---

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Turner was already backing out of the smoke-filled room and regretting the impulse that had caused him to open the door when he caught sight of Bodie. Taking a final breath of fresh air in the corridor, he stepped into the room and made his way over to the money-laden table.

"I'll see your five and raise you...ten," an American voice drawled.

"Don't listen to him," the black man snorted. "He ain't never gonna bluff no Limey!"

"You hush your mouth," the first man scolded good-naturedly. "What's it to be, Bodie--it'll cost you fifteen to see me?"

"Not yet," Bodie replied, smoothly pushing the limp blue notes to the pile in the middle. "I'll see your fifteen and raise you...twenty."

"Twenty! Shit! What are you trying to do? Pay off the national debt?"

"Was that a request to see my cards?" Bodie asked politely. "It'll cost you thirty-five if it was."

Moving around behind his colleague, Turner could only marvel at Bodie's nerve when he saw the hand he held--it would lose even a game of Snap. The American obviously thought otherwise and after grinding another cigarette into the already full ashtray he gave in.

"Screw you, Bodie," he swore, handing the money over. "Show us what you've got."

Face bland, Bodie showed them.

Deciding to grab Bodie before the Americans could lynch him, Turner tapped him on the shoulder. "Message for you from the Old Man," he whispered. "Come outside and I'll fill you in."

Leaving Bodie to pocket his winnings and salvage Anglo-American relations, Turner retreated to the corridor.

"Bloody Yanks," Bodie said cheerfully as he merged from the room. "Anyone would think they had world rights to the game. What's up?"

"Cowley's sent me in to cover for you," Turner explained. "I thought it was a protection job--where's Colhouon?"

"Colhouon is the black feller--hopeless at cards. The other feller is Marty King, CIA. Why are you here?" Bodie asked again, a prickle of unease running down his spine.

"You're to get out to The Beeches now. A helicopter is waiting for you at Battersea," Turner said.

"Has something happened to Doyle?"

"All I know is what Control relayed over the radio. Apparently your other half is squatting in a stairwell at the hospital holding everyone off with a gun."

"He's what?" Bodie gasped.

"There's a car waiting outside now," Turner said as they ran towards the exit. "Dr Hardy will fill you in with the full details when you arrive--" he ended as Bodie threw himself into the car and it sped off.

Turning to re-enter the hotel, Turner made a mental review of his wallet. If they were that bad maybe he could carry on where Bodie left off.

---

A white sheet over the grass served as a landing marker for the helicopter; Bodie jumped out of the machine and ran towards the group of men the second it touched down.

"What's going on?" he yelled over the roar of the chopper blades. He was hurried into the back of a small car which then shot across the lawns and around the house.

"What is going on?" he asked urgently.

Hardy answered him this time. "I'm pleased you've arrived so fast. Doyle is all right physically," he said quickly. "So far we've managed to avoid any bloodshed and no one has been hurt. He has a gun but he hasn't fired it."

"Where the fuck did he get a gun?" Bodie asked angrily.

"There was a scuffle with one of the exterior guards. Doyle took his gun when he was trying to leave the grounds." Hardy explained quickly and then went on to fill him in with the rest of the details.

"And what was Bob Craig doing here?" Bodie asked when the doctor had finished. "How come no one was expecting him and what did he want with Ray?"

"It appears that Bob was mistaken for you--a mistake that he made no attempt to rectify. As to his reason for visiting, well," Hardy sighed heavily, "he came to give Doyle his final papers regarding the compensation claim."

"He what?"

"All he needed was Doyle's signature for the payment to be cleared."

"Jesus Christ!" Bodie swore.

"Precisely," Hardy echoed the sentiment if not the words. "It could hardly have come at a worse time. Mr Craig is, of course, very sorry. He had no idea that Doyle would react like this."

The car pulled up near to the poolhouse and Hardy took Bodie indoors. Outside the door leading to the stairs they stopped.

"He's right at the top, level with the roof. He's locked the roof access and gets very nervous if anyone attempts to touch the door. I've tried talking to him but as soon as I start moving up the stairs he gets very agitated," Hardy told Bodie. "He might let you near, he knows and trusts you."

"Is the gun loaded?"

"Of course!" said Hardy, irritated by the question. "Why else would the guard have been carrying it? This is a top security establishment, Mr Bodie. All the guards are armed."

Duly chastened, Bodie moved towards the door but hesitated at the last moment. "He might not let me close," he said slowly. "You must have seen what happened this morning--I lost my temper with him."

"So," Hardy said. "You're only human. It might even have done him some good to see that even you're not perfect all the time."

"But--"

"Bodie, listen to me," Hardy spoke earnestly. "That young man at the top of these stairs is balanced on a knife's edge waiting to fall. Maybe he doesn't have a choice anymore over what happens to him but you do. You're his friend, his partner, you care for him and he knows that. You can bring him back from the edge or you can let him fall--"

"Why should he trust me?" Bodie asked. "As far as he's concerned I'm as bad as everyone else--last time he asked me for help I left him here and now look what's happened!"

"Maybe now is the time to show him how much he can trust you," Hardy said. "So what if you argued this morning--why do you think he was so keen to break out this afternoon?"

"Why?"

"To find you? Perhaps your reaction to his moodiness this morning did more good than we thought. It could be that Mr Craig arriving as he did was just the final straw." Hardy spoke with such conviction that Bodie found himself wanting to believe. "It's up to you now, Bodie. Go to him; take the gun away from him and help him." A firm hand placed in the middle of Bodie's back pushed him towards to door. "Off you go, Bodie. Take care."

Bodie opened the door and moved onto the stairwell. For a minute or two he hesitated but then he moved upwards; soft footed and almost silent he moved past the first landing. He was two steps away from the second landing, the one below Doyle, when a voice rang out, echoing in the stone building.

"Don't come up here!" Doyle warned. "Keep away!"

Bodie hesitated. Doyle's voice sounded breathless, his voice uncertain and tremulous.

"It's only me, Ray," he called out. "Bodie. I'm coming up...okay?"

"No!" Doyle cried out. "No...go away...go...go away."

Slowly Bodie moved up one step at a time, his back pressed against the wall and his eyes alert for any movement his partner might make.

"Don't come up here...go away...I've got a gun..."

"I'm not armed, Ray," Bodie called out. "I'm not armed." By the time Doyle discovered the lie, Bodie prayed that the worst would be over. "I'm still coming, Ray," he called. "I'm on the landing just below you. Can you see me?"

"No...go...back... I'll shoot, I'll shoot."

"No you won't, Ray," Bodie said in an even voice. "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man."

"Go back! Go back down!"

"And what will happen if I do?" Bodie asked. "How long are you going to sit up here?" There was no answer; straining his ears, Bodie could hear the harsh breathing of his cornered partner. "How long are you going to sit here, Ray?" Turning the final corner, Bodie got his first sight of him. Crouched in a corner with his legs curled up beneath him and clutching at the gun with both hands, face strained and tear-streaked, Doyle stared back at him with wide, panicked, desperate eyes.

"I'll shoot...go...back..." he panted. He seemed unaware that he was crying.

"Ray, it's me. Bodie...you know me, don't you? It's Bodie." The gun was centred on his middle and Bodie could see no sign of recognition in the wide eyes.

"Come on Ray; this is me, Bodie. You're not going to shoot me, I'm your partner."

The gun dipped as Doyle looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Bodie?" he whispered.

"Hello, mate," Bodie said softly.

"'s 'at really you, Bodie?"

"It's really me, sunshine," Bodie said with as much warmth as he could. "How's things--"

"Don't!" Doyle shouted as he climbed another step. "I've got a gun..."

"I can see that, sunshine," said Bodie, halting only three steps from the top landing. "Are you sure it's loaded though?"

