjustments he'd been forced to make. Service in CI5 had only served to strengthen his resolve.

Thinking back, he realized the only time he'd even come close to considering marriage had been with Ann Holly. She, however, had been mostly a threat he'd used to bring Bodie around. A smile graced his lips again as he shook his head affectionately. Bodie still didn't quite understand that, in large part, Ann Holly had been a feigned attack before the real battle. They'd hovered on the edge of making their friendship-partnership more for several months. Bodie faced his own feelings for the first time then, his jealousy expressing itself in a laid-back wait and see attitude Doyle'd found particularly infuriating. So, he'd gone on the offensive, letting Bodie draw his own, wrong, conclusions from a refusal to discuss whether or not he was serious about Ann.

Ann Holly -- he'd like her, been drawn to her by her independence and intelligence. He like, preferred, strong women with minds of their own. His most serious dalliances had been with such women - Anita Cabreros, Esther - also coming to mind. But none of them were like Bodie. No one was like Bodie.

Thoughts drifting, Doyle could easily picture the night that followed his "break up" with Ann. Bodie had accompanied him home. They'd eaten a quiet dinner. He was still nursing a bruised ego, suffering from the charge that he wasn't doing his job - which he hadn't been. Bodie, usually gregarious, had lapsed into a tense silence. Over after dinner brandy, they'd begun a game of Monopoly. It wasn't till Bodie, a natural land baron who usually owned every property and hotel, began losing that Doyle realized something was troubling his partner.

He'd gone to the kitchen for beer. When he returned, he handed one to Bodie as he surveyed the board. Normally, cheating was standard fare for their games, but Bodie hadn't pulled any of the usual scams despite being given ample opportunity. Convinced then that he knew what the problem was, he'd parked on the arm of Bodie's chair. When his partner cast an inquiring glance his way, he leaned over and kissed Bodie . . . on the lips.

Bodies' response had been a hungry kiss as he pulled Doyle onto his lap. The passion hadn't diminished since then, Doyle thought smugly as he realized his jeans were suddenly tight in the neighborhood of his groin.

The noise Bodie created as he tried to squeeze into the corner behind him roused Doyle from his reverie. "What's the matter, sunshine?" he inquired innocently, knowing full well what the problem was.

"Just hidin' for a bit. Bleedin' woman actually managed to pinch me arse."

Doyle didn't dare look at Bodie; he was barely able to contain his laughter as it was. "Wouldn't mind sippin' your cream meself . . . or pinching your arse . . . " Doyle said softly, managing to land a hand in the vicinity of Bodie's crotch, a feat not easily accomplished given the thick folds of Christmas pudding costume.

Startled by the unexpected grope, Bodie jumped. With all the melodrama his rich voice could muster he said, "Why don't I just take me clothes off and you all can have your wicked way with me."

Turning awkwardly in his sandwich costume, Doyle looked Bodie in the eye and replied, "'Cause I don't want to share your cream with anyone else, Bodie."

The tone and expression were sufficiently possessive to bring a blush to Bodie's cheeks. "Oh," he finally responded, succinctly and to the point, as always.

Smiling affectionately, certain there was no one near enough to hear, Doyle said, "You twit. Get out there and do your job before I embarrass us both by telling you how much I love you."

Bodie sighed. "You've already done that."

"What?"

"Embarrassed us both."

"When?" Doyle demanded, his good will of a second ago evaporating rapidly.

"When you made us pose with the Princess. If the boys see that - and I know they will - we'll be the laughingstock of the squad. Won't be able to show our faces for days."

"Shouldn't be a problem. We'll be down in Records for the next 92 years. Besides, you're the one who came up with the Princess' men idea," Doyle accused, poking the front of the pudding costume.

"I can see you're not up on your Sir Walter Raleigh. It's supposed to be silent, secret service, Doyle, not posin' for page three."

Before Doyle could reply, Bodie's eyes grew wide with horror.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, trying valiantly to hide behind the broad outlines of Doyle's sandwich.

Knowing that the spoon was approaching, Doyle decided his partner deserved his fate. Without a twinge of guilt, he headed for the punch bowl, intent on watching the show from that safe haven.

