It took Bodie a while to notice, but it had been over a month since he had seen Doyle smile. Even now, he was glum, more quiet, withdrawn, than normal. Bodie stared at him in concerned confusion, but his partner of two years ignored him as he leaned against the credenza. It was Cowley who said the words first:

"What's wrong with you, Doyle?"

"Nothing." His gaze was brief, distant.

Cowley hesitated, studied his agent with somber eyes before saying, "Are you ill?"

"No. What's our assignment?" Bodie noticed his partner's fingers clenching the chair's side. Bodie noticed the flat, stranger-like tone in the man's voice as well. So did Cowley.

"If there's something wrong, I'd like to hear about it. Are you angry with Bodie?"

William Bodie tightened his jaws. Why would Ray Doyle be upset with him? He hadn't done anything. Guilt tugged at his mind. Unless.... No, it wouldn't be that. Doyle didn't know about that.

"Why would I be...upset...with him?"

"Are you grieved with me?" Cowley's lids lowered slightly.

"No. I'd like our assignment now." But for a brief moment, his gaze had glittered with anger at his boss.

"There's something wrong, Ray Doyle, and don't tell me there isn't." Cowley was firm, refusing to listen to anything but the truth. "If it will affect your ability...."

Doyle stiffened in his chair. "It's my problem, and it won't interfere with my job."

"Ray...."

Doyle shot up. "Bloody hell!" The others gaped in shock as he stalked toward the door and vanished before they could regain their equilibrium.

"Go after him. I'll give the task to Hawkins and Bolt."

Bodie didn't need any encouragement. He hurried after his partner. Doyle was halfway down the stairs by the time Bodie caught up with him. "Wait up," the other agent demanded. Doyle hesitated only a moment, then continued his descent. "Ray!" Bodie grabbed his partner's arm, but Doyle jerked away and nearly lost his balance. His sea-green eyes held anger. They met the confused, concerned blue ones with a warning, a dare. "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Do we have an assignment?"

"You are angry with me. What have I done?" Bodie's voice, his expression, echoed the bewilderment that circled around inside him.

"Do we have an assignment?" Doyle inquired coolly.

"He gave it to Bolt and Hawkins. Ray...."

Doyle stepped down two more steps. "Then I'll go home."

"Why are you...wait, Doyle; I'll give you a ride." He followed his friend, companion, partner. "Doyle! Ray!"

"Go back to your...go back to Cowley; I'll take the tube." Doyle reached the bottom. He crossed the small space so rapidly, it gave the appearance of running away. Doyle shoved the door open, hastened through. The sun was bright, the sidewalk crowded. Doyle felt Bodie's hand on his arm again, and jerked so swiftly away, he bumped into a large, overweight woman. She scowled at him and went on her way, muttering beneath her breath.

"Doyle! Damn it, stop!" Ray Doyle did but he didn't turn around to face his partner. "What the hell is wrong? This is about Tommy, isn't it?" Perplexed, Bodie could only stare at the back of the man's head. Doyle shrugged, not being able to answer. "Then what is it?"

Remorse was on Doyle's features as he turned. "Overreacted. Sorry." There was anguish in his eyes, hurt and bewilderment. He reached out for the other man but dropped his hand before actually touching him. "Don't pay any attention to me right now, Bodie; I'm not fit for company."

"You've been off your diet for...long before McKay was knocked off. It was...." He thought back. "Two months, right after the Careson case." He thought in satisfaction, Right after George and I overindulged in whiskey. A wee drop. Bodie's mind laughed at Cowley's idea of a wee drop. It was the very next day that Doyle had withdrawn from him, had gone over to Tommy McKay, Tommy and his roughness. Bodie had done his best to ignore the anger and distress he had felt at that transfer of affections; after all, Doyle had every right to take on other lovers; there had been no mention of fidelity between them...but for God's sakes, why Tommy?

The very first time Bodie had seen the bruising beneath Doyle's right eye, anguish for his ex-lover had tangled with the cool acceptance he had tried to portray. He had tried to touch it with a gentle finger, but Doyle had flinched. Stung by that action, Bodie had asked harshly, "Like it rough, do you?"

Doyle's loathing hadn't been hidden fast enough. His going over to Tommy had been bad enough to the solidly built agent, but the pain of that extra sign of rejection had hurt him badly. He thought he could live with Doyle sleeping with another man. (He would have to, wouldn't he? After all, he had.) But why had Doyle felt as though he had to cut Bodie totally out of his personal life? Why that sudden animosity toward being touched? Why, even now, was his partner so antagonistic? Tommy was dead, killed doing his duty, murdered saving Doyle's life. Not even to assuage his grief, not even to get help in overcoming the despondency and the depression he had gone through at the demise of Tom, did Doyle return to Bodie's side, though Bodie had waited, hoping. Why? There was still that coolness, still that reserve. It had grown worse since Tommy's death. Why?

Bodie's mind clicked suddenly in sharp clarity; it focused on the present again just in time to see the hurt in Doyle's eyes, clearly visible. His expression changed slightly, telling Bodie he had known the truth for a long time...and...he knew Bodie was aware of it now as well. "Ray?"

"Gotta go," he murmured and hurried away, leaving a shaken Bodie behind.

He knew! God knew how he had found out, but Doyle knew about him and Cowley!

Cowley was calm when he was told moments later. "I thought we had kept it quiet, but he's a canny one, our Doyle. If anyone would have found out, it would have been him."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"What would you have me say? We're all mature adults here. He's old enough to know these things happen."

"I know, but...."

"There are no buts about this. Work it out amongst yourselves." He looked pointedly down at the sheaf of papers in his hands.

"George...."

"Was there an understanding between you? Is that what this is all about?"

Bodie's expression was one of disturbed worry. "Not on my part."

"Was there on his?"

"I think he fancied himself in love with me. "

"Oh, I see." Cowley tossed his bundle of papers toward his basket. They landed on the clean, smooth surface of his desk and were left there because Cowley's mind was on the problem Bodie had faced him with. "That does make a difference." He rose, went to the other man and gripped the solid shoulder. "Clean up this mess, William. I don't want to lose him."

Bodie realized with a jolt, I don't either. "I'll do my best."

"Aye, that's a good lad. Be off with you then."

"Cowley...."

