---

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Schooling his expression so as not to reveal how worried he was, Bodie manoeuvred around the people filing out of the briefing room and hurried after his partner finally catching up with him in the car park. "Where the hell are you going?"

"You heard Cowley--to see Andrews and get some more information on the Seven Bells," replied Doyle, his face as bleak as Bodie's.

"You can't be serious?" he whispered, conscious of people nearby.

"Why not--you heard him. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, sir but I can't. The stench of the place makes me throw up'?"

Bodie grabbed him by the arm to prevent him from climbing into his car. "Isn't it better he hears it from you rather than someone else?"

"Like who?" snarled Doyle. "You going to tell him?"

"If I have to, you stupid little fool!" Bodie hissed.

"I'm surprised you haven't already if that's how you feel about it," Doyle shot back and tugged his arm free.

"Ray--" Bodie bit off what he was going to say. He'd seen the blood drain from his partner's face when Cowley had given them their orders and guessed what he must be going through. "Look...let's forget it. I'll go and see Andrews--"

"And what do we tell Cowley? What am I supposed to do next time he sends me to interrogate someone inside? Do I come running to you to save me again? No. I'll go. I have to. I have to!"

He was right, of course, and they both knew it. "Okay," Bodie said eventually. "But I'll come with you...if you want me to?"

Doyle smiled weakly. "You going to hold my hand?"

"Nah--just your head if you throw up." The weak joke brought a glimmer of a smile to Doyle's face.

The drive to the prison took half an hour during which time neither man spoke. Pulling up outside the main entrance they stared at the black gates. "You wait here," Doyle said suddenly, and Bodie knew better than to argue with him. "I'll see you later." Not giving Bodie the chance to object, his nerves tightly under control, he left the car and walked towards the gates. In the car, Bodie waited, his stomach knotted in anticipation and sympathy for Doyle's ordeal, desperately wanting to be with him but realising that the problem had to faced and dealt with.

The wait was the longest two hours of Bodie's life.

When Doyle finally re-appeared walking slowly towards the car, Bodie got out and went to meet him. Pale and drawn, Doyle nevertheless looked pleased and grinned when he saw his partner. "Sorry I was longer than I expected. Andrews is quite a conversationalist."

"How as it?" Bodie asked.

"Fine," Doyle deliberately misinterpreted the question. "He's told me a fair bit about the pub, the layout, what the rooms are used for. He's seen Mahak often enough to know a good deal about him--he was happy enough to chat about his Arab friend..."

"I meant how were you?" Bodie didn't really give a damn about Andrews or Mahak right then.

"Well...I didn't disgrace myself. It went...okay." Doyle grinned briefly. "Can't say I enjoyed the experience but I didn't crack up...although I have to admit I did cheat a bit." His face became serious. "As soon as they locked the first gate behind me I knew I'd never make it to the interview rooms--all those gates and locks and corridors..." He shuddered and closed his eyes, forcing the surge of panic back down. "So I told them to bring him to me in the exercise yard. Flash a CI5 card in their faces and they'll do anything. There were still gates and keys and the smell--but at least we were in the fresh air." Doyle shrugged his shoulders. "I think Andrews was just as relieved to be outside. That's why he kept talking, he didn't want to go back indoors."

"So there were no problems? You saw Andrews and then left?" Bodie asked, wondering why Doyle's face had become even grimmer as he finished speaking.

"Not immediately. I saw the Governor; told him to put Andrews in isolation."

"Why?" Bodie was shocked. Doyle had suffered months in solitary and had not enjoyed the treatment.

"Protection," was the bald reply. "Two visits from CI5 will soon leak to the other inmates. It won't take them long to realise he's dealing with the authorities. Besides," and Doyle's face twisted. "Like you said, he's pretty exotic."

"You mean--" Bodie swallowed his words.

"He's covered in marks. I asked if the screws had been rough with him and he said no. He wouldn't name any names but when I offered to get him shifted to isolation he started crying and thanking me."

"I thought gays were segregated anyway."

"Only admitted homosexuals. He's never 'come out', least never openly. Not that it would make that much difference in there. The other prisoners always manage to latch on to the pretty ones."

"Ray--"

"Let's get out of here--this place makes me sick." Walking back to the car in long strides, Doyle refused to discuss the matter further.

---

Arriving home early evening and finding the flat in darkness, Bodie still not home from his journey to the Kent ports, Doyle set himself in front of the television to watch something--anything providing it was mindless and kept his thoughts occupied. Andrews' distress and then his gratitude for promising to get him away from the other remand prisoners had awakened too many memories, and the sure fate awaiting the young man if he were eventually convicted and sent down left an unpleasant taste in Doyle's mouth.

He was sure Cowley had seen behind his casual observation that perhaps CI5 could ask the courts to be lenient with the young man. It was unfortunate that Andrews was still on a suspended sentence for another drugs-related offence--but Cowley had promised to speak in Andrews' favour, thus earning Doyle's gratitude and respect.

Calling Control and discovering Bodie was still held up in Kent, Doyle switched off the television and lights and went to bed. Sleep took ages to overtake him as, curled into a defensive ball he tried unconsciously to resist the drag into oblivion, the memories of his own time inside and the bruised misery on Andrews face too fresh for comfort. Forcing his mind in another direction, Doyle concentrated instead on Bodie, filling his mind with images of his lover, trying desperately to force the inevitable ugly memories away.

Bodie's moods were always changing these days, thought Doyle as his body began finally to slip towards sleep; one moment teasing and affectionate; another deeply serious and single minded--then loving and playful and surprisingly passionate but then even more surprising, soft and submissive when Doyle expected him to be aggressive and dominant. Like last night. As memories became dreams, Doyle uncurled and turned in his sleep reaching for his absent partner--and in his dreams he found him. Hot and hard and demanding. Bodie forced submission from him, stripping him bare of clothing and defences and seeing all that he had, all that he was, taking everything offered. His back prickling from the rough carpet fibres as a far greater weight pressed down on him, he groaned as hands caressed his nakedness, teasing and manipulating. Then, without warming, the hands left him aching and unsatisfied and instead stroked the soft skin behind his knees, pushing them up onto his chest, lifting and parting them until his legs were wrapped securely around a naked back.

He waited breathless with anticipation for that one particular touch he knew he wanted but lacked the courage to ask for and then he heard a sound that caused his racing heart to freeze--the unforgettable sound of keys rattling on a chain and then turning a lock.

Deserted by his confidence and terrified of the implications of those sounds, Doyle waited to hear the heavy footsteps moving closer along ancient iron landings. But his body refused to heed the warnings of mind and heart and ached for completion, his balls lifting and knotting painfully.

He tried opening eyes that moments before had closed as his excitement grew when he had thought he was safe; when he had known that all he had to do to see his lover was to open them, when he had known it was Bodie who was loving him and keeping him safe--when he had known he was safe and that it was all over, it was all behind him. But all that was gone now; the sound of a key jangling on a chain and the never-forgotten sound of a key turning a lock had shattered his security and destroyed the belief that it was all over.

His eyes refused to open, he remained pinned to the floor, like a butterfly to a board, helpless and terrified. He knew he was safe, that all the bad things were only left-over dreams, but then the worst thought of all crept into his nightmare. He knew he was dreaming, that all he had to do was wake up and be safe--but supposing the love and security Bodie gave him was the real dream and reality was the world of jangling keys, echoing corridors and fear. What if all the good things were hopeless fantasies and reality was a dark cell with two narrow beds and Bert Kingsley? He felt a draught of air as a door opened and sensed someone moving closer to him, he wanted to open his eyes but was terrified to discover which was dream and which was reality and when cold hands gripped his arms he bucked wildly fighting to get away.

---

Arriving home, cold and tired, Bodie had been disappointed to find all the lights out; he had hoped Ray would wait up for him--he was also starving hungry and thought his partner might at least have left him a meal out. Disgruntled to discover himself not only alone but forced to fend for himself in the kitchen, he attacked the huge doorstep sandwich with little enjoyment. The wedge of bread and cheese was half eaten when he heard the first sounds from the bedroom and at first he thought Ray had got up to greet him. The first whimper of distress quickly dispelled that illusion and he left the forgotten sandwich on the unit and almost ran to the bedroom. It was obvious that Ray was caught in the grip of a nightmare and Bodie cursed himself for not having expected it. Although aware what his touch would do to Doyle, he was left with no option but to try rousing him physically, and he gripped tightly, preventing both of them from being injured. "Wake up, Ray--it's only me, it's Bodie. Wake up sunshine."

Caught up in his dream, Doyle didn't hear the words or recognise the voice. In his nightmare world he heard different voices, different sounds, different accents but always, always the same loathsome, ugly need.

Concerned because Ray didn't snap out of it as he usually did, Bodie settled his weight on top of the struggling body, crushing the resistance there--the only sure way of keeping them both unharmed--but his voice kept up a steady stream of reassurance that he knew Doyle would hear eventually.

Resigned to the fact that he had to see the worst, Doyle managed to open his eyes--and found a pair of beautifully familiar worried blue eyes looking into his. "Bodie? Oh Bodie--I knew it was you! I knew it!"

Doyle's obvious relief and the garbled words he uttered only worried Bodie even more and he tried to pull away from the fierce grip that now held him in place. "Are you awake?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm awake," confirmed Doyle before pulling the dark head down and taking possession of Bodie's mouth. Skin and clothes icy and damp from the night air, Bodie's mouth felt beautiful to Doyle and he forced his tongue deep into the warm haven. Now that the nightmare had been dispelled, Doyle's body reasserted its needs and feverish hands stripped a surprised Bodie with almost brutal strength. Clothes and bedcovers pushed away, Doyle fought to complete his delayed climax, unaware that he was still guilty of mixing fantasy with reality and oblivious to Bodie's unresponsive, halting movements. Relieved that the dream had not appeared to upset his lover too much, Bodie was pleased to strip off his clothes and wrap his chilly self around the naked heat of his partner, the fierce erection that jutted into his belly causing Doyle to give an animal-like groan and writhe helplessly beneath him, taking him completely by surprise.

Opening his legs and lifting them as he had in his dream, his eyes glinting feverishly, Doyle smiled at him, the look on his face more an order than an invitation. The memory of what had happened the last time he had responded to Doyle's need like this still haunted Bodie and he drew away.

A puzzled look replacing the hazy lust, Doyle tried to pull him closer, canting his hips upwards and hooking a leg over one broad shoulder, Bodie slapped it away angrily.

"Bodie?" His skin stinging from the slap, Doyle's face fell at the refusal. "What's wrong?"

""Don't--" Bodie backed away from the reaching hands. "Don't do that--just don't!" and he scrambled off the bed with little dignity.

"I don't understand," said Doyle in bewilderment, his head clearing a little. "What's wrong?"

"You! You're what's wrong--it's you!" Bodie yelled at him.

Already half out of bed following his partner's retreat, Doyle stopped dead. "Me?" he whispered, heart twisting inside.

"I can't do it Ray--I can't keep doing it! Don't force me--" Backing out of the bedroom Bodie turned at the door and vanished into the dark hall.

Kneeling in the bed, Doyle stared after him, the sound of the other bedroom door slamming shut making him flinch. He remained motionless on the wrecked bed listening to the silence--too numb to do anything else. Finally, cold and stiff with tension, he moved off the bed to pick up the clothes he'd taken off his lover only minutes before and folded them neatly across the chair. Still numb with disbelief, he straightened the bedcovers and climbed back into bed.

---

Feeling utterly drained, Doyle gulped down the second mug of black coffee and checked the time. Sighing heavily, he moved to the hall and listened for any sounds of life from Bodie's room. The phone rang, the sudden noise loud and jarring in the quiet flat. Waiting outside Bodie's bedroom he wondered if the extension beside the bed would be picked up, knowing full well that Bodie would be awake now. It rang unanswered.

"Fuck you too, mate," Doyle swore and moved to pick up the hall extension. "4.5," he barked down the direct line.

"What took you so long?" demanded Cowley irritably.

"In the shower, sir," lied Doyle easily.

"And Bodie?"

Squashing the impulse to say "in the shower too, sir," Doyle dropped his partner in it in a different way. "Land of Nod, sir."

"Tell him to move the phone nearer the bed," retorted Cowley. "Have you contacted the landlord at the Seven Bells?"

"I've got an interview at 10.30 this morning. Mahone's already given me a reference."

"Report back to me immediately. Providing you're successful you'll move into a safe house this afternoon."

"A safe house--"

"We can't afford to take risks until we're sure Mahak isn't connected to the publican in any way. Henderson's already got three possible locations for you, the final choice will be made this morning. Once O'Connell employs you--"

"If he does," interrupted Doyle.

"With Mahone's reference there's not likely to be any trouble. Before moving into the safe house you'll attend a squad briefing and then Dr Michaels will see you--"

"Dr who?" asked Doyle but then recalled the name with dismay. "Ross's replacement!"

"Tell 3.7 to report to Henderson at ten. I will see you in my office after your appointment with Dr Michaels."

"But sir, why Michaels--" But he was talking to the purr of a disconnected line. Slamming the phone down, Doyle crossed the hall to the closed bedroom door and pounded on the wood. "Cowley. You're to see Henderson at ten," he shouted before storming back into his own room to finish dressing.

Wide awake, Bodie had been straining to hear the conversation and wondered what Cowley could have said to annoy Doyle so much. His eyes gritty and still feeling tired after a virtually sleepless night, Bodie remained in bed listening to his lover slamming what sounded like every door in the flat before deciding that he may as well go and face him--not that he had any explanations to offer for his behaviour last night but he was ill-prepared for the sudden lurch his heart gave when he saw the piles of clothes and half filled cases sitting on their bed. Shocked, he turned to see Doyle emerging from the bathroom with an arm full of toiletries and shaving gear. "Ray!" Still furious with George Cowley, Doyle didn't see the shocked expression as he threw his things into the open case. "What on earth are you doing?"

Looking up Doyle scowled even harder. "What the fuck does it look like!"

Disbelief that his behaviour could have so disgusted Doyle, Bodie struggled to find the words to make everything all right.

It took a moment or two for the garbled stuttering to make sense, but when it did Doyle was quick to set things straight--his anger making his words sound tart and only vaguely reassuring to Bodie. "Don't be so stupid," he said. "I'm moving into a safe house if the job goes ahead. I may as well pack a few things while I've got the time."

"You're moving out?" Bodie had managed to grasp that it was a job and not last night, but even so he was still shocked.

"Wake up, 3.7," Doyle said sharply. "It's standard procedure when an agent goes undercover. I can hardly come back here to a CI5 place if O'Connell takes me on, can I?"

"Is that what Cowley rang about?"

"Among other things," Doyle agreed softly. "You forgot to collect the washing from the laundry again," he accused as he slammed the empty drawer shut. "We've got to get that bloody washing machine fixed--can I take some of your socks?" he asked helping himself to all but two pairs of Bodie's black ankle socks."

"Puddle's cousin is going to have a look at it."

"Who's looking at what?" Doyle asked, struggling to close the zip on one of his bags.

"His cousin, the one who works for Hoover, is coming over to fix the machine."

"Oh--thought it was his brother who worked for Hotpoint?" queried Doyle, more concerned at that moment with getting the case shut. "Ta--just sit on the corner for me."

"Brother, cousin, Hoover or Hotpoint--I don't care if he's a little green man from Zannussu as long as he fixes the bloody thing!" Bodie said forcefully as he sat on the case and nearly trapped Doyle's fingers in the side as he tried to push the contents back in.

"After you and--shift over this way a bit more, that's better--after you and Puddle pulled all its guts out it's probably only fit to be dumped."

"Well if you'd thought to mention the sodding fuse in the first place we wouldn't have taken the damn thing to bits!"

"Oh, I see--it's all my fault is it!" He shoved Bodie off the case. "Just like I expect last night was my fault as well!" Bags packed, Doyle turned to leave the room.

Grabbing hold and spinning him round Bodie called him back. "You can't just...you can't just walk out like this!"

"Oh fucking hell!" Doyle swore impatiently. "I'm not walking out--I'm moving into a safe house. You're the one that does all the 'walking out' in this house."