"Should I rescue him?" a soft voice inquired of him.

Doyle turned to see Princess Diana attired in her striking, black, wicked witch gown and pointed hat. "Nah. He's a big boy. Can take care of himself . . . usually," he added, smiling.

"He's a very special man," Diana said wistfully, once again drawing Doyle's attention from Bodie's apparently earnest conversation with Matilda the Spoon.

"And so are you," the Princess continued, pausing.

Doyle waited for her to go on.

"I enjoyed myself so much yesterday. It was just what I needed. Not many men have the nerve to even talk to me as a person, let alone do what you two did."

"No one talks to you?" Doyle asked, picking up a glass of punch and handing it to his companion.

"Oh . . . yes. But they never let me forget who I am now. That's why yesterday was so wonderful. I was Diana Spenser again for a while."

"Well . . . if you're in danger of losin' her again, we'll help you find her. Good at findin' people, we are." His expression was sincere.

"I won't forget, Ray."

Doyle smiled again at the woman who would one day be his Queen.

"Had a lovely night with Charlie, too," Diana told Doyle, her tone one of confidentiality. "He was so attentive . . . and fun . . . almost as if he knew."

Watching her closely, Doyle stated flatly, "He didn't," hoping their charade of smuggling her back into the Palace hadn't been discovered.

"No."

"Maybe he was . . . more fun . . . because you were more relaxed, happier," Doyle offered, wondering at the audacity which had him giving the Princess marital advice.

"You're probably . . . " her response was interrupted by a loud thud and the delighted shrieks of the children as they clustered around a mound of brown in the center of the room.

Doyle, who'd been looking at the Princess, turned to see what the commotion was. He groaned slightly when he realized the brown lump surrounded by giggling children was Bodie. Glancing up, he caught Diana's eye.

"Bodie," they said together, watching as the children began a game of Ring Around the Rosy with Bodie as the Maypole. When they'd all fallen down, he applauded them and began handing out candy.

For a moment Doyle was puzzled by the presence of the candy and yet pleased by the rapport his partner had already established with the children.

"The pinata," Diana said, pointing to a disembodied donkey head resting on the floor near Bodie.

Doyle shook his head and grinned, hoping it would explain his partner.

The smile Diana flashed him before she waded into the swarm of children told him she too was ready to excuse Bodie most things.

Left alone, Doyle smiled back when Bodie glanced his way. Children . . . Bodie included. Having Bodie had banished the need for any of his own. In some odd way, his partner could slide down the age scale to be more of a four year old than most four year olds. Bodie, the man of steel with a marshmallow heart, was also other people, Doyle'd learned. There was Bodie the hedonistic sensualist who appeared only after lovemaking had lowered daytime barriers. He had a penchant for Dom Perignon, whipped cream and feathers . . . at 3 a.m. And he stood in marked contrast to Bodie the merciless - a man even Doyle had feared the one time he'd seen him.

They'd been tracking a man reputed to be a white slaver with a twist. He specialized in children. The proof had been carefully gathered, was incontrovertible. He and Bodie had gone to bring Williamson in. Bodie, going in the back way, had reached their mark first. The sound of gunfire had sent Doyle rushing into danger, afraid Bodie was down. When he arrived in the plush, antique littered study, Williamson, gun in hand, was slumped over his desk, bleeding from a bullet hole in his forehead.

The expression on Bodie's face had frightened him. The beautiful features capable of such sweetness in the bedroom, had been transformed into a cold mask. Blue eyes, daring defiance, were lustful, but it was a blood lust that he'd seen once before, in Tommy. Bodie's words came back, "The difference is, Doyle, I do it but I don't enjoy it."

He realized he'd seen the dark side of his partner-lover, the place from whence the occasional outburst, the black humor, the cynical edge stemmed. Even now, a year later, the image of that Bodie sent shivers through him. Bodie had been cleared of wrongdoing, had been shown to have acted in self defense, but Doyle wondered then and still did. The Bodie he'd met that blustery fall afternoon could have killed in cold blood, purely for the sport of it. They'd never discussed the incident, the hard gleam in the blue eyes warning him to leave well enough alone and he had.