The phone rang. The leader of CIS answered it, his apology clear in his eyes as he glanced at the agent who stood on the other side of the desk. "Cowley here." His face lengthened in surprise. "Yes, Mrs. Thatcher!" He listened, his surprise turning into consternation, then constrained disapproval as the prime minister continued to speak into the privacy of his ear.

"But Mrs. Thatcher, why CI5?" he asked at last.

"My men wouldn't....

"Yes, I know, but...." Bodie could tell his boss was annoyed by what he was hearing.

"Yes, I can understand your point of view, but I assure you I investigated that quite thoroughly....

"Are you doubting my word?

"No, I didn't mean to imply...." Cowley made a face at Bodie, who smiled faintly.

"No, I'm sure she's a capable person, but....

"I canna see sending her out in the field....

"Well, yes, she would be safe enough with our men around her, but surely you know...." He listened again, his brows lowering.

"She's with Special Service? I see.

"Yes, Mrs. Thatcher, we'll welcome her into our fold...." Spoken in resigned restraint.

"Yes, I understand completely.... No one will know why she's really here," he spoke in resignation, bleak acceptance. "I will see to it....

"Yes.... Good-by, Mrs. Thatcher."

Cowley stared at the phone in indignant peevishness. "That tears it. When the Prime Minister can come in and interfere with the way I run things...." He smacked the desk. "I'll not have it, Bodie."

"Seems to me you just did," the agent said, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "How long will she be here?

"Undetermined."

"Why is she here?"

"I canna say, William. I was given orders to keep that part confidential."

"Even with me?'"

"What we had in the past, what we may have in the future, doesn't change company policies. My orders were explicit: keep mum."

"How bad can it be? Just send her on simple chores, or make her stay here and file."

"Harriet files for me. Besides, Mrs. Thatcher was quite adamant; Miss Winecourt must go out on assignments; she must be treated equally."

"Equally?" Bodie asked softly, grinning.

"You've a wicked mind, William Bodie." But he smiled as well. "Since you don't think it can be so bad, she's yours."

"'Mine?" Bodie squeaked.

"Yours," Cowley agreed, giving a small nod as accent. "And Doyle's."

"That's going to make it hard to clear things up with Ray."

"Do the best you can."

"Thanks...." His eyes narrowed. "I think."

"You're dismissed. Be sure you're here bright and early."

Bodie saluted jauntily and left. He rang Doyle's apartment but no one answered. He called by, but the place was dark. At ten that night, Bodie gave up and went home, leaving a message tacked on Doyle's door informing him of the special assignment they had.

---

Part 2

Doyle rubbed his weary eyes. He was tired, exhausted to be blunt. He felt more at home, more comfortable in the poorer sections, felt more at home with the people who inhabited those areas. He had been born and reared in just such a neighborhood. He never condescended those who still lived in those places, never harassed anyone unless he had to. He was always ready to help, to listen. People remembered that, and him.

He stopped in front of the Boar and Hound and gazed at it in dismal memory. He had seen Cowley and Bodie leave this very pub two months ago, had seen them stop at Cowley's car. Suspicions about the way they were acting, had been touching each other, had set off his jealousy. He had followed them to Cowley's house, had remained until early morning when Bodie finally left. It had hurt then, the unfaithfulness; it hurt now. True, Doyle admitted silently as he made himself walk on, Bodie had never made any promises, never vowed fidelity, had never mentioned the word love, but....

"It's not his fault I took it for granted."

"Talking to yourself, are you, Doyle?" a young voice asked from behind him. Doyle whirled, ready to attack. The young man laughed in delight. "Please don't shoot, mister; I didn't mean to get your son pregnant!"

"Joshua!" Half laughing, Doyle relaxed. "Kinda late for you, isn't it?"

"Nah." The blond man soothed a path up and down the agent's arm. "Slumming again, are we? Or were you looking for me?" He moved closer, close enough that his breath tickled Doyle's cheek.

Why not? Doyle wondered. Why shouldn't I play around? Who would it hurt? Pain gnawed at his heart as he acknowledged the truth that Bodie wouldn't care. It hadn't bothered him when Doyle had gone over to Tommy either. Bodie had scorned the bruising he had gotten, the lacerations, but he had never asked him to come back, had never asked why...not even after Tommy was killed.

"Yeah. Come back to my place?" His hand moved down, kneaded the small buttocks of the blond man. The other man liked that a great deal. He clutched Doyle's hand, yet it didn't do a thing for the agent. He felt nothing...nothing....

Even afterwards, when Joshua lay sleeping beside him, snoring softly in satisfaction, Ray Doyle had felt nothing.

Bodie was at the door when Doyle opened it the next day to let Joshua out. All three men stared at each other before Joshua recovered and hurried away.

"New one?" Bodie asked gently.

"Nah. What do you want?"

"We're due at Cowley's this morning, bright and early. I came by last night but you weren't here."

"I was out walking." How distant his voice sounded. That tone, though deserved, tore at Bodie's heart.

"I left you a note."

"Didn't see one."

"Know him long?" It wasn't fair to feel so enraged. Doyle was a free man, to pick and choose, anyone, anytime, for anything. Anger and hurt raced through his veins, sending heat up his neck, into his cheeks.

Doyle chose not to answer. "Let me get dressed." He hesitated, then stepped aside, allowed the other man to enter. He vanished into the bedroom. "Is it an assignment?"

"Got to take a bird around with us."

"Bet you'll like that." A quiet shutting of a dresser drawer filled the silence for a moment. "Bodie?"

"Yeah, Doyle," the other agent said in an resigned manner. "I'll like that."

"Who is she?" He left his bedroom, tucking his shirt into his jeans.

"Don't know."

"Why is she going to be with us?"

"Don't know that either. She's with Special Service."

"What's she doing crossing the line?" He brushed his hair quickly and efficiently, and then set the brush down on the dresser.

"Don't know. Cowley didn't like it."

"Don't imagine he would." Doyle caught Bodie inspecting his face, and flushed. "Let's go."

In the car moments later, Bodie asked in gentle interrogation, "You miss Tommy?"

"Not anymore." Even if he hadn't turned away to gaze out the window, the tone of his voice would have informed Bodie that he had no desire to speak further on that subject.

"I'm sorry about Cowley," Bodie blurted out, surprised to find himself doing so, but just as surprised to find it true.

"Doesn't matter, does it? That's in the past."

"Is it?"

"Yeah." He took a packet of gum from his pocket, unwrapped a piece and popped it in his mouth.