Doyle looked uncertain for a moment and his eyes left Bodie to look at the gun.

"NO!" Doyle screamed, leaping to his feet as Bodie made a lunge for the gun. Bodie froze. Doyle had stopped trembling and crying and for a split second Bodie knew he was looking down a barrel of death.

"NO!" Doyle cried out again and stepped away into the opposite corner, furthest from Bodie. Eyes stricken with fear, he glanced from Bodie to the gun and back to Bodie. "No. No." Shaking his head and crying once more he pressed himself into the corner and sank down, his legs folding beneath him. His eyes fixed on Bodie, he turned the gun until the barrel was snug against his left breast.

Appalled, Bodie could only watch as Doyle's blank stare dropped to look at the gun.

"No, Ray," he begged. "No!" Oh, sweet Jesus no, Bodie's mind screamed. "That's no answer, Ray," he cried out, his instinctive movement forward aborted as the muscles in the hand clasping the gun tensed. "Okay, sunshine," he said shakily. "I won't come any closer...look, I'll sit right here...I won't make any sudden moves, I promise."

"Don't..." Ray whispered.

"I won't, I'll just sit here," Bodie said, making himself comfortable. There was no way he could get to Ray before those slim, elegant fingers could tighten around the trigger.

And so they sat, four feet and worlds apart; for how long Bodie neither knew nor cared. At first they didn't talk, Bodie concentrating on forcing every muscle in his body to relax to give Doyle the impression that he wasn't about to be jumped. For his part, Doyle stared at the man opposite him as if he were a total stranger. Gradually, though, as he began to realise the man posed no threat and he relaxed a little, his breathing became regular, and he stopped crying.

Bodie noticed the tension leaving the fingers resting on the trigger. "Don't tell me you came out without a hanky," Bodie said softly.

Startled at the sound, Doyle tensed up again.

"You're sniffing," Bodie told him. "You're always bloody sniffing," he moaned in a friendly voice. "Have you got a hanky?"

Doyle sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

"I think I've got one somewhere," Bodie said without moving. "Do you want to borrow it?"

Doyle sniffed again and looked uncomfortable. After a second or two of thought, he moved his free hand to pat his jeans pocket. He sniffed and cuffed his nose again.

"God, you look about seven years old doing that," Bodie told him.

"Haven't got one," Doyle said, confused by the laughing tone and the affectionate smile.

"Do you want to borrow mine?" With quick fingers, Bodie tugged his hanky free and held it at arm's length. When Doyle made no move to take it he leant forward as far as he could. He stayed there, white hanky dangling like a flag of surrender from outstretched fingers for an age. Then, slowly, Doyle moved forward and gently took hold of it, his fingers brushing the tips of Bodie's fingers.

They both leant back into their corners and Doyle used the cotton square, blowing vigorously without taking his eyes from his partner. Finished, he held it out.

"Nah, you keep it," Bodie said.

"Thanks," Doyle said slowly as he pocketed it.

"Well," Bodie said gently, cautiously. "This is another fine mess you got me into, Stanley." Pulling a stupid face and scratching his head, Bodie was rewarded by a snort of amusement from Doyle. "So, how's life treating you, Ray?" he carried on quickly. "I know you've always said you wanted to go up in the world, but I hardly think this is what you had in mind." He gazed around at the stark bare walls. "Couldn't you have picked somewhere with a few home comforts?"

Doyle gave a short laugh. "This is the way my luck goes," he said. "Just be grateful it's dry--I could have picked a damp cellar."

"That's true," Bodie agreed lightly, relieved that he was at last talking. "So, what went wrong today, Ray? Why did this happen now and not yesterday?"

"Dunno," Doyle answered, his body tensing up again.

"I'm sorry about this morning," Bodie said. "I was taking my bad temper out on you and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry--"

"No." Doyle shook his head. "Wasn't your fault. I was...I was in a bad mood too. I thought you were coming this afternoon," he explained. "I would have been better then--I always feel...I don't like myself very much after...it would have been better this afternoon..."

"Where had you been this morning?" asked Bodie.

"With him," Doyle said. "With that...shrink...it's plain stupid...I don't need him to tell me why I feel so bad," he cried out. "I know why! I bloody know why!"

Bodie saw the hysteria threaten to break through the shallow calm they had achieved so far. "Shrinks are all the same, how can they justify getting paid if they can't convince you you've got problems?" he said. "They're all the same, aren't they? Were you breast-fed? Did you suck your thumb? How old were you when you first masturbated? Did you wet the bed? Tell me, does this ink blot look like a squashed butterfly to you?" Bodie was pleased to see Doyle relax again and breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's all so pointless," Doyle told him. "What good can talking do--I know what he wants to hear but I don't want to talk about that, so we spend hours talking about the stupid dog Mum used to have and bloody awful family holidays at Scarborough!"

"Scarborough?" Bodie picked up quickly. "I remember going to Scarborough once when I was with the Paras. We'd spent a week on manoeuvres and were given a weekend pass. Had a great time--I found a little ice-cream parlour on the front that made the most incredible knickerbocker glories, really pigged myself on them," he said reminiscently.

"You would!" Doyle said with a laugh.

"Meaning you wouldn't, I suppose?" Bodie challenged.

"I never made a pig of myself," replied Doyle. "Anyway, we always had ice-cream on holidays--that's what holidays are for."

By degrees, Doyle's mood altered and he became more relaxed but his hold on the gun remained steady and his eyes were alert to every move Bodie made.

"What's happened to Craig?" Doyle asked unexpectedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Doyle explained, "not used to all this excitement, is he? I must 'ave given the poor old sod a coronary."

"I think he experienced one or two hairy moments," admitted Bodie in an off-hand manner. "Still, serves him right for pretending to be me."

"He deserved it," said Doyle, his mood suddenly taking a downward swing. "Breezing in here like he's something special dishing out favours. Some people think money is everything, but they're wrong, Bodie, so wrong. He believes, he really believes that money will make everything all right again. What's a life worth?" he asked bitterly. "One life, two, Ann, Mum, D.I. Taylor...how much for their lives? What's it for? Am I supposed to go out and buy a new bunch of memories and throw out all the old ones? What difference will having a few thousand in the bank mean? Is it so I can pretend nothing ever happened? Does everyone really expect me to take the money and pretend all's well that ends well? Next time someone asks me what the truth is, do I show them my bank balance and say that proves I'm innocent?" He raged, his face twisting as his anger and hurt poured forth. "Oh, they all want to help me now--everyone wants to be friendly now. It doesn't matter that I've been telling everyone for the past five years that I didn't know what was happening; now they've all read Charles-Fucking-Holly's diary, everyone wants to help me!" Doyle's grip in the gun tightened and Bodie felt his insides churn and twist sickeningly. "If I'm such a wonderful person, how come no one believed me when I said I was innocent? They're all ready to listen to someone else, so why wouldn't anyone believe me?" Doyle asked angrily. "No-one believed me, no-one! Even those who said they did--I could see they were lying, they wanted to believe in me but they couldn't, no-one did. Even my mum didn't believe me. Did I ever tell you what she said to me when she came to see me at Ford Prison? She asked me why," he said, voice cracking as he remembered it. "She believed in the system and because they found me guilty, she knew I had to be." He was crying again, tears streaming unchecked down his face. "Even Ann, it was the same for her, it was the same with everyone, no-one believed ME!"

"I believed you, Ray," Bodie said helplessly. "Once I knew you, really knew you, I believed you."