The sound of Bodie's dulcet voice chased away the chill, bringing Doyle back from that one moment when he'd wondered if he really knew his partner at all.

"Give us a hand, Cinderayla," Bodie called from the floor, entangled in brown fabric and the remains of broken pinata.

"What happened?" Doyle queried when he reached the Christmas pudding. He grabbed one of the holly branches, shaking it.

Grimacing, Bodie looked up at the sandwich-shrouded Doyle. Noting that the children were now gathered around Prince William, who was opening gifts, Bodie said, "I was trying to escape from the position you so kindly left me in." Each word was enunciated and laced with good-natured disgruntlement.

"Price you pay for being snarky when I'm tryin' to be romantic," Doyle replied softly as he extended a hand to Bodie.

Resisting the urge to pull Doyle down to him, Bodie instead levered himself up.

When his partner finished straightening his costume, Doyle reached over to adjust the holly headdress. "Should be something straight about you, sunshine." The crooked smile he received from Bodie made him shake his head affectionately. It was Doyle's turn to resist an urge - the one to hug Bodie. He sighed instead, hoping his expression was a frown rather than the smile he feared was in control of his lips.

"Think Cowley's been callin' the wrong one of us the cream puff all these years," Bodie told his partner as he ruffled Doyle's curly hair.

"Yeah," Doyle admitted with resignation. "'S gettin' worse, you know."

Bodie smiled. It was a familiar situation. After every near miss, they wanted to reassure one another, wanted to reaffirm their love. Lately, the emotional turmoil of a close call evoked a more intense reaction. It was often several days before they could shake off a palpable need to touch one another, to cling together almost. When they'd first noticed it, they decided that one day it'd force them off the squad. As it was, Bodie wasn't sure why they stayed to take the risk of losing one another. That loss would be devastating to either. But they were gambling men, in a brashly calculating sort of way; so they dared the Fates, defied the odds. Now the price of their foolhardiness was escalating as they grew to understand just how much they meant to one another. "Handwritin's on the wall . . . "

"Yeah," Doyle acknowledged knowing that sooner or later they were going to have to find other jobs.

Attuned as always to Doyle's moods, Bodie sensed the weight of facing this decision settle on his partner's shoulders. While he, too, knew it had to be dealt with, and soon if last night's passionate outburst was an indication, he didn't want to face it this very moment.

"Not much need to worry at the moment. Cowley'll have us in Records forever. No bullets to dodge down in that dark, dank hell hole."

Doyle smiled at the thought of them in Records. He glanced at Bodie who crossed his eyes in a favorite expression of madness. Genuine laughter threatened now.

Aware of the not so small victory of having diverted Doyle, Bodie stuck out his tongue. He was still in love, he decided, because he never tired of playing the clown if he could make his lover laugh.

His reward was forthcoming when Doyle began to chuckle.

"Wonder if there's much call for Christmas pudding clowns?" he asked.

"Only in CI5. But you'd be good as a nanny," Doyle offered.

"Nah. Like to play with the toys too much. Forget about the kids, I would." Bodie responded in a voice touched with whimsey.

"Speaking of playing with toys, aren't they going out for pony rides?"

"Yeah, in about a half hour." The twinkle in the blue eyes grew stronger. "Let's tag along," Bodie said as he caught the drift of Doyle's question. "Part of the job, isn't it?"

Doyle laughed; he'd do almost anything not to return to CI5 today. Besides, it was a long standing tradition that they go to extremes on these sorts of assignments, mainly because it drove Cowley crazy. "Yeah," Doyle allowed.

"Only thing is, I'm not going on a bleedin' pony in this."

"Then we'll just have to get out of it, won't we?" asked Doyle, his voice suggestive. He spun his partner around and shoved him towards the door. On the way out, he glanced at the Princess and the children, all watching Prince William unwrap his gifts. "They'll be a while," he explained needlessly to Bodie.

The pair headed for the magical room where Barbara Jameston normally held court. Awkwardly, they disassociated themselves from their costumes and carefully placed them on the sofa. Bodie hastily scrawled a note of thanks for yesterday and an apology for the damage done to his Christmas pudding outfit as well as the fact that he'd eaten her piece of torte. He placed it and a rose he'd nicked on her worktable. Seeing no one after peeking out into the corridor, he motioned Doyle out ahead of him. Trained detective that agent 4.5 was, he quickly located a bathroom - the first unoccupied room he'd seen.