"Ray--"

"I've got to go," Doyle said coldly. "Will you take my stuff to headquarters for me? I'm leaving my car here."

"Where are you going?"

"The Seven Bells. I'm taking the tube and if I don't shift it I'm going to be late--and you're supposed to be seeing Henderson in fifteen minutes."

"Ray," Bodie released his grip on the tense shoulders. "Look...about last night--"

"What about it?" Doyle flashed back, his eyes glinting furiously.

"I don't know--I don't understand what happened--"

"It all seemed pretty straight forward to me," Doyle moved towards the door.

"Well I wish it bloody well did to me!" snapped Bodie. "Please, Ray, we've got to talk--I really don't understand why I reacted like that...only wish I did. We need to talk."

Doyle sagged back against the wall and closed his eyes; Bodie sounded as frightened and confused as he felt. "You're right, we do need to talk--but not right now. Later?" he offered, his voice softening and a tired smile tugging at his lips.

Relieved, Bodie returned the smile. "Later," he agreed.

---

Cowley glanced up briefly as Doyle entered the small office and waved him towards a chair before returning his attention to the typed sheet in his hand, an old report that had no relevance to the operation about to get underway but it served his purpose as he observed the younger man. He was pleased with what he saw. Still bristling with poorly suppressed indignation over his encounter with the new departmental psychologist, Doyle was ready for anything George Cowley chose to throw at him. "When does O'Connell want you to start?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Doyle answered crisply, only briefly pausing to wonder what Cowley would do if he had been unable to secure Andrews' old job.

"Will 3.7 have any problems getting into the pub?"

"No sir, afternoon customers are mostly workers from the surrounding offices and shops, evenings it's mostly locals and occasional passing trade."

"Good. 3.7 will be your back-up. You will remain unarmed unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

"Yes, sir," Doyle responded, vaguely surprised that everything was going ahead so smoothly. His interview with Ross' replacement had been more uncomfortable than his worst with Ross herself. Knowing that the man had read his file made it hard to face him impassively in the sterile yet-to-be-personalised office. Doyle knew that if he ever came across another agent with his history of phobias, monumental cock-ups and mental breakdowns he would never trust him. Thankfully, Michaels, Cowley and Bodie did not appear to share his views.

"You're both off all other assignments until Mahak is under wraps," Cowley continued, indicating to Bodie, who had just arrived to be seated. "Make sure your cover is secure, 4.5."

"Deep cover, sir?" asked Bodie. "Only there's the bash tonight at the barracks."

Cowley frowned and Doyle ducked his head to hide the grin on his face. "Och!" Cowley produced an amused snort that only Bodie ever seemed able to make him utter. "You'll be telling me it's Christmas next!"

"I'll make sure he's sober and fit for duty at the Seven Bells tomorrow, sir," promised Bodie in a syrupy smooth voice.

"Well...I doubt you'll have much time for Christmas," conceded Cowley. "But from tomorrow afternoon, 4.5, you're under deep cover and 3.7 is your only contact with headquarters."

Once the two men left the office, Cowley walked up to the next floor and entered Dr Michaels' office without knocking. "I have authorised the undercover operation involving 4.5 to proceed," he said, going straight to the point.

"I have already made my reservations on the issue quite clear," Michaels replied not letting Cowley browbeat him. "He needs constant monitoring and must have access to full back-up."

"3.7 is his contact. He will also monitor 4.5 and provide whatever back-up is necessary."

"I feel it unwise to put 4.5 under the pressure of deep cover without first observing him under less pressured operations."

"Deep cover in this instance is only a precaution. We have no reason to suspect Mahak uses the premises for anything more than a meeting point."

"The pressure on 4.5 will come from his being forced to live with an identity he finds intolerable. He will have to keep his cover for a minimum of two weeks--more if the suspect breaks his routine and fails to turn up."

"We expect the suspect to appear on the 29th of December. I am confident 4.5 will manage."

"Manage at what cost, Mr Cowley?" asked Michaels.

"Do you think he won't?"

"Oh--he'll manage," said Michaels slowly. "But the cost of the strain required to live as ex-Detective Constable Doyle--everybody's pet convict--could prove higher than you think."

"He'll survive," Cowley said confidently.

"He'll have to," added Michaels wryly. "And you say he'll have 3.7 as back-up--that could be enough, I suppose."

Cowley looked up at the sudden thoughtful tone of the doctor's voice.

Catching sight of the eyebrow raised in query, Michaels explained. "Kate has, of course, discussed all the current pairings with me. She expressed a feeling of...uncertainty over 3.7 and 4.5's teaming."

"They work extremely well together," said Cowley.

"Against all predicted odds," responded Michaels. "3.7 is a loner, resistant to emotional involvement and attachments. In team situations he only functions if he is alpha. Put a man like that with 4.5 who needs and desires companionship and who also thrives in an alpha position and you should have a disaster on your hands. Quite apart from 3.7 resisting overtures of friendship and any attempt on 4.5's part for them to trust and depend on each other in times of stress or danger, they should also be fighting constantly for the alpha position." Michaels shook his head over the problem but consoled himself with the fact that even Kate Ross had been unable to explain neither the success of the pairing nor the obvious growing emotional dependency the two men shared.

Unseen by the new psychologist, Cowley allowed himself a brief smile. It wasn't the first time he had seen men acting and reacting in ways that made a mockery of medical and scientific theories. Whatever it was that Bodie and Doyle shared, it worked. And that was all George Cowley was interested in.

---

Finally discovering a corner that wasn't full of Special Branch, MI5 or officers from the barracks, Bodie guarded their seats and sent Doyle to fight at the bar for their drinks. "See the other side--get the customers' perspective," he'd told him cheerfully and pushed him in the right direction. After an increasingly dry half hour, Bodie surrendered their seats and went to look for him. He found him perching on a low bar stool, Doyle and Macklin sharing one buttock-worth of stool each. "Thanks for getting my drink, Ray," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, there you are--wondered where you'd got to," Doyle looked up and smiled broadly. "Here's your drink."

"Merry Christmas, Bodie." The chorus of voices turned out to be Macklin, Crane and Fergie. Returning the greeting, Bodie looked around the corner of the room they had appropriated and to his dismay saw the rest of the team; on the packed dance floor he caught sight of Turner moving slowly from side to side wrapped round a leggy blonde, and Peter Ellis manoeuvring through the crush with a tray of drinks. Turning his back on the relative peace of the corner he'd just left, Bodie tipped Fergie off his chair and quickly sat down. Flushed with Christmas spirit and several double vodkas, Fergie smiled sweetly and promptly sat on Bodie's lap to a chorus of wolf whistles and loud if somewhat ribald approval.

It was Doyle who first noticed Kelly and waved him and his date over. The DJ chose that moment to see how loud he could make his equipment play a string of rock and roll oldies and no-one even bothered to attempt to introduce themselves. As Kelly went to the bar, Macklin, by dint of pushing Doyle onto the floor, offered Kelly's date the now vacant stool.

Accepting the seat, she sat down and said something which made Macklin laugh and then turned to smile and say 'hello' to the rest of the men gathered around the small table. At least Doyle gathered it was hello, lip reading in dim discos not a talent he'd had occasion to practise much.

Thankfully, the DJ soon switched moods to give the dancers and everyone's eardrums a rest, and Kelly pulled his date onto the dance floor. Sliding onto a spare bit of bench seat beside Bodie, Doyle turned to him. "Who's the girl?" he asked, looking over to where Pat was dancing, eyes closed and holding on tightly to his girlfriend. "I didn't catch her name, but she looks sort of familiar," he said frowning as he tried to place her.

Bodie looked sideways at Doyle as if expecting him to crack up. "I'm not bloody surprised she looks familiar!"

Hearing the surprise in his partner's voice, Doyle looked at her again; maybe she was one of the office girls.

"You really don't recognise her, do you?" Bodie said in amazement.

Doyle looked harder at the pair and, as they danced, saw Kelly kissing the bared white skin at the girl's throat, making her laugh and shiver. As the dancers turned in time to the music, he saw Kelly's hand slide down her back to rest on the shapely, satin-covered rump in a familiar way. "What did he say her name was?" asked Doyle. It was as if he knew her and yet didn't at the same time. Leaning forward Bodie whispered a name into his ear. "Kate? Kate who--not Kate!" Doyle almost shouted, his shocked face turning to identify the sultry woman smooching with his friend as the frigid, starchy bitch he disliked so much. "That's never Kate Ross!" But it was.

The rest of the evening was uneventful if not predictable. The jokes became bawdier, laughter louder, music slower and the dancers less energetic and more romantic. Throughout the evening Bodie couldn't help but notice how quiet his partner was and when he asked why he didn't go and ask Kate for a dance was totally unprepared for the sharp, painful kick his shins received. "I thought it would be a good idea," he protested huffily, "considering you haven't taken your eyes off her since she arrived."

Doyle's head snapped around and he turned his full attention onto his partner. "You saying I've been eyeing her up?"

"What else am I supposed to think," Bodie replied defensively, already regretting opening his mouth.

"Well..." Doyle said thoughtfully as his gaze returned to follow Pat and Kate as they moved slowly around the other couples on the floor. "I just can't believe it's her--I mean...I know it's her but I never dreamt she could look so..."

"Sexy," suggested Bodie.

"Downright bloody gorgeous," concluded Doyle. "Why couldn't she 'ave looked like that all those hours I spent with her?" he asked in a disgruntled tone of voice.

"Bad for your concentration--plus, of course, you're nothing like Pat Kelly--whatever it is he's got it's done wonders for her!"

"I bet she even wears silk knickers--had her pegged for white cotton aertex from Marks and Spencer's, you know, plain and comfortable and nothing fancy." He sighed as the realisation of lost opportunity hit hard. "Just think, me and Kate Ross in her Janet Reger fancy silk knickers playing doctors behind closed doors for hours an' hours on end. I'd 'ave enjoyed those sessions a lot more if I'd known what a little raver she was."

Watching the way Kate and Pat manoeuvred around the other dancers, obviously in love and oblivious to the crowd or the noise of the party, Bodie joined Doyle in a heartfelt sigh for what could never happen. "Oh well, come on Cinders, I promised Uncle George I'd get you home by midnight," he said a while later. "Are you going back to the safe house or coming home with me?" he asked casually as they left the barracks behind them and walked towards Victoria Street in the hope of flagging down a passing taxi.

Pulling his jacket collar up to keep the cold air out, Doyle heard the doubt behind the question. "Doesn't seem much point in going home," he answered quietly, last night's rejection still a painful memory.

"Don't you want to?"

"Go home with you and get into an empty bed, or go to the safe house and an empty bed there. Doesn't sound like much of a choice to me," said Doyle, his voice tart to cover his hurt feelings.

"Why should the bed be empty? I can just as easily go back to the safe house with you," Bodie said, trying to ignore the fear that perhaps he wasn't wanted.

"There's only a single bed there--no spare bedroom for you to run off to when you get the hump!"

A black cab, its 'for hire' light glowing brightly, turned the corner and Bodie stepped into the road to flag it down, using the distraction to decide how best to deal with the problem. Doyle reached the driver first and gave the address of the small bedsit he'd moved into that afternoon.

"Scratch that," Bodie told the driver and gave their home address.

"Holland Lane please," Doyle repeated, giving Bodie a filthy look.

"Berwick Crescent," corrected Bodie. "You're coming home with me."

"I'm going to the flat," Doyle snapped back and climbed into the back of the cab, throwing himself onto the rear seat.

"How the hell do we both get into a three-foot bed. We're going home!" Bodie slammed the door shut and ignoring the irate glare sat down next to him on the rear seat.

"It's two feet six inches and I'm going to the flat--you can sleep on a park bench for all I care!"

"Two feet six!" exclaimed Bodie. "That's it, we're going home to sleep in our bed. Berwick Crescent!" he snapped through the driver's window.

"Holland Lane! Bodie, listen and listen good, there is no way I want a repeat of last night--"

"Berwick Crescent. Shut up, Ray--"

"You shut up--I want a decent night's sleep and I can do without you tying my balls in knots--"

"You want... What about me, what about what I want? You're a fine one to talk," retorted Bodie angrily. "Every time things start getting interesting, you go all coy and back away or change direction."

"Well at least I don't hang about all night too scared to start anything--if we waited for you we'd wait all bloody night!"

"I don't like rushing you--"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want to scare you."

"What am I supposed to be scared of?"

"Me... Us...you know," Bodie said his voice faltering.

"Sex or screwing?" asked Doyle crudely, too angry to be cautious.

"All right, damn you, screwing!"

"But it's what I want--"

"No, you don't--"

"Don't tell me what I want, Bodie. Last night I wanted you to--"

"Excuse me, gents," the cab driver interrupted, coughing loudly twice before gaining the full attention of his passengers. "But are we going to Holland Lane or Berwick Crescent--and my clock's already running," he added, only barely keeping a straight face as his passengers suddenly remembered he was there.

"Er..." Bodie sank back onto the seat going hot and cold with embarrassment. "Berwick Crescent?" he asked Doyle softly. Unable to get his mouth to work, Doyle just nodded. "Berwick Crescent," Bodie said a little more authoritatively to the driver.

"Right you are, gents," said the cabbie. "We'll have you 'ome and tucked up in bed in no time." In his fifteen years as a cab driver Stan had seen and heard it all. The seat behind him had been the site of many business transactions, financial and sexual; marriages had begun and ended there and the many variations of love had long since ceased to amaze him. As long as the fares paid up at journey's end the stories just made his work more enjoyable and the tea break with the lads at three in the morning more fun.

The silence in the back of the cab lasted until they arrived outside the block where they lived. His face flushed and burning, Bodie shoved Doyle out of the door and thrust a ten pound note through the cabbie's window before following him in--not even waiting for his change.

The cabbie's 'Happy Christmas' ringing in their ears, the two men reached the front door before daring to look at each other and bursting into fits of near-hysterical giggles. Fumbling with the security locks, Bodie managed to get them both safely indoors. As the giggles subsided, their mood changed and became serious, their expressions both serious, bordering on grave.

"What you said in the cab," Bodie began hesitantly.

"I rather think we both said too much, don't you?" responded Doyle, his eyes glinting like a cat's in the soft lighting.

"Wasn't exactly the ideal spot for a few home truths to be aired."

"You can say that again," exclaimed Doyle as he threw his jacket over the back of an armchair and heeled his way out of shoes that had been pinching the little toe on his left foot all night.

"But what's said in the heat of the moment is often true," Bodie continued. "What you said about me not...never starting..." he tailed off, unable to utter the words.

"You used to," responded Doyle softly, with accusation. "But ever since that morning in the shower room you won't touch me until I touch you."

"I don't want to--"

"Scare me, I know," Doyle smiled. "But I don't scare that easily."

Responding to the promise and warmth in the husky voice, Bodie relaxed into a welcome, hard embrace. "I love you. You know that, don't you?" he whispered into the riot of curls pressed against his face like cold silk. "I don't ever want to hurt you or make you back away from me again," the fierce whisper made Doyle shiver.

"I know--and you won't. All we have to do is be careful. I don't know what went wrong that time," Doyle said. "Maybe we were just moving too fast and I wasn't ready. But...now I am," the husky voice continued. "Last night I was even dreaming about you fucking me. It was so real, so real--"

"Ray--!"

"Please, Bodie," whispered Doyle urgently, his eyes downcast as if hiding the odd mixture of longing and fear. "Show me how it feels--please, I want it so much."

Bodie could feel him trembling, feel the urgent hardness that was confined in the smart black trousers. "Okay," he said. "But let's take it slowly. No rushing things this time."

"Not too slow," cried Doyle as he was pushed away.

"We don't have to rush, let's not ruin it by going too fast," said Bodie with a great deal more calmness than he felt.

"Okay--anything you say," Doyle agreed, closing his eyes and taking some deep breaths. "Think I'll have a quick shower first."

"I'll join you."

"No--let's...save it for later?"