"I only slept with him once." His tone was reserved, but the man beside him heard the pleading at the back of it.

"Okay." He crumpled the gum wrappings and discarded them in the tiny ashtray.

"You believe me?"

"Yeah." He searched the buildings and people as Bodie's car sped past.

"Can we talk about it?"

"There's no need to, is there?"

But there was a need for Bodie, a gnawing, aching need to share the truth. "We went out for a whiskey. I don't know how many we had but I know it was more than one."

"Bodie..." Doyle warned.

"I'm not going to lie and say I don't remember; I'm not going to lie and say he forced me or I was too drunk to know what I was doing. I'll not even pretend I didn't enjoy it; both of us did."

"Drop it, Bodie." His voice grew cold, hard. "Just drop it. It no longer matters, now does it?"

It did! It bothered the other agent. William Andrew Philip Bodie hesitated and then asked, "How come Tommy?"

"It's none of your business, now, is it, Bodie?" His voice was hard, holding a touch of anger, minor hostility.

"I didn't know you liked it rough, Ray." He wanted to understand how the man beside him, sitting so cool and aloof, could possibly enjoy the pain. He wondered, briefly, if he suggested, either physically or verbally, that he too was willing to give Doyle what he appeared to want, whether he would come back to him. He missed the warmth of his body at night, the gentle intake and exhale of breath, the way he smiled when he woke up.

"Drop it." The tone was blunt, to the point.

Bodie thought about arguing, continuing the discussion, but the tightness of his partner's mouth, the tenseness of the slim body told him he'd be risking his bollocks if he pushed. He dropped it.

---

There was a woman in Cowley's office. She was slim, slightly shorter than the boss of CI5. Her hair was mousy brown, caught back in a low pony tail. She wore her dull grey suit in prim casualness. Its pink pearl buttons were a strange contrast to the blandness of the cut, to her own staidness. Her feet were shod in drab, black boots. Her eyes were chocolate brown, hidden by flesh-colored, plastic-framed glasses. They were reserved, those eyes, not exactly unfriendly, simply aloof.

"Miss Winecourt, this is William Bodie..." Bodie met her eyes, tried to decipher the reason behind her coolness and could not. He nodded to her and she nodded back. "...And this is Ray Doyle." When she looked at Doyle, the slim agent received the distinct impression that he looked familiar to her, that he reminded her of someone she knew. There was a definite easing of her eyes, a slight smile. As he leaned back against the credenza, he realized that there was something familiar about her as well. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, couldn't bring into focus the face his subconscious was recalling. It irritated him, briefly, that vague recollection, irritated the hell out of him.

"I'm pleased to meet you both. Please call me Court." She turned back to Cowley. "You were telling me about an assignment?"

"Ah yes, the assignment. It's another stakeout, I'm afraid." He watched the distaste flicker across Bodie's face. "I know, Bodie, but sometimes such work is necessary. It's in Liverpool...the Black Feather."

"A pub?" Bodie questioned.

"A pub and an inn, a small one."

"Still," the solidly built agent said with a look of interest, "maybe staking out the place won't be so bad." Cowley gave him a look that warned him against drinking on duty. Bodie sighed and nodded, understanding the silent rebuke.

"It's been reputed to be a front for hiding terrorists and infiltrating them into our country."

"That's a good place," Doyle said thoughtfully. "It being a seaport for imports and a gateway to Ireland...makes sense."

"Yes, unfortunately, it does. Do you have contacts in that area, Doyle?" When the affirmative nod came, Cowley looked at him in relief. "Visit them, talk to them. Find out what you can."

"I will."

"Good." Cowley settled back in his chair. "It won't be easy adjusting to one another. Bodie, you've worked with others, but Doyle hasn't, and neither of you have worked with a woman before."

"I won't be a liability. My rating at Special Services was a nine. I've faced death, stood by my partner. You won't have to worry about me freezing up or running off."

"Why have you come here?" Bodie asked softly.

"I'm trying to find someone."

"Who?" Bodie wanted to know.

Winecourt shook her head. "I don't know yet."

"Why here at CI5?" Bodie nudged.

"I know he's here."

"How do you know that?" Doyle inquired quietly.

"I have proof."

"What kind of proof?" But Winecourt shook her head, remained silent.

"What's our cover? Or do we go in with none?" Bodie questioned.

"Visitors, I think."

"Honeymooners?" Bodie asked, his eyes twinkling devilishly as he glanced at the tense woman.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Bodie?" Cowley inquired in a droll manner.

"I like birds," came the gleeful reply.

"Do you?" Winecourt demanded in a tightly controlled voice. Her lips twisted slightly. Bodie wasn't sure if it was meant to be affable or not; it was one of those kind of smiles that could be just about anything. He chose to believe it was sociable.

"Sure he does," Doyle added with a small smile. All eyes turned to him. "His mum was a bird, wasn't she?"

Bodie laughed. "Yes, Doyle, she was!" It eased his heart, that teasing.

"Do we drive down together, or go separately?" Winecourt queried.

"Together, I think, and it might not be a bad idea to spend the evening together, to get acquainted."

"Cowley's got a point. Doyle can make dinner while we chat each other up." His blue eyes gleamed in delight.

"Bodie! There's no need to be crude," Cowley chastised.

"Don't change your way of doing things, or of speaking, on my account, Mr. Bodie." She didn't seem to mind the off-color term. "I don't expect it."

"Neither do I," Bodie agreed but his smile was genuine and friendly.

"Good." Winecourt stood up, all five-foot-two of her. "Now that we've got the preliminaries out of the way. Your place or his?"

"Isn't that supposed to be, your place or mine?" Bodie teased.

"Mine's being painted," came the reserved reply. She walked sedately toward the door. Doyle and Bodie both were there first. Each of them reached for the knob, but Bodie stood back and allowed Doyle to open it.

"After you," Bodie said with a smile.

"Doyle or me?" Winecourt tried to quip.

It might have worked, but there was no gleam of humor in her eyes, and the tightness around her mouth added to that lack.

"Ladies first," Bodie told her quietly, studying her face.

"Thank you." She went, started down the stairs. "Shall I take my car or leave it here?"

"Cowley'll watch out after it," Bodie said as he followed her down. "Part of his job, innit?"

"Bodie!" Cowley warned. In a softer tone, he asked, "Doyle?"