"Not the most romantic of . . . "

Doyle's lips were on his then, silencing him with a demanding kiss as eager hands slid up under the black cotton of his polo. Responding to the hungry caresses, he pulled Doyle to him, his hands slipping into the rear of Doyle's jeans.

Air cut off as the now too tight waistband pressed against his diaphragm, Doyle broke the kiss. "Bodie, I need . . . "

"I know what you need, sunshine," Bodie replied, his voice deepened by lust as his lips claimed Doyle's.

"Mmmm, want more."

Drawing back, Bodie chuckled. "Greedy bastard."

"Where you're concerned, yeah," Doyle replied smiling, his hands caressing the warm flesh of Bodie's broad back.

They stood holding each other, looking into one another's eyes; it was one of those stolen moment that seemed to punctuate their lives, a semi-colon between the dangerous assignments.

"I love you," Bodie whispered, leaning over slightly to nibble an earlobe.

"Love you, too," Doyle returned as he arched back, letting Bodie's lips kiss his neck. When Bodie began sucking his Adam's apple. Doyle managed to gasp out, "Stop, Bodie, stop." His voice was low and raspy. "We can't . . . "

With a deep sigh, Bodie straightened. He took several deep breaths as he tried to stop the rapid racing of his heart. "You're lucky I'm shy and introverted, mate."

Doyle's eyes grew wide with incredulity. "You . . . shy . . . introverted?"

"Yeah. If I wasn't, you'd be on the floor now, losin' your virginity."

Before Doyle could reply to the arrogant comment, the sound of giggling children reached them. "Time to mount up," Doyle said laughing as he ducked out of Bodie's embrace.

"You mean I have to catch you?" Bodie queried, chasing his partner.

"'M not your horse, Bodie," Doyle shouted, sliding out into the corridor, deftly avoiding two children only to come face to face with a curious Princess Diana.

"No rough house, boys," she told them in a motherly tone.

Only rarely deserted by his glib tongue, Bodie said smoothly, "Had to report in."

Disappointment registered as Diana said, "Oh, do you have to go? Is that why you were racing off?"

"Didn't want to miss the fun with the ponies. Want a ride, I do," Bodie replied. His eyes were wide with innocence even as he pinched Doyle to emphasize what he really wanted to ride.

Doyle bit back the yelp of surprise, chiding himself for not expecting the goose after all these years with Bodie. Caught in the act of speaking, he nonetheless managed to continue. "We're to stay and help out."

"Good," the Princess said happily. "You can give me a hand getting these children mounted up."

Because the agents were asked to stay to dinner, it was late when they finally returned to Bodie's flat. "Staying, aren't you?" Bodie asked his lover.

"Only if we can sleep," Doyle replied, going into the kitchen to fix a late night cup of tea.

"Getting old, are we?" queried Bodie, stealing Doyle's line as he retrieved a bottle of brandy.

"Yes," Doyle said emphatically. "Need me strength for Records."

"Could use a bit of beauty sleep meself," Bodie added lightly as he poured the liquor into the waiting tea cups.

Pulling his partner into an embrace, Doyle said, "You are beautiful."

"You are tired." The blue eyes twinkled with embarrassment.

"How can you tell?"

"Get mushy when you're tired, you do."

Indignant, Doyle asked, "I do?"

"Yeah. But I like it." Bodie forestalled any further discussion with a deep kiss that finally ended when the kettle whistled.

Leaving Doyle to fix the tea, Bodie went to prepare the bedroom. He turned down the duvet, moved the TV in from the living room and placed the remote on his nightstand. When Doyle came in carrying the cups and the brandy, Bodie was in bed watching the news.

When Doyle was at last in bed, his nighttime rituals more complicated than that of any woman he'd ever known, Bodie snuggled close to him, the companionable silence between them pleasant after the hectic day full of screaming children.