Bodie smiled and pushed him towards the shower room. In the bedroom he turned the heating up and the bed covers down; by the time Doyle emerged, still damp from his hasty shower, the room was prepared, the Vaseline jar and small towels all ready beside the bed.

Patting himself dry after his own shower, Bodie jumped when a pair of arms sneaked round his waist. "Hurry up or I'll start without you," said Doyle softly.

"I'm just coming."

"Really! I'm impressed," Doyle exclaimed playfully and felt for the hard cock.

"I meant--"

"I know what you meant, stupid!" Doyle cut off the patient voice with a kiss. "Are you going to take me to bed and fuck me, or what?"

"Dunno--what's the 'or what'?" joked Bodie, then in a deep voice. "If you really want me to?'

Taking his time convincing Bodie that he really wanted to be taken that way, Doyle never actually noticed the exact moment they reached the bed.

---

His breath coming in short, harsh pants, Doyle groaned aloud his pleasure as the slick fingers opened him and pressed further inside. Bodie covered the open mouth with his lips, kissing him deeply but being careful not to touch the hot writhing body anywhere else; the only reality Doyle was aware of being the tongue tasting him and the fingers opening his body for another deeper, harder probe. Strung out on tension and anticipation Doyle was close to pain when he tore his mouth free. "Please.... Bodie, please," he begged.

"Slower, lover," gasped Bodie who was holding back with difficulty. "We can't...mustn't rush."

"Bodie!" Impatient and hurting with need, Doyle reached down to grasp his neglected sex.

"No," Bodie pushed his hands away. "Don't bring...yourself off," he panted. "It'll be easier if you're still hot for it...honest..."

"Well, get on with it then!" Doyle groaned as the slick fingers twisted and pushed into him harder. "I'm ready... I'm ready... God, how ready do I have to be?"

Hearing the desperate voice, Bodie chuckled and bent his head to nuzzle one tightly budded nipple. "Okay, sunshine. Over you go then," and he withdrew his fingers before rolling the quivering body over.

"Bodie!"

"'s okay, love," Bodie kissed the side of his face as he pressed against the smooth body. "Just relax... I'll take it nice and slow," and he set about encouraging the suddenly tense muscles to relax again.

"Can't I turn over?" asked Doyle, twisting to look back over his shoulder to see Bodie kneeling astride him and kissing down the line of his spine.

"Lie down and relax...it's easier this way," replied Bodie softly. "Take your weight on your arms and kneel up," he said positioning him. "That's it, open your legs...wider...that's better."

Positioned and held in place by Bodie's hands, Doyle felt himself getting colder and colder, the reassuring words coming in breathy whispers from somewhere above and behind him. He felt more cold jelly being eased into him and tightened instinctively around the invader. Relax, he told himself, just relax. But the thought was little comfort and slowly the pressure increased.

Feeling the muscles clamping down on his fingers, Bodie forced himself to slow down, easing the jelly into the tight opening with circular movements, willing the muscles to accept him. "Keep still," he urged as Doyle tried again to twist round. "Just keep still, you'll hurt yourself if you turn around."

"It hurts," Doyle panted, groaning as the head of the huge shaft began to pierce him. "It hurts!"

"Don't move," Bodie said. "Just relax and it'll get easier." He slid his hand around Doyle's hip, searching for his cock to ease his way by pleasuring him but found limp genitals. Dismayed but not really surprised, Bodie cradled the unresponsive cock and bent forward to kiss the cool skin of Ray's back.

The unexpected shift of weight on his back sent Doyle sprawling, and he landed heavily on the mattress, his body covered by Bodie's and the hard cock plunging deep into him.

The second Doyle moved, Bodie knew he was fighting to get free but his own body refused to co-operate; buried in the hot channel, he wanted only to move towards the completion that had been denied too long already, and Doyle's struggles were adding to the sensations building to a climax in his groin.

Only just managing to find the willpower from somewhere, Bodie got his weight balanced on hands and knees and withdrew from the shivering body. The second he was free Doyle curled away from him into a tight ball, that sight alone sufficient to cause all desire in Bodie to die stillborn.

On unsteady legs Bodie left the bedroom and, feeling unaccountably dirty, stepped into the shower, turning the water temperature to almost scalding, and washed away the sweat and scent of sex. Tying his bathrobe firmly around his waist and then finding the bedroom deserted he continued on into the lounge and found Doyle, his own robe knotted firmly around him, glass of whisky in his hand and a miserable expression on his face.

"There's a drink for you on the unit," said Doyle without looking up.

Sitting in the armchair facing him, Bodie nursed his drink in silence for a while, conscious that something needed to be said and that one wrong word would be disastrous. "I'm sorry," he said finally, grimacing at how trite and meaningless those words really were.

"What for?" Doyle asked in a subdued voice. "You didn't do anything I didn't ask you to--quite the opposite in fact!" he gave a dry, mirthless laugh and drained the glass, coughing as the liquid burned his throat. "Hell, I was practically begging you to do it."

"But why?" Bodie asked, draining his own glass and then topping them both up with another generous measure. "Why were you begging me--was it because you really wanted it or because you thought it was what I wanted?" There was no answer, Doyle taking the drink and giving it all his concentration and ignoring both the question and Bodie. Moving to sit next to his lover on the settee, Bodie wasn't surprised--he doubted if Doyle even knew himself whether he wanted to experience anal intercourse to please his lover, who obviously wanted to love him that way, or because he wanted it himself. Sometimes just giving what you knew your lover wanted gave far more pleasure than anything else might. He could feel Doyle shaking and knew that however much Doyle wanted to please him there were obviously limits on what he could do and knew he had been wrong to accept the generous offer. "It's my fault, I shouldn't--"

"No," Doyle said quickly, twisting round to look him straight in the face. "I just said--you did exactly what I wanted you to do--"

"No--it was what you thought I wanted--"

"No--"

"I rushed you and I shouldn't have. We should have learnt by now that we just can't rush some things--we've got to take it slower."

"Love," Doyle said affectionately, and relaxed against him, "if you'd gone any slower we'd both have turned into statues. Hell, I don't think I could have been as patient or as careful as you were. It would have served me right if you'd ignored me and just kept going--pulling back like you did must have hurt something chronic. Are you all right?"

The soft concern and light touch of cold fingers seeking him out under the concealing bathrobe was all the encouragement Bodie's cock needed. "Ray--don't--you mustn't."

"There's no need for you to suffer lover's knots because of me. I'm no prick tease."

"I never thought you were," Bodie said as quick fingers dealt with the belt tie and bared him.

"No?" Doyle said doubtfully. "I just ask you to fuck me, get you all hot and bothered and then run away at the crucial moment."

"But it's not your fault..." gasped Bodie. "Your body and your balls want...oh, Jesus, that's good," he gasped as a hot tongue laved his cock-head. As his body was pleasured, Bodie struggled to maintain the conversation. "You want it...me, but your head...inside your head it's still something wrong...something ugly...it's not you...it's that bastard Kingsley...not you..."

Pausing in his attentions to his lover, Doyle considered it. "You could be right. I do want you, I'm not just pretending. I've even started dreaming about it--you fucking me--it just goes all wrong when we try it for real. Suddenly I'm terrified and can't think straight--it's like I'm not even with you... Will it always be like that?" he asked, sitting back on his heels and deserting Bodie as he worried over the problem. "No matter how much I say I want you like that, am I never going to be able to let you take me?"

Desire receding to a more comfortable, less urgent level, Bodie slid off the settee and sat next to his partner on the floor, lifting the downbent head with one finger under his chin. He waited until Ray opened his eyes and looked at him. "I'm a firm believer in where there's a will there's a way. We'll manage, but in the meantime, maybe we should stop trying so hard, so stop worrying about it or even thinking about it," Bodie said, his voice serious and willing Ray to accept what he was saying. "After what you've been through I'm still surprised that you can bear to let me--let any man anywhere near you. It's going to take a long time, maybe years before you'll be able to enjoy that kind of loving with me--and," he stopped the interruption with a kiss. "And if you never can there are other ways for two men to make love. There's no law that says we have to fuck each other. I'm not about to chuck you out into the streets because I can't have you like that--you can still take me so what's the problem?"

Dropping his eyes, Doyle looked away and mumbled something.

"I didn't catch that," said Bodie.

"I said, it's a bit one-sided isn't it," he repeated in an unhappy voice.

"What, you fucking me and me not doing you? Didn't you hear me--there are more ways to make love than just screwing. So what if I enjoy feeling you fuck me--I like it and you don't--so what?"

"You really don't mind, do you," said Doyle, slowly beginning to believe. "And if I can never let you do me--"

"I'll love you in other ways. But I'm sure things will work out eventually. But it won't if we keep worrying about it. Let's just forget it and stick to what we both know we enjoy."

"Such as?"

"You fucking me for instance," Bodie said lightly. "All this talk about it has made me feel...itchy."

"Itchy? Where?" Doyle asked, his eyes lighting up playfully.

"Why don't you try and find out?"

---

Plunging in one more time until he was buried in the tight body, Doyle stopped, muscles quivering with the need to go on. "Tell me what it feels like," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Tell me," he repeated and bit Bodie's shoulder making him squirm to escape the painful teeth. "I want to know what it feels like."

Bodie opened his mouth but no words came out, his throat and mouth dry and sharp teeth bit down even harder. "Hard," he gasped.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Not even a bit?" hissed Doyle, his disbelief obvious.

"Ouch--bloody cannibal!" swore Bodie. "Okay, okay--a bit, hurts a bit--but only at first. Feels...hard...pressure...but good, especially...when you--yeah--when you do that!"

"Wish I could change places," whispered Doyle harshly. "Wish I was you right now....wish I could feel you deep inside me... I want it Bodie--I want it so bad." The need was so strong that Doyle was almost weeping in frustration

"Oh Jesus, Ray--move! Please move!" begged Bodie and he wriggled his buttocks pushing against the body pressed along his back. It was enough to send Ray over the edge and he thrust hard once, twice more and then froze before crying out, almost screaming and then collapsing heavily across the man sprawled beneath him. Impatient for his own release, Bodie twisted round, tipping Doyle to one side and covering the spent body, Doyle recovering sufficiently to reach between their bodies and help him to his own exhausting climax.

The room was quiet while their ragged breathing evened out. As they cooled off, they tugged the duvet up to cover themselves and curled together as much for warmth as comfort.

"Love you," Bodie said quietly when it seemed as if Ray was prepared to drift off to sleep without saying another word. "We'll get there, sunshine, just give us time."

"You reckon?" came the soft response from somewhere in the region of his shoulder.

Bodie could feel him as he blinked, the soft tickle of eyelashes on his breast as Doyle opened and closed his eyes. "I reckon," he said confidentially. "When have you ever known me to be wrong about anything?"

Doyle gave a snort of laughter. "You're a hopeless romantic, William Bodie--I must be mad to have fallen in love with you."

Bodie felt him fall asleep but remained awake for a long time, savouring the warm presence and filling his senses with the feel and scents of Ray Doyle. The knowledge that it could be their last night together until after the Mahak operation was over made the night more precious.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Climbing the bare stairs as quietly as possible, Doyle turned the key in the lock and entered his room. Easing shoes off aching feet and throwing the bow tie onto the scratched, aged sideboard, he collapsed onto the rickety sofa. His r/t went off and he groaned as he struggled to his feet to retrieve it. "4.5."

"Nice day at the office?" Bodie's voice sounded raspy through the receiver.

"My feet are killing me and I stink of stale beer and cigarettes," Doyle complained, sinking back onto the sofa and rubbing the painful corn on his left foot.

"You were late getting out tonight."

"Had a party stay on for after-hours drinks--O'Connell asked me to help out."

"Any sign of Teacher?" Bodie asked, referring to Mahak.

"No show. Any word when the new term starts?"

"The 29th is still the favourite. Stay with it, 4.5, I'll be calling in to see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Okay, oh and 3.7--one joke about the dickie bow, just one, and you'll be out on your ear, warned Doyle as he signed off. Tossing the r/t aside, he wondered if the 50p he'd put in the meter that afternoon would last long enough for him to boil the kettle since once again he had forgotten to raid the till for coins to bring home.

The electricity lasted just long enough for a cup of tea and a few slices of toast but not long enough to take the damp chill off the room. Climbing into the narrow bed with his supper, he carefully arranged the blankets and his heaviest coat to give maximum warmth--his self-esteem already dented by his concession to cold feet with a pair of thick woolly bedsocks--reduced even more by the blue hot water bottle clutched to his chest.

He was almost warm enough to sleep when the noise from the upstairs flat began, the rhythmic creaking of the floor boards and the muffled yet unmistakable groans of the couple upstairs waking him up. It had been a long time since he'd been forced to sleep in such a noisy place, his ability to sleep through the groans and shouts inside prison eroded by the peaceful nights he'd spent with Bodie. He tugged the pillow over his head and forced his mind to better times.

---

Sipping at his drink, Bodie sat back on the bar stool and looked around at the Seven Bells' other patrons; a mixed bunch of suited businessmen and their secretaries and just a few local people who persevered with the new style bar out of habit. It was little more than a tarted-up gin-palace--all stainless steel, chrome and tortoiseshell lampshades and an expansive, not to say expensive, selection of fancy cocktails on offer. From his vantage point he watched Doyle serve a bunch of young, loud, over-jolly businessmen an array of multi-coloured drinks decorated with gaily coloured umbrellas and fruit salad; no common ice and slice of lemon for them.

"Good afternoon sir," Doyle said politely to Bodie once he was free of customers. "Can I offer you one of our speciality cocktails?" and in a lower voice, out of earshot of the other bar staff. "Shot of arsenic, cup of hemlock--and one crack about the outfit and I swear I'll do you," he said, smiling politely throughout.

"Another half of bitter, thanks," Bodie said, deliberately eyeing the tight black trousers, fitted emerald shirt and neat black dickie-bow as Doyle pulled the pump handles to serve him. "Tastes better from the old fashioned pumps, none of that gas," he said. "And pulling on those all night must do wonders for your muscles," he added in a lower voice.

Doyle felt O'Connell's double-take and decided to reply in kind, giving Bodie a little of his own medicine. "Well, they do say only real men," he emphasised the word and smiled invitingly, fluttering his eyelashes at Bodie, "only real men like Real Ale. I must say, I prefer a bit of the Real stuff myself."

It was, Bodie acknowledged ruefully, bloody difficult to sound macho and camp at the same moment but with his use of body language and his husky voice, Doyle managed it beautifully. Three men suddenly called for him to serve them drinks and the petite blond man behind the bar almost fell over himself in his haste to help. Having cast his lure for one man only, Doyle was disconcerted to find himself the centre of attraction and it was some time before he dared look Bodie's way or meet the eyes of a customer more than fleetingly.

At closing time for the afternoon session, Bodie was one of the last to leave, deliberately hanging around to speak to O'Connell's newest barman.

"Can you get away for a few hours?"

Knowing that O'Connell heard the indiscreet question and guessing how he would interpret the invitation, Doyle felt like kicking his partner somewhere painful. "I've only got a short break before this evening's session," he replied.

"You can go off now if you want, Ray, providing you're back by five. Johnny and Richard can help me clear up," O'Connell offered helpfully.

Grabbing his jacket and ignoring Richard's leery face and the pathetic hopelessness of Johnny, Doyle escaped. "Jesus, Bodie--you said you'd make contact--not make a bloody pass at me in front of the whole fucking pub!" he hissed furiously as they walked along the street.

"Sorry," apologised Bodie. "Really I am, I didn't mean it to come out like that--and you didn't exactly help by giving me the big come-on. Christ, I thought Old Baldy next to me was going to cream his boxer shorts."

"Forget it," snapped Doyle. "Where are we going, and don't forget I've got to get back here in a few hours; I'm starving hungry and my feet are killing me."

"Your place?" suggested Bodie.

"Okay--only you can pay for a cab, I'm not walking there--the first thing I'm going to do once this job is over is find a decent chiropodist!"

Climbing up the scruffy staircase of the safe house, Bodie frowned at the dilapidated state of the building. "Is this the best...you could find?" he said, remembering at the last minute to stay in character.