"I'll call up my contacts tonight, get the thing rolling."

"Thank you." Cowley's tone was quiet, resigned. Well, at least Doyle was performing his job. If he was a bit lean on the openness towards him and Bodie, well.... He sighed quietly.

Doyle called out to the woman, "I'm a lousy cook, Court. "

"I'm not." Her tone was gentle. "Would you like me to?"

"Nah. I'll come up with something."

"As you will." The woman's glance moved back to Bodie. "That will give us plenty of time to chat each other up." Bodie grinned hugely and they all moved down the stairs.

---

They talked about work mostly, Bodie and the woman, while Doyle used his tiny kitchen to prepare dinner. Winecourt had offered to help but Doyle had argued the truth about the area being too small, so she had settled back against the soft cushions of Doyle's couch and Bodie sat down next to her. Ten minutes later, Bodie said, "Why don't we get it out of the way?"

"Get what out of the way?" she asked suspiciously.

"This." He leaned forward, cupped her face and kissed her. There was no response. He tried harder but she pushed him away. "You hate men?" he asked.

"No. Look, I don't expect it and it's a waste of time."

"Don't fancy me, then, do you?" Bodie was torn between being relieved and offended.

"Bodie, I know you're gay." She sounded exasperated.

His brows shot up. "Who told you? Cowley? And I'm bi."

"No, not Cowley." She moved away from him. "Now that that's out of the way...."

"How did you know?"

"I read your records." She waited for the explosion. When it came, it was minor, but even Doyle came out of the kitchen to add his portion.

"You read our records?" Bodie asked, astonished. "I can't imagine Cowley letting...."

"He didn't, and before this goes any further, I can't tell you how I got hold of them. It's a Service secret."

"Anyone else know?" Doyle inquired in a strained voice.

"No."

"Cowley won't like this," Doyle murmured in worry.

"I don't like it," Bodie said in a hard, indignant voice. "Our records are supposed to be confidential. There are things in them...." Bodie was more than disturbed, he was distressed.

"They are confidential. I wouldn't have read them but I needed to find...." She stopped, licked her lips, took a deep breath. "The man I'm after is gay. I needed to find out how many men in CI5 were homosexual. I didn't have time to investigate everyone!" She watched Bodie and Doyle's eyes meet, secret messages pass between them. "My brother is...was...gay. I'm not prejudiced. I'm not here on a witch hunt."

"Did you read everyone's?" Bodie wanted to know.

"Yes."

"Including Cowley's?"

"The Cow," Winecourt said, a soft memory on her face. Anguish took the place of pleasure but was quickly removed to be covered over by her reserve.

"Who are you?" Bodie asked sharply. "No one knows that nickname, no one but a CI5 agent. That isn't in the records."

"You're not the only CI5 agent I've talked to, Bodie," she said sharply. "Maybe dinner together isn't such a good idea." She tried to rise, but Bodie gripped her arms. "Let go."

"How did you get hold of our records?"

"Strong-arm tactics, Bodie?" Doyle demanded, taking a step forward.

"Shut up. I don't like the idea of someone going through our files!" Bodie insisted. He chose to ignore the anger growing on her face.

"I don't either, but that's no reason to manhandle a woman."

Doyle's eyes glowed with displeasure, Bodie's with exasperation.

"I'm not manhandling her," Bodie argued.

"Then let her go."

"I can take care of myself, Doyle," Winecourt decreed in a hard voice. The very next second, Bodie was on the floor, an extreme look of shock and astonishment on his features. "I'm not a novice, William Bodie. Don't forget that again." Her voice was hard, full of warning.

"I won't," Bodie said in aggravation, picking himself up. As he dusted himself off, he caught Doyle grinning at him. "Like that, do you?"

"Yeah." Chuckling, the slim agent returned to the kitchen. At Bodie's muttered oath, he chuckled louder.

---

The air had a nip in it. It was just after dawn, but the streets were already beginning to get busy. They left London and entered the roadway that would take them to Liverpool. Scenery soon changed from buildings and paved streets to nature's own landscaping. Winecourt sat in the back, stifling her yawns. Bodie drove while Doyle read his papers. After Bodie's sixth side glance of mild irritation, Doyle sighed and handed the paper back over the seat to the woman.

"Thanks." She turned to the back page. That action wasn't so unusual; many people read from back to front, but that feeling that she reminded him of someone returned in full force to Doyle. She caught his studied gaze and lifted one brow. He turned back around. She read a bit and then remarked in casual observation, "General Armin is due in on Thursday."

As Doyle looked around, Bodie asked, "Who?"

"The unofficial leader of Ishan," Doyle said in an off-hand tone. "The Shah bends to his will. They're holding peace talks between Ishan and Great Britain."

"Very good, Doyle," Winecourt said, a faint smile on her face. "You're more than a pretty face."

Doyle smiled at the scenery. "Yeah."

"What's Ishan?" Bodie inquired, his face straight but his eyes hooded.

"It's a tiny country close to Iraq." Doyle's eyes suddenly flashed with comprehension. "But you know where it is, now don't you?" His tone was a little sharper than he had intended, his features a littler harder than he wanted.

"Do I?" Bodie inquired blandly, his eyes on the road.

"Bet you gaffed about there, didn't you?"

"Nah, unfriendly natives." He grinned cheekily at his partner, but Doyle didn't reciprocate and the smiled faded quickly.

"Pull over, will you?" Doyle requested, his voice now controlled.

"Why?"

"Call of nature."

"Oh." Bodie pulled to the side of the road and allowed his partner get out. Doyle quickly vanished into a clump of trees and bushes.

"Cowley said you had worked with others?" Winecourt remarked in an offhand manner as she folded the paper and placed it beneath her handbag.

Bodie adjusted his body, flinging his arm over the back of his seat. "Part of your investigation, darlin'?"

"I could simply be interested."

He shook his head. "Nah, not you, luv. Don't know why, just know you're not."

"Does my face reveal so much?"

"No, you're quite good. I guess I've seen too many people hiding things." Their eyes met and clashed, battling over seniority. Winecourt gave up, knowing she couldn't force him to give up. "I worked with Sellers my first year, then I moved to Brians. McKay came next. Right before I joined with Doyle, I worked with Morley for a bit. Anything else?"

"Why did you move around so much?"

"Sellers bought it the first year. Brians left. McKay enjoyed killing too much."

"And you don't?"