But Doyle carried on as if he hadn't heard. "Do you have any idea what it's been like having to face people day after day who treat you like dirt? Even inside it was just as bad, the other prisoners can't abide a bent policeman. The screws acted like I was invisible and the others treated me like I had the plague. It was like I didn't exist. The only people who took any notice of me were people who thought they could use me. When they realised I wasn't playing their stupid games I even began to wish I didn't exist. I began to dream up ways of getting out of there and away from them, away from everyone. Do you know how long a piece of towel has to be to tie one end round your neck and the other to a window bar? I even started tearing strips off my sheets to make a rope!"

Stunned, Bodie was forced to listen to it all pouring out and to watch as Doyle flexed his fingers around the gun. He wondered if any of the doctors had realised that this wasn't the first time Doyle had considered suicide. "Thinking about it isn't the same as doing it, Ray," Bodie said carefully. "The fact that you're here talking about it proves you were strong enough to get through. Despite being on your own, you survived, they didn't beat you down and you're here to prove it. If you give in now, all that effort will have been wasted--"

"I've wasted five years," Doyle spat out. "They've wasted five years of my life because they didn't believe--"

"I believed you," Bodie said firmly. "I believed you and so did Cowley--why else would he take you on in the first place? Why else would he keep you on when Day started poking around?"

"No..." Doyle shook his head, too scared to give in and believe even now. "No...no-one believed me..."

"I did, Ray," Bodie told him, voice thick with emotion. "Please believe that, you must believe that."

Doyle was still shaking his head in denial of Bodie's words but his eyes were looking at him as if he were trying to see the truth written somewhere.

"I've always believed, Ray, right from the beginning. Cowley believed in you and...I trusted him."

"B...Bodie?" Doyle's head sank down onto his chest as if he were too weak to hold it up and he slumped against the wall.

Holding his breath, Bodie inched towards him; he still couldn't afford to alarm Doyle.

Only inches away, Doyle suddenly lifted his head and Bodie froze, expecting the fingers to tighten on the trigger. Instead, Doyle looked at him, wide-eyed, confused and frightened. "What's happening to me, Bodie?" he asked brokenly. "Please...help me...please..."

Responding to the plea for help, Bodie reached out instinctively and gathered Doyle into a protective embrace. Almost crushing the exhausted man to him, he could feel the cold hard metal of the gun pressing against his own chest. Pulling Doyle into a more comfortable position, Bodie slid a hand between their close-pressed bodies and gently withdrew the gun from the lax grip. Pushing the gun out of reach, Bodie felt the relief wash over him and he held his partner tight, safe in the protection of his arms and soothed him as he wept. "Shh," he said softly. "It's all over now, all over."

Downstairs in the corridor, the group straining to hear the sounds emanating from the speaker breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Bring them down off the roof and clear the area--we don't want too many people milling around when Bodie brings him down," Ross said, taking charge. Ceding authority, Hardy issued the necessary orders and soon only the two doctors and Cowley remained.

Upstairs, the two men sat clinging together, talking in hushed whispers.

"Bodie?" Ray spoke hesitantly. "I don't know what happened, I can't remember...did I hurt that man? I didn't mean to but he had a gun. Why do they have guns? It was just there in my hand," he said anxiously. "I didn't mean to use it--it was just there."

"You haven't hurt anyone," Bodie said firmly. "There's nothing to worry about."

"Why was he armed, Bodie? What sort of hospital has armed guards?" Doyle asked as he gave a little wriggle and burrowed into his partner's embrace.

"This sort of hospital," Bodie answered wryly. "You must have noticed that this place was different from your normal run-of-the-mill place."

"Is it a prison--am I a prisoner?" Doyle's voice had a catch in it and he clung tightly as if afraid of the answer.

"You're not a prisoner," Bodie said firmly, willing Doyle to believe him. "You've done nothing wrong and you're not here to be punished; you're here because..." Bodie faltered.

"Because it's a safe place to go bonkers?" Doyle asked astutely.

"Well...yes," he said honestly. "It's a secure establishment, patients are safe from the outside world and..."

"And the public are safe from dangerous nutters?"

"I think there's more to this place than that," Bodie admitted, "but basically that's it."

"Thought so," Doyle said, his voice flat and unemotional. He sniffed once, twice, and then pulled away from the embrace and tugged the borrowed hanky from his pocket. After blowing his nose and rubbing the wetness from his face, he turned to peer down the stairwell. "I expect there's a reception committee waiting down there."

"I expect there is," Bodie agreed.

Doyle made no move to get up and Bodie also stayed put. "What's going to happen to me now?" he asked, turning to look at Bodie.

Almost drowning in the frighteningly vulnerable green-eyed stare, Bodie felt his mouth dry up and his heart beat faster. "They only want to help you, Ray," he said.

"I know that," he said, "but..." Doyle shook his head and slumped back against the wall, pulling free of the encircling arms.

"But what?" asked Bodie quickly, seeing Doyle retreating into himself again.

"This place..." Doyle said softly as he wrapped his own arms around himself, "they won't let me leave, will they? They're going to keep me here, they're going to force me to stay here."

Seeing the hysteria threatening to rise again, Bodie clambered to his knees and moved closer, resting one hand around the back of Doyle's neck under the heavy curls and tipping the downbent face upwards with an insistent touch of his other hand under his chin. He waited until Doyle opened his eyes before he spoke. "No-one is going to force you to do anything," he said forcefully. "You're not a prisoner and this is not a prison."

"Then why can't I leave?" Doyle cried out. "Why won't they let me go?"

"Because they want to help you, Ray," Bodie said helplessly. "No-one wants to hurt you--"

"Christ knows I need help," Doyle admitted raggedly, fresh tears spilling over his cheeks. "But not here--don't leave me here," he begged.

"Ray--"

"It is a prison," Doyle cried. "It is. I can't live like this, Bodie, not any more. I want to get out, I want to leave here... I can't stay here, I can't."

"The doctors are here, let them help you--"

"No!" Doyle said fiercely. "Not here, I can't. They lock all the doors, Bodie. And the windows. There aren't any bars but it's just as bad. I can't go outside unless someone is with me. Even if they leave me alone someone is watching me, they've got cameras all over and they watch me all the time. I can't ever relax because they're always there--always."

"Only because they're worried about you. I'm worried for you, as well," Bodie said. "We've known you needed help but we couldn't make you see it--"

"It's like living under a microscope," Doyle said, trying desperately to make Bodie understand. "I know they are watching me, watching everything I do. I know they only want to help, I know that--I know I need help, everything is all so...mixed up, I know that, I'm not stupid, but...this place, it is a prison and they're going to keep me here, locked away until I'm all right again, I can't...I just can't..."

Too exhausted to fight anymore, Doyle allowed Bodie to pull him into another embrace as he cried softly, lacking the energy to do anything else.

Holding him there, Bodie rubbed his hands over Doyle's back, soothing the tension he found there, rubbing with circular motions up and down the taut spine from neck to waist. By degrees, he felt the stiff body relax until it became supple and soft under his hands.

Exhausted, Doyle had fallen asleep. Bodie carried on holding him as he considered his next course of action. At least Doyle had finally admitted he needed help--which was a start, but he still seemed desperate to leave The Beeches. In his partner's confused mind it was a prison, as much of one as Maidstone had been. Until he was settled and relaxed, Bodie guessed the doctors would be unable to help him. But where else could he go? Bodie didn't know; but there had to be an answer somewhere.

Doyle awoke from his short slumber with a start; disoriented and lost, he looked around with wide eyes and clutched at Bodie. "'S okay," Bodie said hurriedly. "I'm still here, I'm not leaving you anywhere."

Focussing on him at last, Doyle just stared bleakly, clearly not believing him.

"When I leave here so will you," Bodie promised. "There are other places that can help you. Places with fewer locked doors that you can go to from home, as a day patient perhaps," he suggested. "Would you feel happier doing that?"