"It's not that bad. At least it's reasonably clean--and I only have to share the bog and bathroom with seven others. It could be worse," he said wryly opening the door to his room.

Stepping inside, Bodie looked around in amazement. "I thought they said it was a flat," he exclaimed eyeing the one room and its shabby furniture.

"The word is 'flatlet'. And it is furnished with all the comforts of home; a bed, a chair, a table, it's even got a sofa and all mod cons in the kitchen. Running water," he wiped the condensation off the wall, "even in the taps--but only cold, got to boil the kettle for hot water. And here is the fridge--very economical to run, doesn't use electricity."

Shivering as Doyle opened the window to retrieve a bottle of milk resting outside on the sill, Bodie decided it was the worst safe house he had ever seen.

"Tea or coffee?" Doyle asked politely.

The tightly controlled voice didn't fool Bodie for a moment. "Coffee, please," he replied and wandered around the room checking on the personal bric-a-brac that the department provided for jobs like these. "Christ, I hope Teacher arrives on time. You'll get pneumonia if you have to spend much more time in this dump!"

"It could be worse," Doyle repeated.

"How?"

Doyle shrugged and refused to meet Bodie's eyes. "It could be for real."

The bleak statement revealed the true reason for Doyle's moodiness. At one time, before joining CI5, this had been his future. "It's only because I know it's not for real I can take it. I don't know how people can live like this, Bodie--and it's not even that bad--I've known people even worse off with no hope of a way out." He turned into Bodie's outstretched arms eagerly, holding tight and burrowing into the warmth and offered comfort, a sense of desperation alloyed to fear of what might have been overcoming his earlier reticence.

Later, with a cup of whisky-scented coffee and all three bars of the electric fire burning, the chill seemed to go away. Rubbing the warm skin of Ray's throat with the back of his hand Bodie smiled as he leant into the caress. "So, you think that the pub is clear?"

"I'm as sure as I can be after five days. O'Connell's a bit like Mahone, talks big but doesn't amount to much. The drug squad should take more notice of the place though, there's all kinds of hard and soft stuff being peddled. O'Connell knows about it but providing they're not obvious he turns a blind eye. He's receiving stolen goods as well, there's boxes of bonded stuff in the store that hasn't come from the brewery."

"How about politics and his cousins from across the Irish Sea?"

"I've not heard him talk politics, nor his wife. They're Irish, Belfast born and bred from the sound of them both, Didn't records show them as moving to London after their pub in the Falls Road was gutted in the 6o's?"

"That's right--IRA bombed the police station next door to the pub. His place wasn't the target--just got caught by mistake."

"I don't know about O'Connell. I'd say he wasn't political at all, he's a small time publican with big ideas who's not averse to a bit of wheeling and dealing to improve his income."

"Irish crime and politics have got a bit confused the last few years, it's hard to tell if they're criminal politicals or political criminals. We'd best play safe and assume he's political," Bodie decided.

Conversation lapsed for a while until Bodie discovered Ray had fallen asleep and let him sleep on, waking him only when it was time to return for his evening shift.

Groaning, Doyle turned off the fire and raided Bodie's pockets for fifty pence pieces before locking up and clattering down the stairs and out into the dark street.

"You coming in this evening?"

"I'm not spending another night shivering in the car," replied Bodie. "I think I've...staked my claim. No-one's going to think it strange if I sit up one end of the bar all night eyeing up your arse. And," he said quickly before Doyle could butt in, "it'll leave me free to watch out for Teacher. The bar is so busy you wouldn't notice if half the squad's most wanted list trooped two abreast through the doors."

Doyle was forced to agree; he was also relieved to know Bodie would be close on hand just to remind him that it was only make believe.

---

Christmas Eve at the Seven Bells was both a pleasure and a trial. The bar was packed, which meant they barely had time to speak, all the staff busy serving continuously and the customers on Bodie's side getting merrier and drunker as the night wore on; as their alcohol intake increased the sober-suited businessmen became more affable, talking to anyone and everyone. The bar's other patrons were also doing a roaring trade as little bags were carelessly handed around, money passing swiftly into deep pockets.

Intrigued by one man who looked like a refugee from some sixties squat, Bodie peered at the contents of a bag; seeing Bodie's interest, the ageing hippie spoke to him in a surprisingly cultured voice that was at odds with his appearance. "Want to buy some...organic mushrooms?" the man asked softly.

"Organic mushrooms?" Bodie repeated, disappointed, he'd been expecting something far more exotic.

"Organic," the man agreed. "Or perhaps--orgasmic." He laughed at his joke. "But what's in a word?"

From the ripple of amusement that passed around the table Bodie realised he had missed the point. "Special, are they?"

"Special, he asks." The man turned back to the people at the table.

"What's so special about them?" Bodie asked, his curiosity well and truly aroused.

"They're magic--not special--magic," the man said, smirking. "You clearly never encountered this little delicacy before." Bodie admitted his ignorance and, sensing he had a buyer, the man reeled him in. "A rare and...expensive delicacy, sir. These delightful mushrooms are a natural, home grown remedy for all life's ills. Stress, tension, unhappiness...a few magic mushrooms and suddenly you'll find the world a much brighter, happier place to live in."

As the spiel continued Bodie began to remember reading something about hallucinogenic mushrooms grown and used by Welsh hippies; used in small quantities they were harmless unless, of course, they were only an introduction to the drug scene. "How much?" he heard himself asking, cutting across the sales pitch. Exchanging money for the small bag, he was already trying to work out ways of getting Doyle to eat them. A cure for stress and tension, he told himself, was just what the doctor would order.

---

Putting the file to one side, Cowley looked at Bodie and Henderson. "The local coach-operators have only this one trip organised?"

"Yes, sir. There are National Express coaches running from Victoria on the same day but this firm, Beadles, has two pick-up points: their own garage and the Post Office, which is about twenty yards from the Seven Bells."

"Doyle's reported that a few regulars are going on the 29th but there's no list. Seems they just take whoever wants to go on the day. The December trip over the Channel is an annual event--a bunch from the pub go every year."

"And Andrews, he claims that Mahak only uses the Beadles coaches--"

"Not for sure but the pub only ever goes as a group on Beadles. National Express require passengers to book and pay in advance. Beadles picks up customers and takes fares on the day. There's no paperwork, no records kept and the coach drivers only do head counts--they don't check passports or identities. Providing they come back with as many passengers as they left with they don't care."

"Which suits Mahak perfectly," chipped in Henderson. "I've got a team watching Beadles and an observation point will be established for the pub on the 29th. Williams is co-ordinating Dover harbour and the French authorities."

"So," said Cowley. "Providing Mahak shows, the question is when do we take him?'

Henderson leant forward. "I suggest we leave the Irish students alone for a while; the man we want as priority is Mahak. Let him leave on the coach in the morning; Williams can watch the procedure during the crossing and Interpol can take over when they dock at Boulogne and follow the outward route through to the Middle East.

"Then Williams follows the incoming bunch of students and Mahak back here to London. If he follows his usual routine the group will go into the Seven Bells until closing time when everyone except Mahak is driven off towards Liverpool on a mini-bus. One team follows the mini-bus over the water to Northern Ireland and we grab Mahak. If we time it right, only Mahak will know we've been watching and it will be a while before the routes are closed down--"

"Thus giving Interpol and the Security forces in Ireland the time to follow the route through and trap as many as possible." Cowley liked the plan. "Do you foresee any problems with the Seven Bells operation, 3.7?"

Bodie considered everything before replying. "How do you propose to jump Mahak without alarming him or having a shoot-out? The bar is usually pretty crowded but the second we move he'll know what we are."

"Wire 4.5 up. He can tell us the second the Irish group leave. He can create a diversion, something noisy to distract Mahak and we should have him cuffed easily," said Henderson confidently.

Bodie frowned. Mahak was the top of his class and it all sounded too easy. Cowley saw the frown and guessed its cause but could see no other solution. "Inform 4.5," he ordered Bodie crisply. "From now until Mahak shows you'll only have r/t contact with the support teams. Keep close to 4.5 and both of you stay under cover 24 ours a day until the operation is over."

"And if Mahak doesn't show on the 29th?" asked Bodie.

"The situation will be reviewed, 3.7, but the opportunity to pull Mahak from the system cannot be ignored," said Cowley. "Keep your heads down, and 3.7," he called just as the man reached the door, "Merry Christmas."

With all that had been happening, headquarters buzzing with suppressed excitement for the brewing operation, Bodie found it difficult to feel in a Christmas mood. At half past one on Christmas morning when Christmas Eve had started at the unsocial hour of 6 am, he even found himself longing for the boring Christmas he had been expecting--all those long hours stuck in the Duty Office with only Ray Doyle for company by comparison not as bad as he had once thought.

---

Midday on Christmas morning saw Bodie, slightly refreshed after a few hours' sleep, parking his car in the street next to the dilapidated building that was his partner's temporary home. He carried the heavy bags into the little flat and dropped them with a sigh of relief onto the threadbare carpet. Christmas in the shabby room was not going to be luxurious but at least he could try to improve it a little, and he set about brightening the place up with a few streamers and bits of tinsel.

The drinks and tins of mince pies and sausage rolls were put on the sideboard next to the tub of peanuts, chocolates and fruit bowl. In the tiny kitchen area he frowned at the controls of the antique Baby Belling cooker; as Doyle had sourly pointed out the oven was far too small to roast anything larger than a skinny pigeon and so Bodie eased the brimming casserole dish he'd brought from home into the tiny oven. It only needed re-heating. After fiddling with the aged knobs until he found what he hoped was the right setting, he lifted the lid of the dish to give the contents a final stir.

He still thought the mushrooms looked a little different and, not for the first time, debated the wisdom of adding them to the pot. Oh well, he decided, unless all they wanted to eat was mince pies and sausage rolls they'd have to eat it now--and, he reasoned with himself as he closed the oven door--he hadn't put that many in, only an ounce or two.

Giving the transformed room a quick survey to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, Bodie deposited the heavy bag of fifty-pence pieces on the top of the hungry meter and left for the pub.

While the bar wasn't overcrowded, all the staff were busy. He saw Ray immediately, pulling pints at the end of the bar and waved a greeting, smiling when he realised that, like everyone else behind the bar, the uniform emerald shirt and black trousers had been adapted for the day. Tinsel belts and headbands were being worn and everyone had a sprig of mistletoe in place of the hated bow ties.

Eventually Doyle managed to get down to Bodie's end of the bar. "Afternoon sir, Merry Christmas and what can I get you--half a bitter and one for myself? Thank you, don't mind if I do." The patter tripped off Doyle's tongue like a professional. Holding his hand out for his change, Bodie did a double-take when he saw the coins placed there. "Prices gone up have they?"

"Cocktails are expensive," said Doyle grinning cheekily.

"What are you drinking?'

"Harvey Wallbangers--delicious," replied Doyle sipping appreciatively at his glass. "Had one or two already if you must know--I think I'm hooked on them."

Knowing how little it took to get his partner worse for drink, Bodie realised the flushed cheeks had little to do with the room's temperature and he grabbed hold of the glass to taste it himself, discovering his suspicions to be wrong and pulling a face at the undiluted orange juice.

"We're not usually allowed to drink on duty," Doyle said grinning broadly. "But as it's Christmas Mr O'Connell has given us permission--providing, of course, we don't overdo it." The last being said in broad Belfast brogue made Bodie smile.

Watching his partner being called away to serve other customers, Bodie settled back to wait until the pub closed. It would then remain shut until the evening session on Boxing Day which meant, thanks to Cowley's insistence they remain under cover, they would be free from closing time at two-thirty this afternoon until five in the afternoon on Boxing Day. They would have had less time to themselves if they had kept their usual duty over the holiday period.

Free of the pub, Doyle informed headquarters via Bodie's r/t that O'Connell was holding a private party at the pub that night and he had no way of knowing who would be present. Once Control acknowledged the information they were both free until the next evening--unless, of course, Mahak showed up at the party.

Clattering up the staircase, Bodie remarked on how quiet the building was.

"There's only the old couple in the basement and the fella on the top floor here. The couple upstairs and the girl on my landing have gone away for Christmas," Doyle informed him between verses of 'O little town of Bethlehem'. Pushing open the door to his room Doyle sniffed appreciatively. "It smells good." He looked around at the changes Bodie had made earlier that morning. "All looks very cosy--what the hell is that?" he asked pointing at the large gold bag propped behind the table leg.

Picking it up, Bodie held it out for inspection. "It's a bed. A double bed," he explained, waggling his eyebrows and leering at his mate. "Your bed's far too small and I'm not doing anything except walk on this carpet. It's an air bed--all we need is a vacuum cleaner--or a hair drier."

Doyle eyed the length of unrolled gold vinyl. "Where's the vacuum then--or did you bring your hair drier?"

Bodie felt his chin drop. "You haven't got one?" he asked weakly, guessing the answer from the innocent expression on Doyle's face. Doyle shook his head. "Well, in that case, how much puff have you got?"

Leaving Bodie to think the problem out, Doyle changed out of his work clothes, donning a soft grey sweatshirt and comfortable jeans before checking on the dinner. He gave the casserole a stir and glanced over his shoulder to check Bodie was still busy unrolling the bed; acting on impulse and deciding to worry about the consequences later, he pulled the brown bag from his jacket pocket and tipped the contents into the bubbling liquid, stirring the mushrooms in quickly.

"There's no panic," Bodie said in a relieved tone once he found the instruction leaflet. "I can use the foot pump that's in the boot of the car."

"You go and get it while I stick the vegetables on, we can eat in about half an hour."

When Bodie arrived back with the pump, his mouth started watering as soon as the door opened, the aroma of the casserole as inviting as any traditional turkey dinner. Grabbing Doyle round the waist and pulling him into a fierce embrace, he kissed him deeply. "Smells good."

"Dinner or me?"

"Both," Bodie replied quickly and bent forward to claim the open mouth again.

"Let's eat first--you can have me after dinner," Doyle laughed wriggling free.

Giving in gracefully, Bodie backed off and opened a bottle of wine as Doyle served the meal. For the first few mouthfuls he carefully avoided the soft black mushrooms until he glanced across the table and saw Doyle was doing likewise, a pile of the things on the edge of the chipped plate. With a nonchalance he didn't feel, he stabbed several pieces with his fork and lifted them to his mouth. Soft and slippery they tasted of nothing and he smiled across at Doyle. "Good casserole this isn't it--shame it's not a proper Christmas dinner though."

Cautiously tasting a few of his own mushrooms Doyle grinned in relief when he discovered there was no strange taste. The remainder of the meal was lingered over, each helping the other to generous seconds and taking care to deliver a few extra mushrooms to the other's plate.

Feeling decidedly mellow, Bodie cleared the table of empty dishes and pulled the fruit bowl and chocolates over. "No Christmas pudding," he complained and sunk his teeth into an overripe nectarine.

"With one bog between five flats I'm not sorry!" Doyle said vehemently.

Grinning, Bodie said innocently, "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Oh yes--I know what Christmas pud does to your digestive system, mate," Doyle replied forcefully as he took a clementine from the bowl and began chucking bits of peel across the table aiming at Bodie's wine glass. "Bloody smelt it too!"

"There's no need to be personal--chuck us an orange." Catching the large orange thrown with some strength straight at his face, Bodie managed a polite thank you.

"Shame--I missed--black eyes suit you, brings out the blue in them."

"Enjoy giving people shiners, do you?" Bodie asked as he scored a direct hit with a bit of peel in Doyle's drink, the resulting splash staining the grey sweatshirt.

"Prat," Doyle swore without any real heat and removed the chunk of peel and tossed it back across the table, missing the target because Bodie covered the glass with his hand. Thwarted, he dipped his fingers in his own drink and then flicked them at Bodie, making a pattern of red splotches down the previously immaculate white shirt. The battle began in earnest, ending only when the bottle of wine got knocked over, causing a sudden flood to pour into both their laps. Somewhat chastened but still giggling helplessly, they straightened the table and mopped up the wine, Doyle using a conventional cloth and Bodie determined not to waste the expensive vintage by licking the Formica-covered table with his tongue. The table cleared, Bodie turned his attention to mopping Doyle up.