"I do it but I don't enjoy it; Tommy liked it too much. Cowley moved me to Doyle when Doyle came on board two years ago. Morley was assigned to Hawkins."

"And you've been with Doyle ever since then?"

"Yeah."

"What ever happened to McKay?"

"Caught his a month ago."

"And Morley?"

There was something about her tone. Bodie couldn't quite put his finger on it, but.... And her nonchalant attitude didn't ring true. "He died about a month ago too." When she was silent, he asked, "Any more questions?"

"May I ask you a personal question?"

"Would it stop you if I said no?"

"For a while," she replied honestly.

"Then go ahead. Might as well blush now as later."

"Do you blush, William Bodie?"

"Is that your personal question?"

She laughed lightly. "No. Do you sleep with all your partners? Does the sexual involvement with the old colleague continue after you receive a new associate?"

"Now, that's two questions." They saw Doyle coming back. "The answer to both of them is no." They were clearly not the answers she had expected. "Sellers wasn't interested in me; he liked Cowley. McKay was too rough and Brians wasn't gay. I slept with Morley but he shifted his attentions to Hawkins when Cowley moved him."

"Hawkins? Samuel Hawkins?"

"Yeah."

Doyle entered the car. He turned to the woman and asked, "Still alive?"

"Barely." She smiled softly at Doyle.

"Might as well use the facilities while they're free." Bodie got out and went to the bushes.

"David Morley," Doyle said in a low voice.

"What?" Winecourt stiffened, grew tense.

"You're related to David, aren't you?" He watched her war between arguing and being truthful.

"How did you know?" she asked at last.

"At a glance, you don't look like him, but you do certain things like he did, and your chin...."

"Mother called it an elf's touch," she said in love.

"You his sister?" When she nodded, Doyle asked, "How come a different name? You married?"

"I was, for awhile."

"Why are you here?"

"I really am looking for someone, but I'd like to talk to you about David while we have the chance." She smiled once more. "You reminded me of him when I first saw you."

"I saw it, though I didn't know who it was you were recalling. Cowley know?"

"Yes."

"Bodie?"

"No, and I'd rather he didn't, if you don't mind."

"Why?"

"Less complicated that way."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him, now will it?" He grinned at her. She tried to smile back but it didn't work.

"Did...." Winecourt licked her lips. "Did you...ever sleep with my brother?"

"No. Bodie did. And Hawkins. David fancied himself in love with his partner. Hawkins is like Bodie, though; he can't be content with just one."

"Hawkins had more than one lover while he...slept...with David?"

Doyle heard the pain in her voice. "Yeah. That hurt David. He was damn good at what he did, the kind we trusted our backs to, but he was naive, your brother; I'm sorry, but it's true. He was in love with Hawkins and he loved with his whole heart. He thought it was the answer to all things."

"It isn't." Winecourt rubbed her eyes.

"No. But, Court, as far as I know, Hawkins never promised David anything but fun and games." A rustle in the bushes caught their attention. "He's coming back," Doyle told her in a low voice. "Who are you looking for?"

Winecourt shook her head. "I can't tell you."

Doyle couldn't fathom any agent in CI5 doing anything that needed that much confidentiality in a search by Special Services. Then again, he had never known Special Services to be involved with CI5 in the first place. "That secret?"

The door opened and Bodie climbed back in.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" Bodie asked.

"Yes, I'll be glad to get there. I'm getting claustrophobic." She rubbed the back of her neck..

"Another hour. Need to stretch your legs?" Bodie looked around at her.

"No, but thanks." Her gaze met Doyle's. Though her facial features showed nothing, he saw the agony at the back of her chocolate-brown eyes.

"Do we go in together or split up when we get there?" Bodie asked, returning them to the mundane life of work.

---

The inn was on the corner of Lincolnshire and Dickens. It was, like most of the other buildings in Liverpool, recently built, but it was designed to appear quaint. It was a two-story structure, wedged into a narrow city block and backed against an alley. The pub area was an attached annex just to the west of the inn. It could be reached through doors from the inn, or from the outside by townspeople. The carpet was royal blue. There was a picture of the Queen behind the check-in desk, and prints of the London Bridge, an old stone cottage, various people from the inn's past. The door squeaked as it was opened, causing the tall, reed-thin, balding man behind the desk to cease sorting the day's mail and glance up.

The clerk 's suspicious eyes watched as Bodie strode forward with cocky self-assurance. Winecourt had been dropped off at the train station and Doyle on the very outskirts of town to walk in. Winecourt would arrive shortly in a cab. The three had discussed the whole thing in the car earlier and had decided it was best to split up. More ground could be covered that way. Bodie didn't like Doyle being off on his own, mixing with strangers, not that Doyle couldn't take care of himself, for he could, it was just that....

I want to stand at his side, be an extra eye, an extra hand. I want to make sure he's safe.

It didn't make sense to Bodie, that I need to protect Ray Doyle. Why had it come? Why here and now? He remembered Tommy's dream the day before he was killed, the dream of gunfire and death and scarlet splashes. Bodie shuddered. An agent was in the midst of dying and weapons a great deal, but Bodie couldn't shake the feeling of worry that pervaded him.

"Yes?" the clerk asked as the agent arrived at the check-in desk.

"Nice place you have here," Bodie said, looking around. The clerk shrugged. "Need a room."

"How long?"

"Two or three days. I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." The clerk opened up the log book, turned it around. "I'd like a room in the back."

"I don't recommend that; those rooms are smaller, darker. Lorries constantly pull in and out back there. I have a nice room overlooking the front."

"I'd really like a room at the back," Bodie insisted.

The clerk's face hardened as he turned to check the free rooms. "I'm sorry; there are no rooms available at the back." He took down the key to number three.

Bodie knew he was lying, but short of grabbing him, making a scene, there was very little he could do. "Front then." Bodie signed his name with a flourish, accepted the key..

"Room 3 is on the first floor, to the right. Do you need help with your luggage?"

"No. Pub open?"

"It opens at twelve." He turned away, began sorting mail again.

Friendly bastard, Bodie thought as he went toward the stairs.

---

Bodie was beginning to wonder where Doyle and Winecourt were. Neither had appeared, neither had checked in. He finally called in to Cowley and found he had been in contact with both of the missing people only minutes before. Doyle, it seemed, was on to something and was going to follow the trail he was on right to the end, and Winecourt was busy walking through town, apparently sightseeing.