"You'll help me get away from here?" Doyle asked, amazed.

"You're coming back with me tonight," Bodie told him, praying he was doing the right thing. "If this place bothers you so much, it's not going to do you any good to stay here. As long as you get help in London you'll be okay, won't you?"

"Will they let me go?" Doyle asked doubtfully.

"We won't ask them," he said defiantly, knowing 'they' had been listening to all that had happened. "We'll tell them--they can fix up something in London."

Doyle looked relieved at his partner's confidence; if Bodie said he could leave, it would happen.

"Are you ready to go down yet?" Bodie asked gently.

Doyle looked uncertain, his fear returning despite his belief in Bodie. "You won't let them keep me here?"

"Not if you want to leave."

"I do," Doyle said quickly. "But they might..."

"We're both leaving here tonight," Bodie said firmly. "Regardless of what they think, I'm taking you home."

Slowly, so as not to alarm him, Bodie rose to his feet, then held out a hand for Doyle. Ray looked up at him anxiously; for a long time neither man moved but Bodie waited patiently. At last Doyle seemed to reach a decision and he took the offered hand to lift himself up. Unsteady on his feet and feeling cramped, he clung to the hand for support as well as comfort.

"Ready?" Bodie asked softly, prepared to wait until he was.

After another worried glance down the stairwell, Doyle seemed to pull himself together; he nodded, unable actually to say the words.

Giving the hand resting in his a reassuring squeeze, Bodie turned to lead the way down. Even as he saw Doyle move, he knew what he was reaching for and Bodie's heart missed a beat. Picking the forgotten gun up from the floor, Doyle tucked it into the waistband of his jeans and then turned to meet a pair of stunned blue eyes.

He had completely forgotten the gun!

"What's wrong?" Doyle asked worriedly. "Bodie?"

"Er..." Bodie floundered, his brain choosing that moment to shut down. "Ray...let me take that..." he managed to get out.

"This?" Doyle took the gun from his belt. "Okay," he said, handing it over.

"Er...thanks," Bodie said, shocked that he could have been so stupid.

"It's okay, Bodie," Doyle said with a soft smile. "I wasn't going to use it."

Bodie believed him. Still weak from relief, though, he pocketed the gun and turned to take them both down the stairs. Meek as a lamb, Doyle followed.

On the bottom landing, just before opening the door to the corridor, Bodie paused to check Doyle was all right, the grip on his hand almost painfully tight.

"Don't leave me behind," Doyle pleaded. "Don't let them make you leave me!"

"You're coming home with me tonight," Bodie promised yet again.

They opened the door and stepped into the corridor. A few yards away Cowley, Ross and Hardy were sitting by a desk. Ross stood up as they approached. "Hello, Ray, Bodie," she said, voice neutral.

"I'm taking Ray out of here and back to London to my place tonight," Bodie said in a voice that told him he wasn't prepared to discuss the subject. The grip on his left hand tightened even more and Doyle moved closer to stand half behind him, clutching at his jacket sleeve.

"It's very late, why not sleep here tonight and go back in the morning?" Ross suggested.

"No!" Doyle shouted. "Now--not in the morning. Bodie?"

"We're leaving now," Bodie responded.

"All right," she agreed. "I'll have a driver take you."

"Just us, Bodie--no-one else!" Doyle said urgently.

"I'll drive," Bodie told her.

"My car is just outside, Bodie," Cowley told him. "The keys are here," he dropped them onto the table.

Ross returned to the desk as the two men moved to get the keys. "We will return in the helicopter. When you've arrived in London, call me at headquarters tonight if you can, but leave it until the morning if not, and we'll talk about tomorrow," she said to Bodie. "Ray, I have some tablets here for you, they will help you to sleep properly. Will you take them?"

Expecting trickery, Doyle didn't answer her; instead, he clung tighter to Bodie.

"I'll give them to him later," Bodie said, reaching for them. "When we're in London." The keys and tablets in his hand, he turned to move away, heading for the exit.

"Bodie," Cowley called out from where he sat, "hadn't you better leave your gun behind?" Although voiced as a suggestion, Bodie knew better. They still couldn't afford to take risks. Ignoring Doyle's whispered, frantic urging, he left the two guns on the desk top.

"Come on, Ray, let's go."

Outside was deserted; the whole area was floodlit, though, and at the corner of the building he saw Cowley's car. Tugging Doyle along, he walked over to it and opened the passenger door.

Eyes frantically looking all around him, starting at every little noise, Doyle was trembling violently and he refused to let go of Bodie's hand. "Bodie?" he said, alarmed when he felt him trying to ease out of the tight grip. "Don't leave me here! Don't leave me Bodie!"

"Just get in the car, Ray," Bodie said. "Sit in there and then we'll be off."

"No!" Doyle cried. "Don't leave me please."

"Ray..." Exasperated, Bodie looked around them. He only wanted Doyle to let go while he got in the car but clearly he was too scared to. "Okay, let me get in first then," he said, resigned to the fact he had lost possession of his left arm. Struggling over the passenger seat, gear stick and hand brake he managed to get the key in the ignition. Beside him Ray slammed the door and locked it.

"I can't drive with one hand, Ray," he told him gently.

Doyle reluctantly released the tight-held hand but not before looking all round the car--even behind them in the back seats.

Driving slowly, they made their way to the main gates. They were wide open and no guards were visible. Doyle spent the first twenty miles looking backwards, unable to believe they were not being followed.

Bodie tried to talk during the long drive but eventually gave up; Doyle just wasn't listening.

Pulling up outside the tall building in which he lived, Bodie switched off the engine, the sudden silence breaking into Doyle's introspection.

"What? Why have you stopped? Where are we, Bodie?"

"Home," he replied. "Out you get."

"Bodie!"

"There's no one here except us, Ray," he said calmly as he opened his door and climbed out. By the time his second foot touched the pavement Doyle was there with him, clutching his arm again.

With Doyle still jumping at shadows, they entered the building. Inside the flat they inspected every empty room before Doyle could be persuaded to release his grip.

With his partner a consistent two steps behind him, Bodie moved around the kitchen making them something to eat. It was almost midnight; he'd eaten nothing since breakfast and he guessed Doyle had missed as many meals.

Forcing Doyle to sit down with a bowl of soup and some bread, he raided the fridge and pulled the cheese out. But although both men were hungry neither ate much.

"You look half asleep already," Bodie said, taking the unwanted food away. "Why don't you go and have a bath while I clear this up?"

"Okay," Doyle agreed tiredly and, to Bodie's surprise, he got up and walked away to the bathroom.

After clearing up the kitchen Bodie pulled sheets and blankets from the airing cupboard and went into the spare room to make up the bed there. That done, he tapped lightly on the bathroom door.

"It's open," Doyle called out. Inside the steamy room, Doyle was wrapped in a huge bathsheet and was just brushing his hair.

"Bed's ready when you are," Bodie told him. "Do you want one of those tablets Ross gave me?"

Doyle thought about it for a moment. "I suppose so," he decided finally. "I expect they'll do me some good--can't make me feel any worse than I already do."

Pleased to see a spark of humour reappearing, Bodie went to get the tablets. Returning only a few minutes later he saw the bathroom light was off and so went straight to Doyle's room.

It was empty.

Heart thudding, Bodie almost ran to the front door, which he found was still locked, all the security locks in place. Puzzled, he went back along the hall and stepped into his own room just in time to see Doyle, naked slipping into his bed.

Relief coursed through him and Bodie slumped back onto the door frame. In the warm glow of the bedside lamps Doyle, oblivious to the man standing in the doorway, made himself comfortable. His heartrate slowing back to normal, Bodie just watched, drinking in the sight of him, pleased beyond measure to have found him safe and only just beginning to understand what he had very nearly lost earlier in the day. The picture of Doyle staring at the gun pressed to his chest was one that was going to haunt him for a very long time.