"I'm not wet there!" Doyle protested in mock outrage as a hand persisted in dabbing at his groin.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure!"

"You sure you're sure?"

"I'm bloody sure I'm sure now back off before I do black your eye!"

"God--you're beautiful when you're mad, Raymond--so…macho and…manly--"

"You're nuts!" Doyle gasped as one persistent hand managed to undo the snap on his jeans and tease the zip down and he retaliated with a sharp karate chop.

"Ouch--Jesus, you're always so bloody violent, always beating me up--I feel like escaping into one of those battered lovers' refugees--

"Battered wives, sweetheart," Doyle said, giving up and allowing the hand to completely undo his jeans and tug them down over his hips. "And you wouldn't get a foot over the front door in one of those places. And I'm not always beating you up," he protested.

"Yes you are--always giving people black eyes, you are."

"Some people ask for them!" Doyle said, his tone menacing as warm fingers teased him.

"Cowley didn't," Bodie pointed out, pausing in his ministrations. "Neither did Macklin."

"No," Doyle agreed, closing his eyes as the grip around his sex tightened and Bodie initiated a steady pumping. "But they looked pretty good. Probably did wonders for Cowley's reputation in Whitehall."

"He probably told the Minister he got it 'defending Queen and Country'," Bode mimicked the Scots voice to perfection.

"Oh, that was good," said Doyle, his eyes wide open and guileless. "Can you do a Scots accent as well--no don't…don't tickle me… I'm sorry-- Pax… Pax…me fingers are crossed… PAX!"

Breathless, they collapsed onto the sofa and promptly froze as it groaned alarmingly and the wooden supports gave a loud crack.

"Oops--mustn't break the furniture," said Doyle.

"Tell you what," said Bodie.

"What?"

"I'll tell you--"

"Tell me what?" interrupted Doyle again.

"Shut up and I'll tell you!"

"Tell me what?" Doyle demanded impatiently.

"Shut…up!" Bodie kissed him between words. "And…I'll...tell…you… Why don't you clear this mess away--"

"While you sit on your arse and watch me?" Doyle said scathingly.

"While I blow up the bed!" Bodie retorted and made a mad lunge for Doyle, who tried to make a dash for freedom.

"Pax!" Doyle cried out as fended the tickling fingers off. "PAX--me fingers are crossed…you can't tickle me when me fingers are--ouch--and you call me a bloody cannibal--that's not fair… I said me fingers are crossed, that means you mustn't… Pax…get off, get off me you great…lummox…don't…pax…I said pax…oh, what the hell," subsiding into a willing heap Doyle gave in gracefully.

---

"I thought you said something about blowing the bed up?" Doyle asked a while later.

"Hardly seems worth it now," said Bodie, only just getting his breath back after an annihilating climax.

"Huh! What was that you said the other night about stamina?" Doyle retorted scornfully. "You mean that's it--you've blown the lot?"

"No," Bodie said, deeply offended. Just give me a few minutes."

"Well, you can blow the bed up while you're waiting," said Doyle, wriggling out of his grasp and pulling on his clothes. "That floor's bloody hard and there's one hell of a draught coming in under that door."

---

The sudden increase in volume and quantity of foul language drew Doyle out of the kitchen alcove to discover the problem.

"The bloody pump won't fit onto the fucking valve!" Bodie complained. "We're going to have to blow it up ourselves."

"We?" asked Doyle innocently. "I thought the agreement was I wash up while you get the bed ready?"

"We," Bodie said firmly. "You can start on that side."

Plumping himself down on the floor, the unrolled deflated mattress separating them, Doyle watched in amazement as Bodie, his cheeks puffed and his face almost blue from his efforts, blew into the valve. "Bodie," he began, his voice so serious that Bodie paused mid-blow to look at him. "Why are they called blow jobs when you mostly suck or--" The lungful of air intended for the bed was wasted as Bodie burst out laughing. "I only asked," Doyle said huffily when it became clear his question wasn't being taken seriously.

The sound of crackling plastic and gusty blowing continued uninterrupted until Bodie saw his partner sealing his valve. "You can't finish there, it's still soft. It won't be much good like this--we need it nice and hard."

Doyle just looked at him in disbelief. "You don't say."

"Yes, you…foul-minded cretin--hard," Bodie laughed, but Doyle uncapped the valve and resumed blowing.

"Phew--dunno about you," Doyle admitted a few breathless minutes later, "but I'm going to be too exhausted to do anything interesting once this bed's ready! I feel all dizzy--and the colour's awful!" he prodded the gaudy gold covering with one finger, scowling at it.

"It is a bit bright," Bodie admitted. "But we can cover it up with a sheet--I bought some double sheets and blankets along--they're in the black bag behind the door."

"I always knew I didn't love you for your body," Doyle said and leant over the inflated bed to deliver a kiss.

"Oh," said Bodie in a carefree manner, "and why do you love me then?"

"Your common sense and eternal optimism--only you could turn up at a secure safe house on an undercover operation with an inflatable double bed!"

"It's called forward thinking--had special classes in forward thinking when I was in the army." Bodie gave a final blow and then sealed the valve.

"Forward," Doyle queried, looking at his partner's groin. "I'd have said downward myself."

"Oh no, sunshine. Forward and upward…and rising steadily actually." Under the heavy, green-eyed stare, Bodie covered his burgeoning erection, closing his eyes as a particularly strong pulse under his hand made him shiver.

"Have to do something about that then, won't we," whispered Doyle as he gingerly crawled across the unstable bed.

The sheet to cover the awful, glaring gold colour forgotten, they met in the centre and, struggling to unfasten the belt around Bodie'' waist, Doyle pushed Bodie him (?) on his back and sat astride the strong legs. "Bodie," he said, his eyes glittering with sexual heat and something else Bodie couldn't place as slim fingers finally released the stiff buckle and moved to open the button and zip. His voice sultry and husky, Doyle leant forward and licked at the beads of perspiration beginning to form on Bodie's forehead. "What did the baby earwig say to the daddy earwig on their way to the football match?"

Strung out on anticipation and desperate to be released from his restricting clothes, Bodie only barely heard the odd question but realised when Doyle froze that he had to make some response. "Don't know--what did he say?"

"Earwigo-earwigo-earwigo," Doyle laughed and teased the zip down in time to the familiar chant, bending forward and delivering tantalising, tickling kisses to the white throat.

Recovering, Bodie tumbled him over and quickly got rid of his jacket and shirt, tossing them across the room to hang where they fell. Ignoring Doyle's giggles and mock outrage that he should suddenly develop such untidy habits, Bodie set about removing all Doyle's clothes as well.

"No, no," Doyle slapped his hands away. "A joke first, it's your turn."

"What?"

"No joke--no strip. It's a new game, I just invented it. It's called strip joker--you'll enjoy it," he promised as he politely but firmly extracted Bodie's hand from inside his trousers and pulled his jumper back down to cover his exposed chest.

Giving in gracefully because he couldn't be bothered to fight, Bodie racked his brains for a joke. "Okay--knock, knock," he said in a resigned voice.

"Who's there?" chuckled Doyle deflecting a groping hand.

"Doctor."

"That's an old one--doesn't count. You've got to do better than that," Doyle protested.

"Bloody hell, Ray--oh...shit. Okay. Knock, knock."

"Who's there?"

"Nicholas."

Doyle thought about it for a moment, obviously trying to work out the punchline and finally gave in. "Nicholas who?" he asked.

"Knickerless girls shouldn't climb trees," Bodie quoted as he grabbed the sweatshirt and tugged it off over Doyle's head.

"Okay--my turn--"

"This isn't fair," Bodie complained. "I'm half undressed already," pointing out the fact that while Doyle had only lost his shirt he was starting out clad only in his briefs and socks.

"If you want the game to last longer you could always get dressed and we can start again," Doyle offered solicitously knowing full well what the answer would be. "It was only a thought--my turn now. Knock, knock."

"Who's there? And you can have one sock!"

"Isabel--I rather thought I'd go for the pants myself," Doyle flipped the elastic with his fingers.

"You mean you'd leave me here like a right bloody wally, starkers except for me socks? Isobel who?"

"Is a bell really necessary when you've got a knocker?" Doyle slipped the pants down over Bodie's hips and slapped the erection that sprung free with a gentle hand. "Knock, knock," he said, teasing the hard urgency before ringing it with his fingers and pumping gently before releasing it completely. "Your turn," he pointed out when Bodie opened his eyes and asked him to get on with it.

Sighing, Bodie dragged another awful joke from his repertoire. At last they were both completely naked but Bodie's relief was short lived as Doyle insisted that they continue. "But you've nothing left to take off!" he protested.

"Party-pooper. What's black and white and red all over?" Doyle asked bounding gleefully on Bodie's stomach.

"Ray!"

"Wrong, try again," cried Doyle as he teased the erection nudging at him, deliberately limiting the amount of skin contact it had.

"Umm...I don't know--oh Ray, please...I give in!" Bodie gasped and Doyle began to realise how close to breaking point he really was.

"A newspaper," he announced.

"What?"

"It's black and white and it's read all over, isn't it? Dummy." It was Doyle's turn to gasp as he was tumbled onto his back and his legs parted for Bodie to kneel between them. Bending his legs, he peered between his knees at Bodie who was licking the inside of his thigh, the tickling sensation making him squirm. "You're cheating," he accused half-heartedly.

"No I'm not. What's this?" Bodie asked and his fingers crawled along the sensitive inner thigh and stopped just short of the taut sacs.

"Dunno," came the hoarse whisper.

"Neither do I--but here comes another one!" This time the creeping fingers landed on the sacs, cupping them and measuring their weight.

"What did the chocolate bar say to the lollipop?" asked Bodie, his teeth nipping the white skin when no answer seemed forthcoming.

"God knows!" groaned Doyle, genuinely sorry he had ever started the stupid game in the first place.

Bodie smiled and guessed it would be a long time before he insisted they play strip joker again. "Hello, sucker!" he answered and he took the engorged organ deep into his mouth withdrawing for a few seconds only to wet his fingers with saliva, then taking the urgent sex back into his mouth laved the sensitive head with his tongue and probed the tightly guarded entrance to Doyle's body.

Fiercely aroused, Doyle arched back onto the probing finger groaning aloud and gripping tightly to Bodie's head. "Don't stop," he begged.

Hearing the harsh whisper, Bodie sucked harder, taking as much into his mouth as he could and slipping a second finger inside the tight arse. Shifting his position slightly he managed to move his hand, the probing fingers finding the soft swell of the hidden pleasure gland. Doyle sighed and went limp, his legs falling apart and canting his hips upwards to give the invaders greater access.

"Harder," his harsh voice ordered. "Do it harder."

Obeying the command, Bodie slid a third finger in and released the rigid cock from his mouth his free hand cradling the taut balls. The hands in his hair tugged him upwards until they were able to kiss, Doyle bucking all the time as the fingers moved continuously, opening him up and the delicious weight of Bodie pressing against his cock.

His wrist and fingers cramping, Bodie tried to move to a more comfortable angle but Doyle wrapped his arms and legs around him holding him prisoner and unable to move. "Don't stop," pleaded Doyle between kisses. "More...harder...please...Bodie." But another painful cramp forced Bodie to withdraw his hand from the straining body and Doyle groaned in disappointment. "Please don't stop--" he begged, arching his back, searching for the fingers.

Struggling to relieve the cramp and help Doyle, Bodie moved down the bed slightly and was unprepared for the way arms and legs wrapped themselves even tighter around him. Falling forwards, pulled off balance, his cock grazed the crease between Doyle's cheeks, pre-ejaculate easing the way and sliding him directly towards the tight anus.

Doyle's reaction to the touch was to pull Bodie to guide the erect cock back to the opening. "Please," he whispered.

Unable to resist the quiet plea, Bodie pressed forward, allowing Doyle to guide him, the head of his cock disappearing into the trembling body easily. At the first hint of resistance he stopped, waiting until the wide eyes looking up at him gave permission to continue. Doyle blinked, closed his eyes and canted his hips slightly, the movement making Bodie gasp as he was accepted a little more.

"That's it," breathed Doyle. "Nice and slow."

Withdrawing a little and then pressing forward again, Bodie lifted the long legs wrapped around his waist a little higher. As the tight heat sheathed him he almost screamed, the desire to push on and take his pleasure overwhelming but even now he was waiting for the second his mate would take fright and panic. He pushed on carefully, rocking his hips and easing in until he was almost resting his legs against the uplifted buttocks. "Ray?" he called quietly, holding back the imperative to thrust. "Are you okay?"

"'m fine," came the whispered reply. "Feels...great."

"You're not..." Bodie hesitated to remind him of his previous fears. "You're not scared of me, are you?" he asked fearfully knowing that it would be almost impossible for him to stop now he was this close.

"No," said Doyle easily, and there was no tension in his face or voice as he looked up and extended one slightly shaky finger to brush away the beads of perspiration forming above the black brows. "I can see it's you. I'm not scared of you--love you."

Bodie felt as if he had been hit with something hard. Why on earth had it taken him, taken them, so long to see what the problem had been. All this wasted time--all that suffering. 'I can see it's you'. Was it really all it had been? Could the answer really be that simple? The shock made him go rigid even though he could see that Doyle had no idea what he had just revealed, the tension in his back passing into his body where it possessed his lover, impaling him on the hard shaft.

"Love you, Bodie," whispered Doyle, so softly that Bodie lip-read more than heard the words, the love in Doyle's face, the eyes bright with unshed tears leaving no room for anything other than love. The immediate desire for completion was overtaken by a tenderness and a need to show how much they each loved the other; they melted together and kissed, and touched, hands trailing across their joined bodies until Doyle freed his mouth long enough to speak. He had to clear his throat twice before a sound came out. "Well, now you're in there," he said, "hadn't you better get on and finish it," the crude words softened by the love on the expressive face.

Giving the bruised mouth a final kiss, Bodie drew back, pulled the encircling legs higher around his waist and balanced himself on his knees. "Ready?" he checked.

"Oh yeah," breathed Doyle.

Slowly at first, gently and lovingly, wide-eyed and silent they moved, Bodie rocking his hips in a rhythm that steadily increased in tempo and force until he froze, eyes blind and head thrown back as if suddenly turned to stone and then Doyle gasped as he felt the first pulsing contraction of the balls pressed hard against his buttocks.

It was ages before Bodie managed to pull his senses together. "Ray?" he heard a liquid sniff and felt a wet cheek rub against his shoulder. "You're crying," he discovered and his heart plummeted.

"No I'm not--it's just me eyes watering," Doyle joked in a decidedly shaky voice.

"Are you okay? Christ I, don't remember what happened, last I remember is you wriggling and sending me over the edge--I haven't come like that in years."

"I couldn't tell if you'd passed out or just collapsed."

"I'm sorry," said Bodie, truly appalled at his behaviour. "I didn't even do anything to help you--"

"Well this mess isn't all yours, you know!" laughed Doyle and he smeared a trail of cold wetness across Bodie's belly.

"I'm sorry--"

"Shut up, Bodie."

"Are you all right? You're not sore, I didn't hurt you--Jesus, I didn't even use any jelly!"

"Didn't need any," said Doyle. "I feel fine...a bit tender...but not sore. You didn't hurt me, so stop fussing--you must have magic fingers."

Bodie jumped guiltily as he heard the word 'magic'. Their relaxed juvenile behaviour after dinner leading to their actions in the bed was suddenly taking on a different light. "Er...Ray," he started to say. "What you just said...about magic..."

And Doyle suddenly remembered the extra ingredient he had added to the casserole. "Just Christmas magic," he amended experiencing his own twinge of guilt.

"Ray--I've got a confession to make," Bodie tried again. "What you just said about magic--"

"So have I," said Doyle deciding to come clean; he really hadn't expected the mushrooms to be so successful.

"About the mushrooms in the dinner--" Bodie started.

"I know," cut in Doyle. "And I'm really sorry--hell, no I'm not," he corrected truthfully. "They were worth it."