Doyle sighed and shook his head when he realized that Bodie'd fallen asleep -- tea untouched, the TV blaring. "Who's getting old, lover?" he asked softly as he carefully reached across the inert form for the remote. Switching off both the Tv and the light, he settled himself and Bodie beneath the covers. "Night," he mumbled, kissing the silky dark head.

"Night," came the sleepy reply as Bodie nestled even closer, his body and head totally hidden by the bedclothes.

---

The phone roused them from peaceful dreams.

"3.7," Bodie said sleepily into the receiver.

"It's 7 a.m., 3.7. Mr. Cowley wants the report on yesterday's assignment by 8:30."

"What?"

"You heard," Julia said, hanging up.

Groaning, Bodie shook his partner. "Up and at 'em, mate." Half asleep, Bodie automatically climbed out of bed. He was halfway through his shower when he realized Doyle was still in bed. Finishing quickly, he grabbed a wet wash cloth, intending to throw it at his lover. The sight that greeted him made him stop, however. Asleep, cares forgotten, Doyle lay curled in the center of the bed; his face would rouse envy in a seraph.

Sitting on the mattress, Bodie leaned over to kiss his partner awake. "Rise and shine," he said softly, nibbling a nearby ear.

A shiver coursed through Doyle. He opened his eyes. "Think it'll make any difference if we're late?"

"Who cares?" was Bodie's response as he slipped under the sheets to join Doyle.

---

When they finally made it to the office, about 8:30, they discovered that the fates were with them. The PM herself was in talking to Cowley and was likely to be there for some time.

Hastily, the two agents wrote a brief summary of their previous day's activities. After leaving it with Betty, they headed straight for Records, knowing that's where Cowley would send them if he could.

Bemused by their attitude, Betty scanned the report they'd handed her. Smiling, she could picture the scene this would create.

About 10, Mrs. Thatcher left the CI5 building. Cowley, eager to catch up on work, asked for and received the morning's mail and reports. "Where are 3.7 and 4.5?" he asked before disappearing into his office.

"Records, sir," Betty replied, laughing softly.

A rare smile graced Cowley's lips. He returned to his office and placed the paperwork on the desk. Even though it was only 10, he felt the need for a wee bit of malt. Ensconced in his chair a moment later, the smooth liquid warming his gullet, Cowley permitted himself another smile. "To Bodie and Doyle," he said softly, raising his glass in salute to his absent men. He'd let them stew in Records for another day or so. They deserved that much. That they'd banished themselves to the CI5 equivalent of the Tower actually made him laugh, as did the photo on his desk of the two in fancy dress, a beaming Princess Diana between them. The picture would go on the rec room bulletin board - they deserved that too.

His eyes were drawn to something else his men had earned, the reason for the PM's visit in fact. The Prince, evidently quite pleased with the change her little outing had wrought in the Princess, charmed himself by their subsequent dinner, had nominated Bodie and Doyle for membership in the Order of the Champions of Honour. It was a minor order to be sure, but an honor nonetheless. One that had to be done in secret, of course, to protect the agents, but it was merely a matter of form now since none of the Prince's nominees were turned down. The PM had been after the details behind the unusual royal action. With barely concealed pride. George Cowley had explained the escapade to the best of his knowledge. Content that happiness in that particular quarter was indeed good news, she had promised to see the nomination through.

Swallowing the last of his scotch, Cowley glanced again at the nomination letters. He was certain that some day, before all was said and done, the two could well be knighted. , he thought, chuckling to himself as he picked up their report about the birthday party.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he read through the acerbic accounting. It called for another scotch if he was to get through the day. Good will evaporating, he wondered if they were worth the trouble and aggravation. Gulping down the liquor, he returned to his desk and depressed the intercom button. "Betty, send up the Christmas Pudding and the Ham Sandwich . . . immediately . . . "

-- THE END --

Originally published in The Hatstand Express Fiction Supplement 5

---

Editor's Note: For those of you who can't imagine Doyle as a "sandwich" or Bodie as a "Christmas pudding" the inspiration for this story came from photos of Martin Shaw in just such a sandwich costume in "Jane Asher's Fancy Dress", Salem House, Salem, New Hampshire. They are a delightful set of photos!