In control now, he stepped into the room, putting the water tumbler onto the bedside table; he perched on the edge of the bed and passed the tablets over. Doyle swallowed them without demur and lay back down. Bodie tugged the duvet up and smoothed it out under his chin.

"You get some sleep now," he ordered gently.

"Mm..." Doyle mumbled, already more asleep than awake. "You too..."

"I won't be long," Bodie answered.

"Hurry up..." Doyle ordered sleepily.

Leaving the bed, Bodie went round the flat turning off the lights and closing the door to the spare room. After a quick shower he padded barefoot into the bedroom. Out of habit he went to close the curtains but remembered just in time. Slipping out of his robe, he switched off the lamp on his side and knelt on the bed, stretching over to turn off Doyle's light.

"Don't!" Doyle said loudly.

Bodie froze as he leant over Doyle--he had thought he was fast asleep. "I'm only turning the lamp off," he explained, reaching out for the switch again.

"No, don't--leave it on, please!" Doyle held Bodie's arm, stopping him from completing his action. Caught off balance, Bodie fell against him; he could feel Doyle's heart racing and he gave in.

"Okay, sunshine," he said mildly. "The light stays on."

Relaxing his grip, Doyle slid his hand down until he caught Bodie's hand then, holding it snugly, he closed his eyes and rolled away, pulling both their hands under the covers and resting them on his belly. Bending his knees slightly, he inched backwards across the bed until he made contact with Bodie's naked warmth, gave a final little wriggle, a mumble of contentment and went back to sleep.

Overwhelmed by the unconscious display of trust Doyle had just given, Bodie shook his head in amazement and settled himself down to sleep. The light was a nuisance he would have preferred to have done without but he wasn't prepared to make an issue of it. Giving Doyle's legs a nudge with his own knees, Bodie eased himself into a more comfortable position wrapped snugly around his partner and was rapidly overtaken by a blanketing sleep that was not entirely dreamless...

---

...Sheltering from the rain, Bodie glanced at his stopwatch. Any minute now he expected to see Doyle appear round the corner--sure enough, there he was, running easily, breathing hard but not ragged.

"Your best time yet," he told him with a smile.

"Why are you hiding in there?" Doyle asked as he ran on the spot to keep himself warm. "Scared of getting wet, are you?" his voice light and teasing.

"No. But you're soaked. You should come in and get changed, have a shower," Bodie suggested.

"Sounds great," Doyle agreed and together they trotted off towards the shower room.

Once inside Doyle started peeling off his wet things; Bodie sat down with his charts and filled them in. He was very aware of the slender body making sensuous pirouettes under the jets of hot water. He put the clipboard down, the charts forgotten.

"Pass me my towel?" Doyle asked as he completed another slow turn.

Bodie picked the towel up and walked towards the shower. Turning the jets off, Doyle opened his eyes and pushed the heavy wet curls back off his forehead.

"Dry my back?" Doyle asked softly, turning away.

Bodie patted the shoulders dry but the saturated hair only dripped on them, making them wet again. He lifted the towel up and rubbed it over Doyle's head, returning then to the damp shoulders and lower over shoulder blades and finally moving down his back to the upward curve of muscular buttocks. His hands slowed as the towel lingered there, rubbing, pressing as Doyle leant backwards with a murmur of soft pleasure.

"Now my front," he ordered seductively.

Obedient, Bodie patted the moisture away from his face, leaning forward to kiss each part as he dried it, eyes, nose, cheeks and finally the full lips. The towel hung between them but through its folds, Bodie could feel Doyle's heat and the rising hardness that matched his own. He released the towel and pulled Doyle towards him, capturing the open mouth with a deep, lingering kiss. Hot, damp fingers reached for the zipper of Bodie's tracksuit and he pulled back far enough for them to open the jacket and slip it back off his shoulders, his trousers and pants soon joining the towel and jacket on the shower floor.

Breaking their kiss, Doyle pulled away slightly and turned, presenting his back, smiling; his eyes slitted with anticipation, he tipped his head back to rest it on Bodie's shoulder, turning slightly so his tongue could steal out and capture the salt sweet taste of his lover.

Bodie was forced to endure the sensations of Doyle licking a swathe along his throat while his hands were imprisoned and pulled down to capture their own prize. His cock, hard and hot, was trapped in the crevice of Doyle's buttocks and he moved his hips to increase the exquisite pleasure. Beneath his hands he felt his partner throb and grow in response and he pushed again and again.

As the heat inside him grew, Bodie became desperate for more and he rubbed his face against Doyle's hair, forcing the curly head sideways so he could latch onto some bare skin. Compliant, Doyle let his head roll and offered his throat, only making a small moan as sharp teeth bit too hard, but Bodie was too far gone to hear it, intent now only on his need and his heat...

---

..."Bodie?" Doyle mumbled sleepily as he tried to escape the sharp teeth.

As climax tore through him Bodie heard the soft protest but ignored it and pulled the warm body closer as the final convulsions swept over him and the hot silky wetness poured over their skin.

"Bodie..." Another mumble followed by a wriggle pulled Bodie back to awareness. On a cloud of elation and well being, he nuzzled at Doyle's neck and slid his hips back and forth, enjoying the sensual pleasure of the simple movement. He slid his hands down to complete Doyle's pleasure but encountered a limp softness; smiling languidly, he kissed the offered throat again.

"Bodie..."

Doyle's voice filtered through his sense of well being; it sounded...odd and he wondered what was wrong. Rousing himself, Bodie pulled away from the semen-slick buttocks and removed his hands from the lax genitals.

Realisation hit like a cold shower.

"Bodie...too hot...hot, Bodie..." Doyle complained sleepily.

Bodie was out of the bed and staring at the evidence of his crime with a growing, sick horror. Exposed by Bodie's hasty exit, Doyle's buttocks were glistening with a sheen of semen, his eyes darting around under closed eyelids.

"Bodie..."

Shaking, Bodie managed to drape the duvet around the restless sleeper, praying the whole time that he would continue to sleep, that he would never know what had just happened.

Waiting until Doyle was sleeping restfully again, Bodie backed out of the bedroom.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Doyle awoke with a start, snapped from a dream by a sudden commotion in the street outside the bedroom window. At first, disoriented and befuddled with sleep, he panicked--but then he remembered and sagged back down, sighing with relief. The bed beside him was empty and he wondered where Bodie was. His mouth felt dry and his head thick and muzzy. Sitting up, he took a mouthful of room temperature water from the glass on the bedside table. It tasted awful.

Pushing the duvet back, he swung his legs out of bed and then considered the wisdom of getting up. Upright, his head was more than muzzy, and a steady throb began behind his eyes. A shower, he decided, then something to drink. Feeling at least a hundred years old, he forced his stiff muscles to get him into the bathroom and under a refreshing shower of water.

Clean and dry, he wandered back into the bedroom; his clothes were still in the untidy heap he had left them in last night. He picked up his shirt, wrinkled his nose in disgust, dropped it again and then opened Bodie's wardrobe.

In the kitchen Bodie heard him approach but couldn't make himself turn around to face him.

"Good afternoon. Sleep well, did you?" he said in a carefully controlled voice.

"Like a log," Doyle replied, "or rather, like someone hit me over the head with a log. What the hell's in those tablets?"

"Just a strong sedative," Bodie said. "I rang Ross when you hadn't woken up at lunchtime. She said you'd probably sleep the clock round."

"What time...is it?" Doyle asked around an enormous yawn.

"Half three. Coffee? Something to eat?"

"Coffee," Doyle said. "Don't think I could face food."

"Later then," Bodie said, pouring a cup out and passing it over.