"You knew about them?" asked Bodie in surprise.

"I didn't put many in, only about an ounce or so...well, maybe two ounces."

"You put them in?" Bodie asked puzzled. "Put what in where?"

Face downcast, Doyle confessed everything. "But you've been so tense lately. Greg said they were great for relaxation and they're harmless if you don't use them too often."

"You bought some magic mushrooms from the geriatric hippie in the pub?" Bodie checked, his own guilty feeling fading by the second. Glumly, Doyle admitted that he had. "So did I," announced Bodie, only now recognising what it was about the widely dilated pupils in his lover's eyes that he thought strange--beautiful but strange.

"Well," said Doyle once he'd absorbed the information. "They worked, didn't they--reckon we'll need them every time I want you to take me?"

And then Bodie explained what he had finally realised as they were making love. Doyle's eyes grew wide as he understood what Bodie was telling him. "You mean all this time--all this fuss I've been making is simply because I couldn't see who was taking me?"

"I should have realised," said Bodie. "You've never liked me jumping you from behind when you're wide awake let alone when you're asleep. Providing you can see me you're okay."

The explanation was so simple, Doyle had trouble believing it and so Bodie demonstrated to test the theory. With deft fingers and hot lips they teased and aroused each other, Bodie taking them to the edge before deliberately turning his lover over to lie face down in the bed. Almost immediately, Doyle tensed up and lost his erection, turning back over gratefully into his lover's arms.

The point made, their loving continued until it was Bodie who lay with his legs hooked over his partner's shoulders as they thrust towards completion.

---

CHAPTER FORTY

Bodie woke up and found himself alone, the blankets only just covering him, and his feet freezing where they were completely uncovered. He turned his head slowly, respecting the need for unhurried movements as a painful and steady pulsing began behind his eyes; from the depths of the house he heard a toilet flush and a door bang, the sound of feet moving up the stairs and guessed where Ray was. He burrowed back under the covers, pulling his feet up under the covers in an effort to warm them. When he woke up the second time it was to find Ray sitting on the sofa dressed in his warmest clothes and wearing his heavy overcoat. "Where you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere," replied Doyle without moving or even opening his eyes.

Sitting up carefully and trying not to make any sudden moves that would cause his head to fall off his shoulders, Bodie peered at him with a worried frown. "You look terrible, what's wrong?"

"I'm dying," came the unhelpful response. "While you've been snoring away like a bleedin' pregnant cow I've been throwing up all night, or worse!"

"Bad tummy?" Bodie asked and quickly reviewed his own physical state; while decidedly fragile, he didn't feel that ill.

"Bad everything, my head's killing me, my guts hurt and I'm bloody freezing. You kept on pinching all the covers!"

"Why didn't you get back into bed, I would have warmed you up." Bodie crawled across the unsteady airbed and shivered as the cold touched his bare skin. He quickly grabbed a sweater and pulled a pair of trousers on before crouching down in front of Doyle. "You're as white as a sheet," he said deciding this was no ordinary hangover, they hadn't drunk that much. "Something you ate?"

"Only an ounce or two of magic mushrooms," Doyle replied sourly. "Give me time and I'll be grateful I haven't turned into a gnome or died of food poisoning during the night."

"I feel okay," said Bodie. "Bit of a headache but my stomach's fine."

"Always said you had an iron stomach," Doyle replied with little heat.

"You've got a temperature too," said Bodie, touching a hand to the hot forehead. "Come back to bed and get properly warm, your hands are freezing."

"The window in the bog's broken. It's like an ice box down there," complained Doyle.

Fussing around him, Bodie coaxed the patient back to bed and piled all the blankets on top of him. With all three bars of the electric fire keeping the damp chill out of the room, Doyle soon fell asleep again, not even waking up as Bodie called in on the r/t checking that all was ready at Dover and that Mahak hadn't shown his face.

It was gone mid-afternoon before Doyle awoke, struggling to get his legs under him and down to the bathroom to be ill again. When he arrived back at the room, pale and sweating, Bodie looked at him anxiously. "Are you sure you're going to be able to work this evening?" he asked dubiously.

"I think so. There's nothing left to come up now--providing I don't eat or drink I should be okay."

"Fair enough," agreed Bodie; he wasn't happy with the situation but he trusted Doyle enough not to jeopardise the operation. "How do you feel now?"

"Not as bad as first thing this morning," Doyle replied with a weak smile. "Feels more like a cold coming out, throat's sore and my nose is itchy. Knowing my luck it's probably that bug that's been going round the pub--those mushrooms just finished me off."

The explanation of a blossoming cold eased Bodie's growing guilt at poisoning his mate but he was still not happy; you couldn't afford to be under par when on a sensitive operation but he knew not to make too much fuss--Doyle knew the risks just as well as he did.

By the time he was due to leave for the evening session at the pub, Doyle did look a bit brighter, his face had lost that bleached white look and he did his best to look cheerful.

"Do you want me to walk down with you?" asked Bodie offering support.

Doyle paused and considered the offer. "No, you shouldn't come in too much. You'd best keep watch outside or even maintain radio contact from here. We can't afford to alert O'Connell or anyone else at the pub. We've been lucky so far, let's not push it."

Bodie was forced to agree. He had served two full tours of duty in Northern Ireland, one as a regular soldier in the paras and a second with the elite SAS; recognition was always possible and there was no way of knowing who Mahak's Irish contacts were. "Okay. Only another three days to go," said Bodie as they zipped and buttoned their coats in preparation for the cold day outside. "Did I tell you that Cowley said we could have some leave after this?"

"How much, a weekend?" Doyle asked suspiciously.

"Longer than that."

"A long weekend," guessed Doyle, unimpressed by Cowley's generosity.

"A long fortnight," announced Bodie gleefully. "A whole two weeks."

"He actually said that? He's really promised us two weeks--two consecutive weeks. No standby? No office duties? Did you get it in writing?" Doyle's scepticism was obvious, he'd heard Cowley's promises before.

"Well," Bodie hedged. "Not in so many words--but he did say we could have the time owing us and that is two weeks."

"God--I bet you still believe in Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy!" Doyle said in a scathing voice.

"Well, if we go far enough away he won't be able to call us back," Bodie said, unperturbed by his partner's disbelief and already making plans for their holiday. "You just leave it to me, sunshine."

Shaking his head at Bodie's faith in George Cowley's promises, Doyle breathed in a lungful of cold, damp air and coughed as it hit the back of his throat. The coughing started his headache up again and eleven o'clock seemed a long way off.

---

On the eve of the 29th of December, Doyle managed a smile as he heard a familiar voice asking for a drink. "I thought you said you'd be in earlier this evening?" he said quietly as he poured the drink and passed it over.

Taking a long swallow and almost emptying the glass in one go, Bodie sighed tiredly. "Got held up."

"Nothing serious, I hope?" Doyle asked carefully, hoping that the operation was still on for the next day, but before they could speak anymore the publican called Doyle over. "You live local, don't you?" he asked in a friendly manner.

"Yes, about a mile or so up the road. Why?" Doyle asked cautiously.

"Was wondering if you could see your way to doing me a little favour," O'Connell said in a very thick brogue. "I'm going on this coach trip tomorrow with Harry and the lads, only we're leaving at six in the morning and the brewery were supposed to make a delivery today and they haven't. I've just phoned them and they'll be here first think--only trouble is I'll be half-way to Dover when they arrive and with Patrick and Richard off with this flu--"

"You want me to come in and take the delivery?" Doyle guessed.

"I'll make it worth your while, an extra session in your pay at the end of the week," O'Connell added persuasively.

"What time tomorrow?"

"You'd best be here for eight, they can call any time after that."

"Isn't your missus here? Can't she deal with them?"

"She's staying with her sister in Dartford. She'll be coming back tomorrow morning but the brewer's lorry will have been and gone by then."

"I thought Richard was the deputy manager--" Doyle's mind was already sorting out how to get the surveillance team in to wire the conveniently empty pub up in the morning.

"He won't be out of bed until after New Year. His girlfriend say's he's really ill. I'll make it a session and a half extra." Desperate, O'Connell upped the rate. "And you can leave early tonight."

"I'm not a picture of health myself," Doyle grouched, careful not to seem too eager. "Patrick and Richard didn't exactly keep their bloody germs to themselves."

"All right--a double session and you can go home now--I'll give you the keys to open up in the morning before you go," said the publican.

Doyle appeared to consider it. "Okay, give us the keys then--hang about, if Patrick and Richard are sick and you're bumming off to France for the day, who's behind the bar tomorrow?"

"You, my missis and her sister--when they get back from Dartford--and Johnny. If it gets busy ask Debbie to help out, she often does a session for me."

After being shown around the cellar and getting instructions about dealing with the brewery men, Doyle grabbed his coat and joined Bodie on the other side of the bar.

"What's up?" Bodie asked.

"Nothing--I've been given the rest of the night off."

"You're feeling okay, aren't you--your cold isn't too bad, is it?" Draining his glass and fastening his coat, Bodie followed his partner out the door. "Trouble?" he asked as soon as they reached the street.

"I'm not sure. O'Connell's going on the trip tomorrow and he's asked me to open up in the morning and take delivery from the brewery," he rattled the bundle of keys under Bodie's nose, "The whole building will be empty, his wife's away until late morning at least."

"Henderson can get his boys in and wire the place up--that'll make it easier for us to keep an eye on what's happening," Bodie said delightedly. "That's the best news I've had all day. Let's get back to your flat and I'll radio Cowley."

George Cowley's reaction to the news was muted and he asked Doyle to re-consider his opinion of O'Connells's non-political stance. "It could just be a co-incidence," he said after a few moment's careful thought. "And then again there is possibly some connection between O'Connell and Mahak."

It was decided to plant two agents on the coach in addition to the following cars and the CI5 and Interpol units waiting at Dover.

Ending the radio link, Bodie tossed the r/t aside, emptied his pockets of fifty pence pieces, and bent down to turn on all three bars of the small fire. "How are you feeling today?" he asked when he saw Doyle rubbing the side of his face.

"Fine, better than yesterday anyway. My face isn't hurting so much."

Bodie rubbed the misshapen cheek with fingers he'd toasted by the fire. "I hadn't realised it was painful--can't they fix it for you?"

Wrapping his arms around his lover and leaning against the fingers massaging away the pain from his broken cheekbone, Doyle closed his eyes. "Only hurts when I get cold, it's a bit like a nagging toothache and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Bodie touched his lips to the injured spot. "Can hardly see the scar now," he murmured.

"Pull the other one," Doyle snorted in obvious disbelief and tried to pull away.

"Compared to when I first saw you it's almost invisible," Bodie insisted holding him securely in place. "Can't imagine you without it now, make you look...interesting."

"It looks downright bloody ugly so stop patronising me, there's no need," Doyle said, anger and embarrassment making him want to hide his face from the all seeing eyes.

"Who said it was ugly?" Bodie demanded to know.

"Look, forget it," Doyle finally broke free. "I want a cup of coffee, how about you?"

Accepting the unspoken plea to change the subject, Bodie turned his attention towards food; his last meal had been a toasted sandwich in a dock canteen over eight hours ago.

As the evening drew to a close it became obvious that Ray was still far from well; his temperature rose steadily and the pain from his aching face made him snappy and irritable. Bodie bit his tongue and kept his mouth shut, knowing that one wrong word and they would end up having an argument.

Hurrying back into the warm haven of Ray's room after braving the elements in the bathroom, Bodie pulled the air mattress out from behind the sofa and began making the bed up. "You keep your head down when it all starts tomorrow," Bodie said firmly having come to a decision to speak his mind. "And no buts, Doyle. Even a blind man can see you're not well. All you have to do is let Henderson's lad fix the place and then give the word when Mahak is about to leave.

Having already come to the same conclusion himself, Doyle didn't object. "If he turns up," he said sourly and bent down to tuck the sheet in on his side of the bed.

"Interpol are watching a group in Paris, we think it's the incoming lot so it looks good for tomorrow."

Although he wanted to be in on the sweep that picked Mahak off the street, Doyle knew Bodie was right; his cold was dragging his reaction times right down and in a difficult situation he could be more of a liability than a help. "So, how am I supposed to distract everyone when you lot move on Mahak--leap up on the bar starkers and sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?" he asked and blew furiously into his handkerchief.

Tapping the red and sore looking nose with his finger, Bodie laughed. "Now that I'd love to see."

"Really?" Doyle raised one eyebrow. "Or is it just the idea of me starkers that turns you on?"

"Haven't seen you starkers for weeks," Bodie added in a gloomy voice. "I'll be glad to get you back home to decent central heating and our bed. All this groping about under a mountain of blankets is a real pain."

"It's had its moments," Doyle said with a fond smile--and then sneezed violently. "Oh, hell!" he moaned, his hand returning to cup his broken cheekbone.

"Let me," Bodie offered and leant over, rubbing the aching cheek in firm circular movements. "Taken anything for it?"

"Some tablets, they should start working soon," Doyle mumbled.

"You need to sleep," Bodie said firmly, "if you're going to keep on your feet until closing time tomorrow night. We can't have them sending you home sick."

"I should be so lucky," Doyle bemoaned his lot in life. "There's only me, the missus, her sister and Johnny working the place tomorrow." Quickly stripping and getting into bed, he burrowed down into the warmth. "Leave the fire on until we've warmed the bed up," he told Bodie.

Pausing in the middle of removing his trousers, Bodie left one bar of the fire on and looked down at the huddled body. "Feeling any better?" he asked hopefully.

"No, I feel bloody 'orrible but I could do with a cuddle. The way I feel anything else will be a miracle!"

"Never mind, we'll be home tomorrow and then off on our holiday," Bodie promised as Doyle curled onto his side and snuggled against him, back to chest, one arm held lightly around the trim waist. "Do you want to know where we're going?" Bodie asked, excited at the prospect of the holiday he had planned for them.

"As long as we won't be expected to do any decorating and the place has a bed that doesn't need blowing up and has blankets that tuck in around the sides, I don't much care," Doyle said sleepily.

In the glow of the fire, Bodie grinned; only a few more days and they'd be off to the sun--providing Mahak or George Cowley didn't put a spanner in the works. "Are you warm enough, only I want to turn this fire off?" he asked. Taking the muffled grunt to be assent, he turned the switch off and snuggled down under the cover.

---

After letting Bodie and two electronics men in the side door of the otherwise empty pub, Doyle went around the front to watch the brewery men off-load the casks and crates. The coach carrying Mahak and his five companions as well as O'Connell and two CI5 agents had left the quiet street several hours before.

Signing the delivery forms and waving goodbye to the brewer's driver and his mate, Doyle saw the electronics men walking away from the pub. Inside the bar Bodie was waiting for him. "They've put two cameras covering both the exits. Unless the Missus decides to take the Christmas decorations down they shouldn't be noticed."

Doyle looked at the small gadgets cleverly concealed high up on the ornate decorations. "Wired for sound?"

"No. Colin reckons there will be too much background noise, the juke box, conversations and so forth. Here's your wire; you know how to put it on, don't you?" Bodie handed over the plastic bag.

Pushing it into his jacket pocket, Doyle said, "Yes, I know. I'll put it on just before the evening session, there won't be much point before then. When's the coach due to arrive back here?"

"Around nine thirty, depending on the traffic--could be earlier or later."

"What about a gun?"

"For you? Where will you hide it in your uniform?" Bodie asked; the close fitting black trousers and fitted emerald shirt left no room to hide anything.

"I don't like the idea of being unarmed," Doyle said with a frown on his face. "I know we're going to try and take him without any gunfire but he's a wily bastard--has to be or he wouldn't have survived for this long."

"I think he's had it easy so long he's become lax, he's taking stupid risks like using the same place for a jump off point. 2.6 even saw him parking his car in the street round the back of here earlier this morning."

"I still don't like it--and what's Day doing on this op? I'd heard a rumour he was leaving the squad." He had seen the man driving the white surveillance van.

"He has," grinned Bodie. "He's transferred to Henderson's mob. He's replaced Ben Hollbright as second in charge."