"Sightseeing?" Bodie demanded.

"It seems our Miss Winecourt loves sailing vessels."

"I'll have to wait for them, then, won't I?"

"Yes, Bodie, you will. How are you doing?"

"I visited the back of the inn. Our lovely check-in clerk refused to give me a room in the back. Made me curious, it did."

"And what did you find?"

"Big, ugly men guarding the hallway."

"Unfriendly, were they?"

"That's an understatement. Everyone here stepped in sheep dung. Something smells. "

"Be careful. We wouldn't want to lose you."

"Glad to hear you care, Cowley."

"I'd have to replace you," came the teasing reply. "All that testing, that training...."

"All right!" Laughing, Bodie disconnected. He left his room and went down to the pub. Several people were already inside. Two of the men were playing darts at the back. Bodie ordered a bitter and took it to a table that afforded him a clear sight of both doors. He observed, without appearing to, the suspicious looks the other patrons gave him. Around nine that evening, Doyle entered with two men. They sat near the dart board but Doyle did not look in Bodie's direction. Bodie inscribed the men's appearance on his brain.

Where the hell was Winecourt? Bodie felt his muscles tightening when she finally entered, fifteen minutes after nine. She glanced toward him and hesitated. Bodie stood up.

"All is forgiven," he said loudly.

"That's good to hear," she said and hurried toward him, a smile on her face.

He held her chair while she sat down. "Tired?"

"And foot sore, and quite pleased."

He asked softly, "Are you now?"

"I'd really like to tell you about it," she whispered, taking his hand, planting a kiss into his palm.

"What are we waiting for?" He stood up, held her chair again and they left the pub, going into the inn section. The same clerk was at the desk. His beady little eyes froze on Winecourt. "My wife," Bodie told him.

"You didn't pay for her," came the terse reply.

"Well!" Winecourt exclaimed, miffed, her eyes narrowed and centered on the agent beside her.

"You said you were gone for good," Bodie placated, shrugging.

"I always say that," she sighed. "You're very aggravating."

Bodie feigned surprise. "Me?"

"You. You should know by now I always come back when I calm down, now don't I?"

The clerk broke in to tell them the required sum. Bodie paid and he and Winecourt went up stairs, still grumbling at each other. In the room, their attitudes changed. He listened with growing interest to her information about the empty warehouse she had investigated that was not as empty as it appeared on the outside, and the huge crate that sat within that was opened while she watched, to reveal a man inside.

"He looked Middle Eastern," Winecourt said thoughtfully, chewing the tip of her finger. "He was dressed like a dock worker. One of the men who let him out, huge, beefy chap, handed him a small packet and a gun. They spoke together in low tones but I didn't hear anything. The new bloke mingled with the others and left with them. The crate was being dismantled as I left. I followed the man here. He went in the back." Bodie told her about his wandering around, about the guards planted in the back hallways. "Now all we need is Doyle's report." She removed her suit jacket, kicked off her shoes, settled herself on the bed.

"Is that an invitation?" Bodie asked softly.

"Don't be daft." Her words were drowsy. "You can sleep on the floor."

"Some honeymoon this is," Bodie grumbled. Her light laughter made him chuckle. His earlier thought had been no mistake; there was a lightening of her mood toward him, a relaxation. He wondered what had occurred to make that happen. "Think I'll go check out the back hall."

"Want me to back you up?" she asked, sitting up, reaching for her shoes before he answered.

"I could use a partner."

"Then let's go." She popped her feet back into her shoes, tugged on her suit jacket.

The guards were still there. The expressions on their faces told Bodie and Winecourt they were not going to be friendly. "These rooms are private," one snarled beneath his breath.

"Sorry," Bodie said with a cheeky grin. "Took a wrong turn." They returned to their room.

"Wonder what they're hiding," Winecourt mused as she removed her jacket once more.

"Or who." He pulled off his coat as well, threw it carefully over a chair arm. He took hers, settled it over his.

"Or who," she agreed, yawning. "I get first whack at the bed."

"Why?"

"I'm a woman." She removed her shoes, lay back.

"Something doesn't sound fair here," Bodie remarked, a faint half-grin, half-frown playing with his lips.

"So sue me." She closed her eyes, instantly falling asleep.

It was midnight before Doyle came, tapping softly at the door. Both Bodie and Winecourt came instantly to attention, guns in their hands. Winecourt stood on the blind side of the door, Bodie safely to the left of the knob.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"It's Doyle," came the whispered reply.

Even as he opened the door, Bodie demanded, "What's the password?" Doyle's eyes spoke volumes as he entered. Bodie's laughter was soft, beneath his breath. He closed the door firmly, without noise.

"Gonna shoot me, Court?" Doyle asked. She shook her head, replacing her gun into her shoulder holster. "Hope you've been behaving, Bodie," Doyle said as he plopped down at the tiny table. His eyes held tiredness.

"Who? Me? Nah. What's up?"

He's alive! Bodie thought in relief and joy and mild pride. He's alive.

"Some of the locals round here take hour-long guests. It took me a while to track down someone I could talk to, someone I could trust and who trusted me. Paulie has taken in a couple of these 'lodgers' who have yens toward short, stocky blond men. One of his visitors arrived tonight."

"A Middle Eastern?" Bodie guessed.

"Yeah. I wanted to stay but the men with him took a disliking to me. Wasn't blond enough, I guess." He listened as Bodie told what he found, what Winecourt had seen.

"We tried the back halls again, but short of rushing those lookouts, there's no way we can get a look at what's in any of those rooms. Thought we'd be a little too conspicuous climbing up an to outer window." Bodie scowled in frustration.

"Maybe we should go back to Court's warehouse, take a closer look around," Doyle suggested, his eyes half closed as he planned ahead. Bodie and Winecourt nodded.

The front desk was deserted, the pub closed. They slipped out into a quiet street. The moon peeped out now and then from behind darting clouds. The wind was cool. It held a trace of dampness, the scent of saltiness. Off in the distance, a bell clanged, a dog barked.

"Me mum said, be a doctor, but would I listen to her?" Bodie complained in a tone barely above a whisper as he opened the car door.

"Did you?" Doyle inquired with a straight face.

"Yeah. See my scalpel?" He lifted his coat just enough to show the butt of his weapon.