Doyle had helped himself to one of his shirts and it swamped the damp, tousled, jeanclad figure that was wearing it. Unbuttoned, the shirt gaped, exposing Doyle to the snug band of his jeans. Always slim, he now looked gaunt, his ribs clearly visible as were the lines of strain and dark circles around his eyes. Even so, Bodie had never seen anything more desirable in his whole life.

Doyle caught the surprised look.

"Borrowed your shirt," he confessed. "Don't mind, do you?"

"No," Bodie managed to force out.

"Good--helped myself to your underpants as well," then with a wicked gleam said, "I'd never have taken you for a g-string man."

Bodie could feel the blush rising from his toes as he remembered the posing pouches someone had given him for Christmas.

"Just goes to prove that old saying--never judge a book by its cover," he covered quickly.

"You can say that again," Doyle agreed, taking a sip of scalding coffee. "I had you pegged as a Y-fronts or maybe boxer shorts bloke."

"Oh really," Bodie choked, finding the whole subject a bit much. "What sort do you favour then?"

"Whatever's comfortable, but generally as little as possible.

"Oh," Bodie managed, not entirely surprised.

"Went through a wild phase once though," Doyle admitted. "Didn't wear anything at all."

"Like living dangerously, do you?" Bodie said.

"No--which was why I stopped. I remember years ago, just after I moved out of uniform, there was a siege in a shopping centre in the next division. The blokes holed up only agreed to talk to police they could see weren't armed. Made them strip to their underpants and socks. Made the front page of all the nationals. One of them was a Y-front man, but I remember his sidekick--little briefs with kittens all over them. After that every shop for miles around the station was sold out of boxer shorts. We were all terrified we'd get caught by a copy-cat siege."

Bodie had a vague memory of seeing the press photographs and managed to raise a smile. "Could have been very embarrassing," he agreed.

"Well," Doyle said, pushing the cup aside, the light suddenly leaving his eyes, "what did Ross have to say for herself? Expecting you to take me back, are they?"

"No," Bodie said quietly. "You're not going back to Beeches."

"Somewhere else, then?" Doyle's eyes were staring at the coffee cup.

"She wants to know if you would be willing to visit another doctor at a place called Repton."

"Another nuthouse, is it?"

"No. I've stayed at Repton. It's an MoD place, a lot of blokes who've served in Ireland go there for convalescence. It's got a hospital wing, and a psychiatric wing, but mainly it's like a big hotel. It's not a bad place, and it's only just off the north circular road, wouldn't take us more than thirty minutes to get there."

"What does she mean when she says visit? Wouldn't I have to stay there?"

"No. You can go in each day. If you agree, they'd like you there every day for a while--but later you'd only have to go a few times a week. It'll be up to you to go when you want as often as you want." Bodie told him what Ross had explained.

"What's the catch?" Doyle asked, wary of the unexpected freedom.

"There's no catch," Bodie assured him.

"So I don't have to go at all?" Doyle asked disbelievingly.

"Ah...well," Bodie hedged. "Regardless of whether you want to stay on the squad, you admit you could do with some help, don't you?" Bodie said, relieved when Doyle gave a cautious nod. It was a start, he told himself. "If you'd rather get that help on your own, they'll help you, but if you want to stay with...with the squad you have to go to Repton."

Receiving the ultimatum without comment, Doyle finished drinking his coffee and left the kitchen. Buttoning up the shirt and tucking it in his jeans, he wandered through to the bay window in the lounge and peered down into the street below. Some choice, he thought sourly. It was no choice at all.

In the kitchen, Bodie sank into the chair vacated by his partner. Doyle hadn't looked too happy with his choice and Bodie couldn't blame him. Why on earth would he want to stay with CI5; or with him, his inner voice chipped in. What had the department done for him except continue to make him feel isolated? Too few voices had spoken up against Day's accusations. Some choice, he thought bitterly. It was no choice at all.

"Do I have to go to Repton today?" Doyle asked softly from his position by the kitchen door.

Bodie's heart leapt. He was surprised and didn't mind Doyle seeing it.

"Well," the smaller man said defensively, "what else am I going to do--sell bloody encyclopaedias?"

"I'll ring Ross and tell her but I doubt they'll want you today. How do you feel about tomorrow?"

"Will you go with me?"

"I'll take you there if you want."

"Only as a day patient, though--I won't stay there," Doyle warned.

"I'll be your own personal escort," Bodie promised. "I'll take you and I'll bring you home when you're ready."

"Have you been assigned nursemaid duties?" Doyle asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Had to be someone," Bodie replied in an offhand manner, shrugging his shoulders. "Why--would you prefer someone else?"

"Hell, no," Doyle said firmly. "It's taken me all this time to train you right!" He smiled affectionately as he spoke.

Bodie's insides flipped and churned under the impact of the lazy smile and he struggled to return it. Doyle must never know, must never guess how he felt about him. He knew Doyle trusted him. Bodie knew that if his partner ever suspected the truth it would end everything.

"Am I confined to barracks or am I allowed out?" Doyle asked, wondering what had caused his friend to look so worried.

"You can go anywhere you want," Bodie answered quickly, "as long as you don't object to my company."

Never, Doyle thought suddenly, fiercely, never; without his noticing it happen, Bodie had become very important to him and he wondered if Bodie realised how much. From nowhere a flash of last night's dream returned; in the obsidian, suffocating world he'd found himself, he was trying to escape the calling, crying, crowing voices that beckoned him toward the harsh light. He wanted to escape but the voices and the light scared him and he'd clung to the blanket of dark. One voice, louder yet softer than the others, had called out to him, pulling him forwards. Then Bodie had been there, so close that even in the dark he had known him, recognised him and trusted him. Together they had walked towards the light.

"Course I don't object to your company," Doyle said gruffly, the feeling of being protected and loved by the man in front of him still lingering from his dream.

---

As the evening got later Bodie was careful not to let Doyle see how nervous he was about the prospect of sharing a bed with him. He let Ray use the bathroom first and took an age on his own turn, hoping that the sleeping tablet would have worked by the time he got into bed.

He saw Doyle swallow the tablet as he tiptoed into the bedroom. Determined that last night wouldn't happen again, he climbed into bed, turned the light on his side out, and rolled onto his side facing away from Doyle.

He wondered if he imagined Doyle's surprised sound.

On the edge of drug-induced sleep, Doyle felt unaccountably lonely and he turned over to face towards Bodie.

"You awake?" he mumbled.

"No!" Bodie said, sounding very far from sleep.

"Will you..."

"Will I what?" he asked without turning over.

"Will you be able to stay with me tomorrow?" Doyle asked hesitantly.

"You really don't need me there, Ray," Bodie told him. "I'll collect you when you're ready to come home."

"Oh," Ray said unhappily.

Bodie sighed. Give him whatever he wants, Ross had told him. "Okay, I'll clear it with Cowley and I'll stay with you all day."

"Thanks, Bodie," Doyle said, a lot more cheerful. "Just for tomorrow...just while I see what...the place...is...'

Bodie was caught by surprise when Doyle suddenly shifted across the bed and slipped one arm securely across his waist. Asleep in seconds, Doyle was unaware of the tension of the body in his arms. From the feel of the soft, hot breaths fanning his shoulder and the unusual prickle of chest hair pressed along his spine right down to the lax genitals nestling along his buttocks, Bodie had never been so aware of his own body.

Bodie tried to inch away but succeeded only in dislodging the relaxed arm resting on his belly to slip down, the back of Doyle's fingers brushing the burgeoning hopefulness of his cock.

He closed his lips on the moan of frustration that rose up from the centre of his being and carefully, reluctantly, lifted the hand away.