"Spying on people's private lives is what he's good at!" Doyle shot back. "I hope he gets lumbered with all the boring unrewarding observation jobs--serve him bloody right if he dies of bloody boredom!" Doyle's dislike of and constant irritation over Day's misguided persecution of himself was as strong as ever. "But I still want a gun for tonight."

"In that uniform--"

"I'll get round it, I'll...wear a jumper or something and tuck it in my waistband. If Mrs O'Connell starts moaning I'll tell her my cold's getting worse and I need to keep warm."

"Just make sure she doesn't pack you off home early," Bodie gave in and handed over his own gun. "I'll collect yours from the armoury this afternoon."

"Who is going to be in here tonight?"

"Karen and the new bloke, Nick Jamieson, and me. But we're strictly back-up for emergencies. Cowley wants Mahak taken from the street as soon as he walks out through those doors. If we're quick we should be able to keep him away from any members of the public when we grab him." Bodie pointed up at the cameras; they were positioned to cover the doors and could give plenty of warning to the observation detail; the two public exits from the bar required patrons to use doors that led to a small entrance hall, barely big enough for one person at a time, before exiting through the door to the street. In the summer the inner door would be wedged open but in the winter both doors were closed against the seasonal chill.

"And what about the group that arrives back from Dover?"

"Providing they stick to their normal routine they'll leave in a minibus for Liverpool Docks around closing time. Mahak usually lets them get away before leaving the pub alone." Going over the final details had the dual effect of calming taut nerves as well as hyping them up in readiness for action. "Day and his team will be a few streets away in the Buggy-boo, they'll be watching the two exits ready to give the others outside the doors a shout when he makes for the exit. If anything goes wrong it's down to the four of us inside the pub to put him down."

Doyle pulled a face at that. "In a crowded bar. Let's hope nothing scares him because we know he won't think twice about innocent Joe Public!"

Agreeing with his partner, Bodie's face became grim. So far everything had gone well, almost too well. Expecting a peaceful end to such a sensitive operation was perhaps asking for too much. He watched Doyle hide the wire device and gun in a small locker and then turn to the little hand basin in a cubby hole behind the bar to wash away the grime he had collected from the casks and crates. He leant forward and ruffled a handful of hair in a burst of affection and smiled indulgently at the snort of annoyance that resulted. He wished he knew why Doyle got so rattled every time he did that. "It's got nice and long again. I didn't like it short; long suits you much better."

Ducking away from the hand playing with the silky curls lying against the back of his neck, Doyle dried his hands and wished once again that the touch, which obviously gave so much pleasure to Bodie, didn't disturb him so much. "It's too long, needs a cut."

"Maybe a trim, not too much off," Bodie stretched out his hand to ruffle the thick curls again but Doyle ducked away and so he caught hold of him by his arm and pulled him forwards to claim a kiss instead.

"Not in here, you fool!" Doyle hissed angrily. "Day can get his job satisfaction at someone else's expense, not mine!"

Bodie laughed and pulled Doyle even harder, succeeding in tugging him off balance and closer to him. "The cameras are pointing at the doors and you're not wired up yet--no-one can see or hear us."

Peering up at the cameras, Doyle double-checked that they were only covering the doors but he was still stiff and very tense when Bodie leant forward to claim a kiss.

"Well I hope you're going to be more demonstrative when this is all over," Bodie moaned, but his smile softened the complaint. They had only made love once since Christmas night, Doyle at first too ill and recovering from his stomach upset and then because he went down fast with a stinking cold.

"Sorry--it's just...I know Day's behind those cameras and wouldn't he just love to get something like this on me--on us. Besides," he added, "me cold's making my lips all dry and my nose is so bunged up kissing for more than a few seconds isn't on anyway."

"Don't worry about Day--and don't worry about your cold, the worst is over now and you'll be fine for our holiday."

"Are you sure Cowley's going to let us have two weeks--"

"I'm sure--and I've got to dash," Bodie said checking the time. "I've got a briefing at HQ in twenty minutes about tonight's little bash. I'll telephone you if anything crops up."

"Bodie--" Doyle called after the retreating back but he was gone and fortunately just in time as Mrs O'Connell and her sister arrived home a few moments later and quickly disappeared to the upstairs flat, leaving Doyle to open the bar up.

---

By the time the day trippers arrived back at the pub with their shopping trolleys full of beer and spirits, wines, cheeses and French sticks, the bar was pleasantly busy. The day's operation continued to run smoothly when Mahak and his weary sun-browned party sat down at a table immediately in front of 3.4 and her companion, 5.1.

In the large white delivery van parked a few streets away, Day and the two electronics men watched the flickering monitors and listened to the babble of noise coming from 4.5's wire, the only clearly audible sounds being Doyle's voice as he spoke to the customers. "Good night gents!" The pre-arranged code boomed around the van as Doyle let them know that Mahak's group were leaving.

"Alpha Delta to Sea Watch One. Group leaving via exit two; repeat, group leaving via exit two."

In the street outside the Seven Bells several pairs of eyes watched the five men climb into the battered mini-bus, pulling away after them and keeping them within range of the bugging device secured to the bus's bodywork.

Now, with only Mahak left, everyone's attention was concentrated on the pub; Day leant forward and increased the volume on 4.5's wire.

"What the hell--"

Doyle's surprised voice came through clearly.

"Ray," another voice was heard, softer and more distant that 4.5's and in the van the men peered at the monitors, swearing when they realised that neither Doyle nor his companion were visible.

"What the hell do you want?" Doyle's voice was hard and sounded angry.

"I wanted to talk with you--"

"Whatever it is you've come here to say you can fuck off--I don't want to hear it."

Day frowned at the viciousness of Doyle's response; something was clearly wrong and he thumbed open his r/t. "Alpha Delta to Sea Watch Two. 4.5 has engaged conversation with unknown male, no description at this time. Tone of conversation hostile."

Over the speakers the conversation in the bar continued. "How the hell did you know where to find me?" Doyle was asking. "Who told you to come here?"

"I saw you this morning. I was parked at the traffic lights outside when I saw you talking to the driver of a brewery lorry."

"So why didn't you call in this morning--why drag yourself back tonight?"

In the bar, 5.1 touched one finger to the hard lump of plastic wedged inside his ear and frowned. He nudged 3.4 and leant towards her. "Trouble. Who's that talking to Ray at the bar?"

Scanning the bar with a deliberate vagueness, she saw the tall, thickset man who was frowning and talking to 4.5. "I've no idea," she murmured quietly. As they watched, Doyle tried to turn away from his visitor but was grabbed by his arm, the bigger man leaning across the counter to hold him. One or two other customers were beginning to notice something was going on. In the Buggy-boo the three men listening with worried frowns.

"Carole told me to come and see you--I didn't want to, couldn't see why I damn well should."

"Well you shouldn't have bothered. Since when have you taken orders from your wife--things must 'ave changed a lot if Carole's giving the orders nowadays."

"I don't see why I should have to put myself out for you--you never came back to see us. If you had asked we could have helped you--"

"I don't remember you rolling out the fucking welcome mat the first time--I didn't exactly get the feeling that a repeat visit was encouraged or expected!"

"That was your own fault. Turning up out of the blue like that without any warning--not even a phone call. What was I supposed to think--"

"You thought I'd broken out and you even reported me to the police, you bastard! Oh, don't look so surprised--I know what you did--your concern for my well-being was so touching."

"Look, Ray. I've come a long way tonight and I need to talk to you--"

"I've already heard everything you're going to throw at me and I don't need to hear it again."

"Look, I just want to help you--"

"Then fuck off, get out of here and leave me alone!"

"Ray, will you be sensible--"

"Can't you see I'm working, I'm busy--so fuck off and go home."

In the pub, 5.1 saw Doyle pull away and walk to the opposite end of the bar and begin serving another customer. The tall man looked undecided for a minute but then walked purposefully towards Doyle, pushing his way through the other customers, who let him pass with curious eyes. He waited beside the man Doyle was serving with cool deliberation, waiting until the transaction was completed. "I'll have a whisky and soda," the man said, daring Doyle to refuse to serve him.

In the room conversation had become quieter as several people, Mahak amongst them, watched the two obviously angry men. Doyle slammed the drink down and took the note held out in payment. Turning back from dealing with the till and handing the man's change over, Doyle realised they were causing a scene and tried to cool down; this was not the diversion he had expected to be making. "Look, drink up and then go. Please, just go. This is where I work--if it's a row you want we can meet another time." The humble words almost choked Doyle but he forced them out.

As if sensing he was winning the bigger man took one small sip and placed his glass down on the wet bar top. "How long have you worked here?" he asked, his lips curling in distaste as he looked around.

"Not long--are you going to leave? Don't make any trouble for me, not in here. Just go."

The sound of Doyle almost pleading with him not to cause any trouble which might cost him his job clearly pleased the bigger man and he pulled an empty bar stool closer and perched on it. "Is this what you've sunk to?" the stranger asked in a sneering tone as Doyle finished serving a drink to an old man beside him. "What happened to all your airy-fairy notions? I might have known you'd never amount to anything--"

"If you've quite finished--" Doyle started fiercely but then choked his anger back down, his hold on his temper slipping.

"I don't suppose you can get a decent job, though. Don't they have lists of people willing to employ so-called ex-criminals? Anyone who'd employ one of your sort must be a bloody fool!"

From his position beside one of the two doors, Bodie heard the loud comment as did half the people in the room. He wanted to go over and find out what was happening and who the man was but he had to stay in place and cover Mahak.

At the bar the man was continuing, playing up to his audience and making no attempt to be discreet. "But I suppose I might be able to make an exception in your case. Though I don't see why I should, especially after all the trouble you've caused. After all your posturing and preaching and whinging about the police force being the life for you--"

Bodie saw Mahak tense at the reference to the police and watched in alarm as the Arab glanced around the room checking the exits.

At the bar Doyle's visitor was growing angrier and louder. "It wasn't enough that you were too selfish to help me and Dad with the business; you know that you killed him, don't you. He would have retired if you'd joined us--but oh no, we weren't good enough for you--"

"John, will you belt up, this is hardly the place--"

"So you joined the police and then what...you proved you were no better than those you said you despised. Eight years in prison--you broke Mum's heart--"

"John, just shut up!" Behind his brother, Doyle could see all eyes watching them and could see the sudden wariness in Mahak's body language.

"And even in prison you still managed to shame us--you nearly killed that guard--"

"Will you go home? Just go home!"

"You're rotten through and through," John Doyle raged at his young half-brother. "Mum worried herself sick over you and all you did was to keep on lying. She wore herself out worrying about you. You killed her the same way you killed Dad, with your bloody selfishness. You wouldn't even admit it when you were caught out--you had to keep on lying, keep on upsetting her."

As all eyes watched the two men, Mahak made his move seemingly unperturbed by the commotion at the bar. As soon as the monitors picked up his movements Day shouted out the message. "Alpha Delta to Sea Watch Two. Teacher moving to exit one, repeat exit one."

As the Arab passed his table, Bodie signalled to 5.1 and 3.4 and they moved to follow him through the door and into the arms of the group waiting for him outside. Mahak's hand was on the door catch when Bodie saw the sudden tensing of muscles and knew it was going wrong; on the other side of the screen door the outlines of three men showed in the headlights of a passing car. Mahak turned and made eye contact with Bodie.

For a split second nothing happened and then all hell broke lose. From nowhere a large black handgun appeared in the Arab's hand, and a sideways leap sent people and chairs tumbling as he made a dash for the door to the private rooms behind the bar.

Forgetting his brother, Doyle pulled the gun from his waistband where it had been hidden by his loose jumper and pushed Mrs O'Connell, who had been listening to the family argument with great relish, to one side to get a clear shot as the Arab jumped over the bar to land awkwardly on a crate of dry ginger bottles. A bottle at Mahak's shoulder exploded as the first bullet narrowly missed him but the second caught him high on his right shoulder sending him reeling--but not before he loosed off a couple of shots himself--firing into the ceiling and causing plaster to fall down and adding to the confusion and destruction.

On Bodie's side of the bar it was pandemonium. The three agents waiting outside for Mahak burst in at the first gunshot, their own guns drawn and the customers were falling over themselves in panic to get out of their way; glasses, tables and chairs were thrown every way amid screams of fright and cries for help. Vaulting the bar and landing evenly on the balls of his feet, Bodie grabbed Mahak and knocked the gun away from his hand. "I've got him," Bodie's cry to the other agents was echoed from the other end of the bar but, busy searching the Arab, Bodie didn't hear it.

Keeping his gun trained on Mahak while Bodie disarmed him, Doyle didn't see the look of horror on his brother's face nor the look of resolve that quickly replaced it. The blow to the side of his head sent Doyle crashing to the floor, a wall of pain making him helpless as he lay on the floor in a puddle of spilt beer; through a red mist he saw a pair of black trouser legs come into view and he tried to turn over, his move blocked instantly when his arms were pulled back and a great weight settled on him.

"I've got him, I've got his gun!" John Doyle shouted triumphantly.

Looking up from securing Mahak's wrists into a pair of stout handcuffs, Bodie was in time to see Day yanking the big man off Doyle and throwing him hard against the wall before thrusting a CI5 identification card into his face. On the floor, Ray sagged back down, clearly hurting.

"Doyle?" Bodie left Mahak to Lake to deal with and ran to his partner's side. Only barely conscious, Doyle was soaking wet from lying on the puddled floor and Bodie helped him to a sitting position before feeling the head wound with gently fingers, blood smearing them.

"Who the fuck is he?" Bodie hissed at Day who was still holding the surprised man against the wall.

"A relative, I think," Day replied tersely. "Christ, with relatives like this one Doyle doesn't need enemies!"

"Get him out of here!" Bodie snapped and watched as the stunned John Doyle was dragged from behind the bar by Day and 5.1.

"Bodie..." Doyle spoke with difficulty, his mouth not wanting to co-ordinate with his brain. "My brother...he's my...brother.

"You little runt!" John Doyle broke away from the stunned agents as they heard Doyle's announcement. Glowering over the bar counter at his little brother who was still only half conscious, John Doyle demanded to know what he was up to this time.

"I said get him out of here!" Bodie shouted. Turning his back on the men as they hustled the still-blustering man away, Bodie turned back to Doyle; hidden from sight below the level of the counter they were allowed some privacy. "Okay, sunshine, you've copped one hell of a wallop on your head but I think you'll live," he said softly. "How do you feel?"

In answer Doyle looked up at him, smiled sweetly, blinked once and then passed out cold.

Order was slowly restored. Mrs O'Connell proved she was made of stern stuff and helped pacify and calm her terrified customers; across the bar the drink flowed freely. Mahak was whisked away with a fully armed escort to get medical attention and the 'D' notice blanking out all media coverage was in full force, the promise of the full story when the operation was successfully closed sufficient to placate the eager news hounds.

In a quiet corner Cowley viewed the scene with barely concealed anger. "A quiet and easy lift from the street and look at this mess! What happened?"

Day, his loyalties divided between his former colleagues and the observation crew chewed on his lip. "It was just one of those things; he moved for the door and the shadows of the team outside showed up on the glass--"

"He wasn't alerted by the disturbance between 4.5 and his brother?" Cowley asked having already received a full report on that particular hiccup.

"I think he was enjoying the distraction along with everyone else," Bodie said. "Until the brother said something about Ray being in the force; that's when he moved. He saw the team outside and turned back. We made eye contact. I'm sorry, sir," Bodie didn't attempt to cover up the truth. "He knew exactly what was going on and reacted very fast. There were members of the public between us and I couldn't fire. He vaulted the bar--probably looking for the back exit and Doyle had a clear shot at him."

"And then got belted by his brother for his pains," added Day. "The stupid git...the man thought he was doing something heroic!"

"He had no reason at that time to believe otherwise," Cowley said acidly. "He was unaware of 4.5's changed circumstances--he no doubt thought he had seen his own brother shoot a man in cold blood."

"Well perhaps it's time that he was told the truth!" Bodie retorted angrily. "Where is he?"