"A regular cut-up he is." Doyle shut the door firmly but quietly. Winecourt climbed in on Bodie's side. "Don't you think it's strange that General Armin is due in on Tuesday and the man Winecourt saw arriving tonight was Middle Eastern?"

"The general is very unpopular with the rebel factions in his country," Winecourt added thoughtfully.

"Could be someone decided to do away with him." Bodie watched Doyle pull out the rt and checked in.

Cowley listened in silence, added a few comments on his own, and then said, ''I've sent Hawkins and Bolt in as backups."

"By the time they get here," Bodie argued, "it'll be all over."

"They started out over an hour ago," Cowley informed his agents. "Be careful, lads. Cowley out."

---

Though the storage area of the warehouse was dark, the office wasn't. Someone's shadow moved behind the blinds. There didn't seem to be anyone on the ground floor. Still, it wasn't good to take chances. Both Bodie's and Doyle's minds drifted back to the last time they entered a warehouse to look around. Tommy had been with them then, Tommy who was destined to be killed by those very men much later when he gave his own life to save Doyle's and Bodie's.

"I'll take Court and go up the front stairs. There should be a back way into the office. You circle around the back and see if there is." As he spoke, Doyle removed his gun, prepared it.

Bodie went toward the back of the warehouse. No sooner had he vanished into the darkness than the side door opened and two men entered, two men dressed as seamen, swaggering, silent and deadly in appearance...and...the man in the office on the top floor opened the door. The men at the door noticed Doyle and Winecourt first. They pulled their automatics, firing just as the agents fell to their knees to the floor, discharging their own weapons and hitting their targets with fatal accuracy. Bodie reappeared. The man in the office jerked out his own gun and shot toward them. The bullet struck a beam next to him, splintering the wood, sending the shards flying into Doyle's cheek. Winecourt swung around and shot upward, hitting the man above in the heart. He fell forward over the railing, dead. Three more men entered the warehouse, guns drawn. Rounds were exchanged. Hawkins and Bolt took that moment to arrive. In a matter of moments, it was over and only the agents were left standing.

"Are you all right, Court?" Doyle asked.

"Yes." There was no emotion on her face, in her eyes, in her voice...none at all. That disturbed the men. When Bodie gripped her arm, she moved away.

They searched her features but found nothing they could cling to, nothing they could reach out for, yet something was off somewhere; they could feel it in their blood. Sighing, Doyle contacted Cowley and reported to him. "We'll search the office upstairs. Maybe you should send Hawkins and Bolt to watch the back of the inn," he suggested.

"Good idea, Doyle." He gave the required orders and then broke the link. Hawkins and Bolt left.

Bodie touched the small wound on Doyle's cheek. Doyle grimaced, his lips tightening with the sting that touching produced. As their eyes met, Bodie's apologized in silent appeal. They exchanged unspoken words and Bodie saw the forgiveness in the green eyes. Bodie's heart shone in his own, in the smile he gave the other agent. He followed Doyle and Winecourt upstairs. They searched the office but found nothing at first, until Bodie leaned back against a wall and it moved.

"I knew you were more than a pretty...face, Bodie," Doyle said in delight as he moved rapidly forward. He ignored the look his partner threw him. They found all they needed in there: photos, names, current addresses, and the names of the people to be murdered. General Armin was top on the list. Cowley, when told, immediately put guards on the man. He told his agents that they should join Hawkins and Bolt at the inn. "I have a helicopter coming in with extra men. They should be arriving shortly. Don't do anything until they show up. Be careful."

"We wouldn't want you to go to the extra expense of training new men, sir," Bodie confided. "It wouldn't be cost efficient."

"Nice of you, Bodie. Cowley out."

Bodie and Doyle's part was done, the work Cowley had set out for them completely finished except for picking up the assassin hired to murder the general from Ishan. That too would be done, of course. Cowley had already begun the process; the general was being watched. It was only a matter of time. He verbally patted each of them on the back. There was a touch of smugness in his voice.

When she could do so in private, Winecourt took Hawkins aside, asked him quietly to wait behind. She identified herself as a Special Services employee, told him she was investigating one of the CI5 agents, and that she needed to ask him questions. When things had settled down, Winecourt led Hawkins out into the alley behind the inn. The dawn had just begun to arrive. The air was crisp, the clanging bells of the buoy lonely and haunting.

"Who you looking for?" Hawkins asked as he turned in curiosity to face the woman.

"You." She pulled out her weapon. In the early morning light, it looked ugly, vile. She watched calmly as the disbelief on his face was replaced by humor, then anger.

"Put that away, lady, before someone gets hurt. I like a good joke as well as anyone, but this isn't funny."

"This is no joke." Winecourt pulled back the hammer. The click sounded ominous.

He couldn't hide his alarm. "What is this? Who are you?"

"If you go for your gun, I'll shoot. Killing no longer bothers me; after a while, the feeling goes. Do you remember David Morley?"

"Davie? Yeah, but what's this got to do with him? He's dead."

"I know." She stared at him. The lack of emotion on her face unsettled the man. "He killed himself. Did you know that?" He didn't answer, but she could see by the expression on his face, in his eyes, he had known. "He fell in love, you see, but the man he loved didn't love him. He didn't say anything to me, but I knew his suicide was because he couldn't take the betrayal. The pain grew too strong one day and he stopped it, in the only way he knew."

"Who are you?"

"I'm his sister and I'm going to kill you, like you did David."

"I didn't! Cowley said.... Damn it! You said yourself he offed himself!"

"Offed." Winecourt shuddered; the gun wavered in her cold hands. "He loved you; did you know that?"

He lied. It was visible on his face. "No."

Her thin smile sent ice through his veins. He went for his gun and her bullet tore through his left arm. He stumbled backwards as he clutched at the source of the agony, the wound that flowed freely with blood.

"Don't come any closer, Doyle, or I'll kill him." Her eyes never left Hawkins, her hand held the gun steady, ready.

From the doorway, Doyle froze in shock. How had she known he was there? "Don't do it, Court."

"David killed himself over him, Doyle; did you know that?"

"Don't do it," Doyle begged. He took a step forward. He noticed a movement of shadow and recognized Bodie's form. So did Winecourt.

"Move around me slowly; stand by him so I can see you. Bodie, move forward. Do it gently and keep your hands out in the open. I've got nothing to lose and I'll kill him right now if either of you makes a funny move."

"She's going to kill me anyway! Shoot her!" Hawkins hissed.