Sleep now the furthest thing from his mind, Bodie suffered the agony of Doyle's closeness. Unable to ignore his erect cock a moment longer, he took hold of himself and pumped hard; he tried unsuccessfully to keep his movements shallow so as not to disturb Doyle, but his hips rose and fell in response to his hand's work.

The shock of feeling the hardening pulse against his buttocks delayed his search for release, leaving him erect and throbbing, his balls hard and tight. Hardly able to believe his senses, Bodie lifted his hip experimentally--and was rewarded by another pulse against his buttocks as Doyle, stimulated by the gentle rocking, grew erect. Doyle mumbled and pulled on Bodie's hips, drawing him closer and increasing the pressure.

"Ray?" Bodie whispered breathlessly. There was no answer and Bodie turned over expectantly.

Doyle was still fast asleep. The drug pumping around his system was giving him the rest he desperately needed.

"Jesus!" Bodie swore, sinking back onto the bed.

Robbed of the source of its pleasure, Doyle's body relaxed back into a deeper sleep, the arousal fading swiftly--leaving Bodie aroused, alone and with his balls in knots.

---

The short drive to Repton was completed in an uneasy silence. Bodie, tired edgy and tense, was concentrating on acting normally, ignoring the dull, unsatisfied ache at his centre.

Doyle, his mind still fogged by the effects of the sleeping pills, didn't notice his partner's odd behaviour; he was more concerned about what waited for him at Repton. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Bodie wasn't going to leave him there. He believed Bodie when he said he intended them to return home together--he just couldn't see them letting Bodie keep his promise.

Turning off the main road and up the short drive, Bodie parked the car and switched the engine off. Beside him, tense and ill at ease, Doyle made no move to get out. Bodie sat quietly as his passenger looked around them, at the building in front of them. Somewhere, someone was playing tennis and the thump, thwack of a ball hitting the racket sounded very loud.

When Doyle finished looking at everything, he sat very still, eyes fixed on the dashboard. Bodie opened the door on his side and climbed out, walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger side.

It took a few minutes but eventually Doyle swung his legs out and moved aside. Bodie slammed the door shut and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

"Ready?" he asked quietly, prepared to wait until he was.

"No," croaked Doyle, unaware that his fear was visible.

"Take your time," Bodie said gently. "No one's going to force you to do anything, or stay where you don't want to be."

"Is that a promise?" Doyle asked in a quiet voice, finally taking his eyes away from the main door to look at Bodie.

"Yes," Bodie said and Doyle knew he meant it.

"Okay," he sighed and took the first step. "Let's get it over with."

They entered the building together.

---

Pushing himself up off the sofa, Doyle stretched, yawning widely and arching his back.

"Umph!" he grunted noisily. "I'm off to bed," he said and shuffled towards the bedroom.

From under hooded eyes, Bodie watched him. "I want to see the next programme," he said, pretending not to look up. "See you in the morning."

"'Kay. Goodnight," Doyle said happily and trotted out.

"Don't forget to have one of those tablets," reminded Bodie.

Doyle's head reappeared around the door. "Think I'll give 'em a miss," he told him. "I can't wake up properly in the morning--"

"Take them," Bodie ordered, then more gently added, "You need the sleep, Ray."

Doyle wrinkled his nose in disgust but gave in. "Hate taking sleeping pills," he mumbled. "Suppose you're right, though."

Bodie sat through the unremarkable American import that was nowhere near as funny as the studio audience led one to believe. Resigned to another night of torture, he padded quietly into the bedroom to collect his robe.

Not quite asleep, Doyle opened heavy eyes to see him standing in the doorway. "Hurry up," he ordered thickly. "Thought you'd fallen asleep in the other room. Hurry up and get in," he said.

"Just going to have a shower," Bodie told him, retreating to the safety of the bathroom.

Shutting the door, Bodie leant back on it, and closing his eyes in despair, groaned his frustration. All that he wanted, all he most desired from life at that moment, was lying in his bed, urging him to hurry up and join him there. Never before had Bodie suffered the agonies of such prolonged, unrelieved sexual frustration. Throughout the previous night he had warred with his body's demands over his conscience. His efforts at furtive masturbation had served to stimulate the man lying trustingly along his back and his one desperate attempt to escape the torture had failed when Doyle had refused to release him, instinctively keeping the source of his comfort close--too close for Bodie's peace of mind.

"Bodie! Hurry up!" Doyle's voice tinged with irritation, drifted into the bathroom.

"Won't be long," Bodie called out. Doyle, he knew, was waiting until he was in bed before allowing himself to fall asleep. From painful past experience, both men knew it was unwise for Bodie to attempt to get in beside him if he was already asleep.

Stripping slowly, almost dreamily, Bodie's thoughts returned to the previous night. Dropping his shirt into the laundry bin, he remembered the prickly softness of Doyle's chest hair as it brushed across his back. Trousers and pants were shed unnoticed as he felt anew the lax warmth of Doyle's cock against his bare buttocks. Unthinking, his hand slipped behind him and he touched the spot where they had nestled; he remembered the gentle pules as the softness had changed, responding to the rise and fall of his own hips.

He closed his hand on his new hardness to relieve the rising heat, remembering how it had been last night and, even better, how it had been the night before when he had first responded to the siren's song. The dream refused to fade as dreams ought and had haunted his waking hours as well as his sleep. Closing his eyes, Bodie surrendered to the sensations; leaning against the bathroom door, he began a hard beat with one hand whilst fondling the furry sacs with the other, and on his closed lids he pictured the man sleeping, naked and trusting, in his bed.

He felt the tightness in his balls and knew it was too soon, too quick, and he tried to stop it but his body ruled his hand at that moment, not his mind, and with a final beat and caress, he came, joylessly, reluctantly and with no pleasure.

Reality was a cold door, a metal handle digging into his hip, a harsh light and sticky fingers. Disgusted with himself, Bodie rinsed his hands clean and turned the shower full on. Picking up the soap, he cleaned his body by rubbing his hands over himself, over face, chest, arms and finally, movements slowing and becoming less clinical as they touched, his belly. Lower, the touch changed again as he brushed still sensitive nerves and his fingers closed on a cock that was still half-hard and demanding its own special treatment and care.

Looking down as he handled himself, Bodie felt his resolve falter, then vanish without regret. Stroking himself to attention, Bodie smiled; a few harmless fantasies, he though, what harm could they do? As long as Ray never found out, never guessed what he dreamt about, it would never matter. Only he would know.

He turned the water on harder and turned toward the fierce jets, letting them hit his unprotected penis, each little jolt of hard, hot heat adding to the pleasure that grew. If only Doyle were here with him it would be very different, he thought, very different; then it would be Doyle's touch on his cock, Doyle squeezing and fondling his balls. Closing his eyes once more, Bodie took himself into his hands and imagined they were Doyle's. He filled his hand with water then cupped it around the glistening, seeking cock-head and imagined it was Doyle's mouth, the fingernail scratching the exposed glans his teeth. His other hand roamed over the base of his cock and testicles, pressing and rolling them, his fingers delving down and under them and he parted his legs further, squatting to give himself greater access. Another hand, cupped full of water, enclosed his cock-head just as his first finger touched the tight closed sphincter and he groaned aloud as the sensations ripped through him. Clamping his hand tightly over his spurting penis, he just managed to keep his balance and lock his knees. Even now it was Doyle's hand that rubbed him gently, that held him whilst the tremors shook him; it was Doyle's hand that cleaned him and draped the towel around him. All the time it was Doyle--until he opened his eyes.

In the bedroom he looked at his sleepy partner with a lover's look and managed to smile. Doyle need never knew, he told himself as, satisfied and relaxed from his loving, he slid into bed beside him.