"I will deal with John Doyle. I take it 4.5 has been taken to hospital?" At Bodie's nod Cowley took a final glance around the pub. "At least Mahak is alive," he said, and then walked out.

"And so, no thanks to you, is Ray Doyle," muttered Day under his breath.

Leaving the pub behind them and walking towards their vehicle Bodie referred to Day's untypical comment. "Do I detect a change of heart regarding your opinion of 4.5?" he asked mildly.

"You couldn't hear all that he was saying to Ray, could you?" At Bodie's wary shake of his head, Day continued. "It was how he was saying it that was as bad as what he was saying. Christ, he was talking to...to his own brother like Ray was so much dirt under his shoes. And Doyle had to stand there and take it--had to stand there and let that bastard rant on at him in front of everyone knowing full well that he was wired up and we were listening to every bloody word."

"He couldn't deny anything or he would have blown his cover--"

"I know that," snapped Day. "But even so--christ, but I hope Cowley puts the bastard straight!"

Driving over to the hospital, Bodie wondered whether hearing Day's change of heart would cheer his partner up much; the animosity between the two men had been more than obvious to everyone who knew them, and even though Day was no longer on the same squad, a lessening of tension between them would enable the whole squad to relax.

He was forced to wait for over an hour when he reached the hospital as Doyle was still being seen by doctors and having X-rays taken. When he finally gained access to the private room he found his partner looking well despite the dark rings around his eyes.

"Why are they keeping you in for a few days--what's wrong?" he asked immediately.

"Just for observation, don't worry," Doyle reassured him. "Seems John packs one hell of a wallop and he managed to hit that same spot I had the skull fracture in the spring last year." He rubbed the spot over his ear gently.

"But you're okay?"

"More or less--got a hell of a headache but I think half of that is from my cold."

Relieved it was nothing more serious, Bodie pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. Turning onto his side, Doyle slid down the bed a little until his face was level with Bodie's "What's happened to Mahak?" he asked quietly, his eyes looking soft and drowsy.

Bodie placed his forearms flat on the bed and leant forward until his face was only inches from Doyle's. "He's here, they're operating on him to remove your bullet. We've got him so don't worry."

"Good," Doyle said softly.

"Good," echoed Bodie in a whisper.

"You know," Doyle said, his eyes closing slowly and Bodie wondered if he had been given a sedative. "I wish we were back home."

"So do I, sunshine," replied Bodie bending forwards the last inch or so to touch the dry lips briefly.

"Do you think anyone...anyone would notice if you climbed in here with me?" Doyle smiled at him, his eyes dark and sultry, promising everything.

At that moment Bodie was quite prepared to barricade the door against intruders and do just that but then the unmistakable voice of George Cowley was heard and he hurriedly sat up straight.

"Chicken," teased Doyle.

"Too bloody right, sweetheart!" said Bodie and then Cowley entered the room.

---

Bodie climbed the steps into the hospital on the second morning with a definite spring in his step. Disdaining to use the lift he ran up the three flights to Doyle's floor, produced his ID card to the security man on duty and pushed through the swing doors only narrowly missing colliding with the couple exiting.

"Good morning, Mr Doyle," Bodie said politely but with no hint of welcome in his face or voice.

John Doyle nodded to the CI5 man and hurried the woman with him through the door without replying further.

Opening the door to Doyle's room, Bodie stuck his head inside and checked it was all right to enter. "All clear?"

Glancing up from attacking the hospital identification bracelet around his wrist with a pair of scissors, Doyle gave a tight, tense smile. "Just about."

Seeing the strain and guessing that the visit from the family had been as difficult as they'd both thought it would be, Bodie asked carefully. "What did they have to say?'

Doyle shrugged and threw the bracelet into the bin. "Not much. Lots of awkward silences. Carole tried her best but John's never been much for polite conversation. Still, thanks to Cowley at least I didn't have to go into a long explanation of everything."

Doyle looked and sounded dejected, as if the meeting with his brother had only re-opened old wounds instead of healing them. Closing the door to the corridor and leaning on it, Bodie opened his arms, inviting Ray into the protective circle. "At least they know the whole truth now," he said quietly as Doyle burrowed into the embrace. "Are you going to keep in touch with them?"

"Suppose so," Doyle sighed. "I've got to see the family solicitors at some time. There's something for me from Mum's will--and her shares in the business apparently. I thought she would have left them all for John, or John's children at least. But it seems that even though she believed I'd lied to her she still felt they ought to come to me. I suppose she figured I'd really need them once I got out."

"Shares?" Bodie asked, puzzled at the words. "You mean, company shares?"

"Yes. The family business. J.D. Doyle and Sons," chanted Doyle. "Funeral Directors." His eyes sparkling he watched Bodie for a reaction.

"Funeral..." Bodie gulped. "Undertakers. Your family are..."

"Undertakers. Yes." Doyle was resigned to the inevitable. "And please, don't bother with the jokes. I've heard them all; it's a dying trade, a dead boring job..."

"Undertakers!" Bodie could hardly believe his ears.

"Why are people always so bloody surprised when I tell them. It's just a job--someone has to do it!" Doyle said in exasperation. All his life it had been the same, at school it had been real hell once the other kids found out and he had quickly learnt not to talk about it. "My father, his father, and his father. My uncles even have their own businesses; me cousins work with them, two of my cousins work with John. There aren't many in my generation who don't work for the family. Only me and a cousin, only met her once when I was a kid. She married a vicar so I suppose you could say she was still involved in the business in some way."

"Your father wanted you to become..." Bodie tried to picture his partner as one of the grey-faced, sombre, suited pall-bearers seen at funerals and failed.

"I hated it, hated the whole business. It used to be my job when I was at school to polish the brass handles; every weekend and after school Dad expected me to help out in the workshop. Just being down there used to make me feel sick--"

"I'm not surprised!" Bodie said. "Expecting a kid to work with...with dead bodies!"

"Give over, Bodie," Doyle laughed. "I was only a kid. I never saw the bodies. Mum and Dad were always careful about things like that. It was just the workshop. I hated the place, especially if John was with me," he gave a shudder and buried his face in Bodie's throat, his tongue licking the pulse point.

Pressed against the door with Doyle plastered down his front, Bodie was struggling to come to terms with the new information; John Doyle was very different to his half brother; tall and heavily built with a mop of thick black hair and pale skin, the short meeting Bodie had with him had not left a favourable impression. Now that he knew the man was an undertaker, Bodie understood why he had found him so unsettling.

"You've never got on very well with John, have you?'

"No. Don't really know why but I suppose he resented getting landed with me when Mum and Dad were working. He always found some reason to wallop me or shove me in a box," Doyle touched the side of his head. "He hasn't changed that much!"

"What do you mean, shove you in a box?" Bodie asked.

"What? Oh, years and years ago, if he hit me and made me cry he knew Mum would go for him if she heard me; so, every time I cried he'd put me in a box, sometimes in one of the coffins in the workshop and then sit on the lid until I'd stopped crying and promised not to tell."

The mumbled story made Bodie go cold as the implications hit him. In his arms Doyle seemed unconcerned at telling the tale but Bodie wondered whether his fear of the dark had begun before or after big brother had forced him into the coffins. "Ray--" he began but got no further.

"Cowley was here last night; we can still have our two weeks' leave starting from today."

"I know, I've got the cases in the car--"

"Then what are we waiting for? Come on, Bodie. My head's fine and my cold is all gone--"

"You've probably given it to me," Bodie said gloomily, predicting the worst. "Come on then, Cinders. Your carriage awaits!" He gave Doyle a brief kiss before pushing him away and turning to open the door.

In the car park Doyle saw the suitcases already packed on the back seat. "Where to first?" he asked.

"Back home, we need to pick up one more thing and I couldn't find it--"

Doyle cut in, excited at the prospect of a holiday. "Are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"Haven't got a lot of choice, sunshine," Bodie said wryly as they left the hospital carpark behind them.

"Oh, why's that?"

"Well," Bodie was temporarily distracted by the heavy traffic. "Well, Cowley's given us two weeks, right?"

"Twelve days to be more precise," Doyle corrected.

"And we've had extended leave before, haven't we?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, how often have we been called back from a nice cushy holiday or a promising moment by Cowley to Save-Civilisation-As-We-Know-It?"

"It has been known to happen," Doyle agreed, wondering what the hell his crazy partner was planning.

"So," grinned Bodie, obviously pleased with himself. "I've booked us in somewhere right out of Cowley's reach and packed our cases--"

"Where the hell are we going?" Doyle tried to imagine a place that could possibly be out of George Cowley's reach.

"Abroad," Bodie said, enjoying the sound of the word as it rolled off his tongue.

"The Isle of Wight?"

"No."

"The Channel Isles?"

"No."

"I've got it--the Scilly Isles?"

"No! Good Lord, Doyle, can't you think any further than that? Try somewhere hot and sunny," he suggested.

"You really mean...abroad. As in foreign abroad?" Doyle asked, in surprise.

"Yes, you fool--foreign abroad!"

"Where, for heaven's sake?"

"You'll find that out when we get there. Everything is arranged, all you have to do is sit back and leave everything to me." Bodie patted Doyle's leg, lingering briefly before reluctantly removing his hand. "But there is just one small problem. Like I said, everything's arranged. The flight, a hire car waiting for us at the other end, somewhere very nice and...very private for us to stay. Everything you're likely to need is in your case--"

"We can't go," Doyle said suddenly his voice very definite.

"Of course we can, it's all arranged. Like I said, there's only one little problem--"

"What have you put in my case? I've seen how you pack a suitcase before." Doyle was half over the front seat and grappling at his case when Bodie yanked him back down.

"Leave your case alone, you fool. You'll make me smash the car up if you do that again." Bodie tugged hard on the thick jacket, holding him in place, letting him go only when it was clear he wasn't going to attempt climbing into the back of the car again. "If I've forgotten anything important I'll buy it for you when we get there," he promised with a disarming grin and another lingering caress over an upper thigh.

"Well," the warm hand threatened to drive all Doyle's objections out of his mind. "What about...money?" he gasped eventually as Bodie's fingers stroked him through the straining fabric.

"You've got your bank card on you, haven't you? You can get some currency either at Heathrow or when we get there, that's no problem."

"Yes, but--"

"But nothing," Bodie said firmly.

"Bodie, I can't just get on a plane and fly off somewhere--"

"We're going!" Bodie shouted and braked hard at a set of traffic lights that had turned red. On the kerbside a pedestrian scowled at him and walked around the front of the car that was blocking the walkway. Bodie ignored the pedestrian and turned to his partner. "We've got two whole weeks--"

"Twelve days."

"Twelve fucking days so far away Cowley wouldn't even consider pulling us back early. Two weeks...twelve days away from London, England, CI5 and the bloody rain. The bags are packed, the flight takes off in just under four hours. I've told you not to worry about the money so what the fuck are you so worried about?"

When the angry tirade finally stopped Doyle told him.

---

It only took them three hours to sort Doyle's little problem out. Three hours; one urgent telephone call to George Cowley who listened in disbelief as they informed him of the nature of the problem and called in all the favours they felt the man owed them and asking, nearly begging him to use his influence to speed the usual slow cogs of bureaucracy along a little faster.

They left Central London with less than an hour to spare, Bodie driving towards Heathrow with the car's two tone blaring all the way. He didn't turn it off until they reached the tunnel entrance to the airport. Dumping Doyle and the suitcases at the terminal to check the luggage in, he tore around to the long-stay car park and parked in the first available space and then ran back to the terminal. He found Doyle waiting for him at the entrance to the departure lounge.

"Our flight is already boarding at Gate Six," Doyle informed him. "The woman at the desk said she would call through and tell them we're on our way."

As they hurried through passport control, neither of them merited a second look and they walked quickly through the lounge to Gate 6. When they arrived they joined the end of a queue of people waiting to board the plane and found they had time to get their breath back.

"Oh--what was the little problem you were trying to tell me about in the car?" Doyle asked as he leafed through the ticket. Their destination was Lanzarote and he was still trying to remember his geography lessons and locate the place; he didn't dare tell Bodie he didn't have a clue where it was.

"Oh, my little problem," Bodie repeated and tucked his passport safely away before twitching Doyle's out of his hand and opening it. "I couldn't find your passport," he said. "I looked everywhere for it. It just never occurred to me that you could have reached the grand old age of thirty without ever leaving the country--"

"It's not that unusual--and I have been to Holland. Twice. Had a special Visitors Passport, or something. It never seemed worth all the fuss of getting a full British Passport."

"Well you've got one now!" Bodie hit him with it. "Thanks to George Cowley pulling strings right left and bleedin' centre. And as for that prissy bitch at the Home Office and that stupid clerk at the Passport Office..."

Doyle decided it might be prudent to change the subject and asked about Lanzarote. "Hot and sunny there this time of year, is it? Isn't it somewhere off the coast of Spain... In the Med or somewhere like that, isn't it?"

Still unable to believe they had succeeded in getting Doyle issued with a full passport in less than three hours--most people were lucky to get it back in under three months, Bodie almost mussed the question. "Spain? Spain?" he asked in horror. "Do you really think I'd waste two weeks--"

"Twelve days," Doyle chipped in.

"Twelve days in poxy-bloody-Spain!"

"Well...where is it then?" Doyle asked when he finally believed that Spain wasn't their destination. Hot and sunny to him had always meant Spain. But Bodie wouldn't be drawn any further, and realising that their fellow passengers in nearby seats were enjoying their conversation, Doyle decided to stop asking. Instead he read the brochure stuck in the pocket of the seat in front of him, read the emergency escape instructions and tested all the buttons and knobs surrounding his chair. He had been on board lots of planes, collecting prisoners and depositing them on board, but he'd never actually flown anywhere before. Even his two trips to Holland had been in a state of total inebriation on board Sealink Ferries.

As they taxied towards the runway, Bodie looked at his partner's face and enquired. "You feeling okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Why?"

"You've gone a bit white, your head giving you trouble?" Bodie was concerned. The hospital had said Ray was fit enough to travel. "And you're sweating."

"I'm fine," Doyle insisted, wishing Bodie would just shut up.

"Are you sure you don't want the window seat? There's still time to switch over."

"I'm sure."

"Only as you've never flown before I'd 'ave thought you'd want to see--"

"I don't want to look out of the window--okay!"

"Here we go then," Bodie said. The plane began to pick up speed as it moved down the runway. "Let's hope the wing doesn't fall off!"

"Shut up!"

Bodie looked at Doyle, really looked at him. Not only was he as white as a sheet and sweating freely, he had his eyes shut tight and his lips pressed together in a hard line. Just then the engine sound increased in volume as the plane lifted up from the ground and the front of the plane tipped upwards at a sharp angle. Doyle gripped the offered hand like a drowning man. Smiling, Bodie leant across the seat and whispered into Doyle's ear. "Cheer up, sweetheart. It's like most first times--a bit scary, but worth trying again."

Doyle opened his eyes at the sexy whisper, his fear receding a little with Bodie's comforting presence. Ever since Christmas night, sleeping together had been just that. Too full of cold, and too tired to make love properly, they had just curled up together, perhaps rubbing against each other to a lazy undemanding climax. It had been a long time since they had made love properly. "Do they have mushrooms in Lanzarote?'

Delighted at the reference to that wonderful night when Doyle had managed another 'first', Bodie whispered back "No, but then who needs mushrooms. There will be you, me, a swimming pool and a luxurious villa all to ourselves. We can take our time and do it again without mushrooms."

"Oh yes. Who needs mushrooms," Doyle said huskily.

Bodie swallowed hard as Doyle's voice and eyes promised him everything. "Unless you want to join the Five-Mile-High Club, sunshine, don't look at me like that."

"What's the Five-Mile-High Club?" Doyle asked, all innocence,

Bodie began to explain.

-- THE END --

The end, finally. Thanks to everyone for being so patient, especially to HG who was so disappointed with 'A Different Beginning' and to O Yardley for her encouragement.

'ROB'
30 July 1989

---

Typist's Note: This version of the book was very lightly edited with the permission of the author. Any resulting infelicities are mine, with my apologies.

J.L.
22 February 2006

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