"Who are you, Court?" Bodie asked as he took slow, careful steps forward, leaving the darkness of the side of the building, moving toward the bleeding man.

"I'm David's sister."

"David's.... Does Cowley know why you're here?" the dark haired agent asked. He reached Hawkins and stopped. Doyle arrived on the other side only moments later.

"He knew I was here investigating my brother's death."

Hawkins snarled. "Why the hell didn't you shoot her when you had the chance? That bitch is going to kill me!"

"Like you killed my brother," the woman announced coldly.

"Stop and think, Court," Doyle said, his brow furrowed in worry. "Once it's done, it can't be undone."

"I am going to do it. I've thought about this from the moment I learned about his death. David was all I had. No one else seemed to care one way or another. His life shouldn't be forgotten." She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her free hand. Pain etched lines around her lips.

"Cowley had us examine Morley's death, the people involved," Bodie said in quiet, careful tones. "We found nothing that signified anything other than suicide, so he closed the book on your brother's death."

"Closed...." Her breathing was growing ragged. Her hand shook. "You're right Cowley cleared Hawkins. He was off in Scotland, fishing. I bet you're making love to Bolt, aren't you, Hawkins? It didn't take you long to forget my brother!" She re-aimed her gun. Doyle stepped in front of Samuel Hawkins. "Move, Doyle."

"No. Court, David wouldn't want you to do this. You know he wouldn't."

"Why are you defending him?" She snarled in rage.

"Because he didn't do it and you know it. David took his own life...."

"Because of him!"

"No, because he wasn't strong enough to accept the pain. That wasn't Hawkins' fault."

"It was!"

"You know it wasn't." Doyle reached out to her. "Give me the gun, Court. David was a damn good agent. Don't tarnish his memory."

"No." When Doyle took a step forward, she fired at his feet. He blanched and froze into place. "I don't want to hurt you, Doyle. You're so much like David." Tears blurred her eyes. Taking a chance, Bodie sprinted forward, lunging at her when her eyes cleared and she saw him. She tried to fire her weapon but he was on her before she could, and his strength kept the revolver pointed upward. The shot resounded in the air, echoing off buildings, reverberating through their bodies. He didn't make the mistake he had made back at the apartment; he didn't allow her the chance to overcome him. Doyle added his own muscle to the struggle then and the gun dropped. Bodie pushed her down onto her stomach and brought her arms up across her back. She wept in silence, her face buried in the dirt and the stones of the alley.

"I'll get the police," Doyle said, his anguish tinting the color of his words.

"God, his whole family was mad," Hawkins muttered in wrath. The very next second, he was lying unconscious on the ground and Doyle was rubbing his sore knuckles.

Doyle repeated, "I'll get the police, Bodie." And he hurried away while Bodie watched him leave, the bruising in his soul as bad as the abrasion on his partner's knuckles.

Like David, she had said....

Like David....

Bodie shuddered violently.

Like David...David who was dead...David who had killed himself because he had loved someone who couldn't be true.

Am I like Hawkins? he wondered. It was only once, once, in the two years, once...with Cowley...just once....

One time....

---

He was almost afraid to knock at Doyle's apartment, but just as he lost his nerve and was turning to leave, the door opened.

"You great lumbering ox," Doyle said with a fond smile. "You'd make a lousy spy, Bodie. I heard you stomping around for five minutes. Why didn't you knock?"

"Ray?" He tried to disguise his uncertainty with a nonchalant attitude.

Doyle wasn't fooled. He tugged him in, shut the door. He settled his arms around the firm, solid body that was William Bodie, placed his head on the stable shoulder and hugged him tightly. Bodie's arms held his partner just as tightly.

"I love you," Doyle murmured in a choked whisper.

Strong emotion overwhelmed Bodie, paralyzing his voice. Doyle felt the rapid thumping of his partner's heart and understood. He raised his head and they kissed.

"It was just once, I swear," Bodie told the other man in a tone that held both hurt and pleading.

"I know. Look, that's in the past and we can't erase it, but we have too much future ahead of us to continue living back then."

"Are you saying you forgive me?"

Doyle tried to grin. "I guess I am."

"Why?"

The slim man searched his lover's face, tried to discern the strangeness of the inflection. "I was speaking to Winecourt while you were busy elsewhere, and I told her you were like Hawkins...."

"I'm not, Ray, I swear it."

"I know that, you nitwit. Think I'd be here in your arms if I thought that?" He shook his head and continued, "Later, I realized you weren't like him at all. You never played around on me."

"It was just one time."

"Say that again and I'll make you eat it."

"I have, more than once." How humble, he sounded, how unsure.

"Tastes bad, does it?"

"Rancid." He caressed the thin, beautiful face. "Ray...."

"Ask it, Bodie. You've been wanting to for quite some time."

"Why Tommy?"

"He wasn't like you."

Bodie's eyes revealed his puzzlement. "You like it rough?"

Doyle shook his head. "No. I knew what he was like; the men talk, you know that."

"Then, why?"

"Gentleness reminded me of you. I couldn't take that then. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, I think I do. I went to see him right before he died."

"I thought you had, from what you said that night he died. Why did you go?"

"I had this stupid idea he'd let you go if I asked him to. Chickened out when I got there. He knew why I had come but he pretended it was for old times' sake. Tried talking about what we had had for awhile, but I wasn't playing his game." His face changed, became disturbed. "He told me he'd dreamed of dying, of getting it while we watched." He shuddered in his lover's arm as he remembered with clarity Tommy's telling of the nightmare, of the blood that covered the man's body at the water's edge.

"He told me you had come, but he never mentioned the dream," Doyle admitted. He soothed a path up and down Bodie's arm, trying to comfort him.

"You mad 'cause I went?"

"Nah." Doyle squeezed the firm arm he was holding.

Bodie's eyes grew sad. "Bad about Winecourt."

"Cowley told you?"

"This morning. They think she'll be hospitalized for a while."

"I liked her."

Bodie ran his hands through the dark curls. "So did I." He lost it then as his desire took over completely. "God, Ray, I've missed this." They kissed again and the touching of lips grew feverish as their bodies cried out for each other. The first time they made love that night, it was rapid, a fulfilling of bodily need, but the second time, it was more of a sealing to an unspoken promise, a hope for the future.

-- THE END --

Originally published in Nudge Nudge, Wink Wink, Manacles Press, 1992