"'bout bloody time, too!" Doyle mumbled sleepily as he inched across the bed and wrapped himself around the warm, clean freshness of his partner.

Tonight, Bodie was able to accept the touches without the ache of frustration. His daydreams fully satisfied, contented and untroubled, he accepted the embrace of his dream-lover and slept.

---

The journey to Repton on the second morning was only a slight improvement on the first visit. Doyle managed to open the car door without being prompted, although his eyes made sure Bodie was at his side as he walked through the main door. But from there on, Bodie counted the day a success. Doyle emerged from one of the small consulting rooms after a two-hour session, bright and cheerful and with more visible energy than he'd shown for a long time. Apart from an appointment with Willis, the CI5 doctor, later that day at headquarters, the day was theirs.

The previous day, while Doyle had been having his first session with the real psychologist, Bodie had been briefed by Ross on his partner's treatment; the mornings would consist of individual sessions and the afternoons would be free for recreation and relaxation. It was explained that whilst they wouldn't force Doyle to stay at the centre in the afternoons, it was hoped he would make use of the facilities.

"His remaining here for the whole day is necessary to enable the team to assess his recovery," Ross had told him. "Because of what took place at Beeches, I am reluctant to make this a requirement of his treatment. Therefore I am relying on you, 3.7, to convince him it would be to his advantage."

"He's still not happy about coming here for the session with the doctor, I don't know if I'll be able to get him to stay once that's finished," Bodie said worriedly.

"You must," Ross told him insistently. "Until he's emotionally stable we can't risk forcing him to do anything."

And so yesterday when Doyle had emerged, quiet and tired from his first session, Bodie had shown him all the facilities Repton had to offer, taking care to note which areas caused a spark of interest in the anxious eyes. They had left only an hour after lunch but today Bodie had come prepared. Once Doyle had pushed his food around his plate, until Bodie had despaired of ever seeing him eat a decent meal again, they had left to walk down to the gym, the swimming pool and from there, to Dr Willis for a thorough medical.

Whenever he thought he was to be separated from Bodie, Doyle's eyes would catch his partner's, silently imploring him to stay close, still not utterly convinced there were no plans to whisk him away from the safety of his protection. Apart from the hours spent with the psychologist, they remained together all the time. Doyle had wanted Bodie to enter the consulting room with him but had been forced to accept the exclusion; even so, Bodie knew he had to be there waiting for him the moment he emerged from the session. Dr Willis, although known to Doyle, was no more to be trusted than any of the other medical staff at Repton and he had silently asked Bodie to remain in the room throughout the examination.

Watching Doyle being put through his paces brought home to Bodie how close he had come to losing him. Willis--always quick to belabour Doyle on the problems of being underweight--was seriously concerned and told his patient so in no uncertain terms.

"There is no way I will clear you fit for return to any kind of duty before your weight reaches ten stone," the doctor told him, leaving Doyle in no doubt that he meant it. "You must follow the diet sheet--use diet supplements if you must--but I expect you to gain a minimum of fourteen pounds."

Doyle opened his mouth to protest but closed it without saying anything; he knew Willis was right.

Apart from his weight loss, though, there were no other serious problems; both the fractured arm and head injury had healed well.

"Are you still taking the sleeping tablets?" Willis asked. Doyle nodded. "Try and reduce it to one tablet a night, then in a week reduce it to a half or even stop them altogether. You should be able to judge whether or not you need them," he said.

Watching the examination through clinical eyes, Bodie was shocked to see how the past two months had turned Doyle into a thin, almost haggard spectre of his former self. Under the harsh neon light it was almost possible to see every bone clearly delineated against tight-drawn flesh. His hair, cut severely short now to compensate for the rapidly growing shaved area, only served to emphasis the gaunt, sallow complexion and dark-ringed eyes. Doyle looked about fit to drop--the gentle exercises in the gym and the few short widths of the swimming pool exhausting his reserves of strength.

Once released by the doctor, Bodie wasted no time getting his charge home.

"What the hell's that?" Doyle asked in disgust, sniffing cautiously at the bright pink concoction Bodie thrust under his nose.

"A drink," Bodie said patiently, "so drink it, it'll do you good."

"Smells revolting!" Doyle said, pushing it away.

"It's full of protein and vitamins and things. It's especially for people who need to boost their energy levels or put on a bit of weight."

"Smells revolting!" Doyle said again.

"Hold your breath!"

"No!"

"Will you drink the damn stuff!" Bodie said, his patience slipping. "It's good for you."

"You drink it then!"

"I don't need to gain any weight," said Bodie, his temper slipping another notch.

"You can say that again," Doyle muttered. "Oh, all right, pass it over. Strewth, what's it supposed to be?" He took an experimental sip.

"Strawberry," Bodie informed him as he licked some of the spilt liquid from his fingers.

"Tastes fuckin' 'orrible," Doyle said forcefully and Bodie had to agree with him.

"Finish it all up or I'll set Willis on to you," he threatened.

A compromise was reached when, having drunk half the tumbler, Doyle threatened to throw up over Bodie's living room carpet; the remaining liquid was thrown away.

Bodie, determined that Doyle was going to regain his lost weight quickly almost brought them to blows when he served dinner. £8.50 worth of sweet and sour pork, egg fried rice, pork chow mein and chicken with mushrooms and curry sauce almost found its way down Doyle's unwilling throat a forkful at a time with Bodie holding the reluctant diner's nose and shoving it into him.

"I'm not hungry," Doyle protested.

"Well you bloody well should be!" Bodie exploded, furious that he was refusing to co-operate. "How do you expect to get well if you don't eat!"

"I'm eating!" Doyle shouted back.

"Three grains of rice and two nibbles of chow mein are not a meal!"

"I--am--not--hungry!" Doyle said finally and threw the remainder of his meal into the wastebin.

"You stand there looking as healthy as a fucking skeleton and then tell me you're not hungry," Bodie yelled, all patience gone. "Your stomach's probably forgotten what a decent meal feels like--that's why you're not hungry!"

"I'm not stupid, Bodie," Doyle said angrily. "I'll eat when I'm hungry but right now I'm not, okay!"

No, it wasn't okay, Bodie thought moodily. They both knew Doyle was seriously underweight and regardless of what the psychologists at Repton said or thought, they knew Willis was adamant about not signing Doyle fit for work until he was satisfied with his weight.

"You think you're fooling everyone," Bodie raged at him, all Ross's advice on staying calm and being patient thrown aside, "but you're not! It's all a game to you, isn't it? Follow the rules, go through the motions--isn't that what you're doing?" he demanded.

"I suppose you know what you're pratting on about," Doyle said, refusing to look at him.

"Don't play games with me, Ray!" Bodie warned. "If you want out, say so. Personally, I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I'd like to think you could be honest with me, at least!"

Backed up against one of the kitchen cupboards, Doyle flinched under the force of Bodie's anger. "I'm doing what they want. I'm seeing their stupid shrinks, psychologists, or whatever they want to call them. What more do they want from me? What do you want--tell me, please because I really don't know!" Doyle had no idea where it had gone so wrong. It had been a good day--even the two hours in the sterile consulting room had been undemanding and he'd happily gone along with Bodie's plans to use the gym and the pool. Was it his fault he was too tired to be hungry? he wondered, miserably aware he was letting Bodie down again.

Bodie saw misery replace the baffled look in the expressive eyes and gave a resigned sigh. He was pushing too hard, he told himself. Patience was what Doyle needed; time and lots of patience. If going through the motions and pretending was all Doyle thought himself capable of, it would have to be enough; the rest would follow, it had to if he wanted to return to CI5. And to me, he thought fiercely.

"Do you want to stay with the squad?" he asked, needing to know the answer.

"Of course I do," Doyle snapped back, wary of Bodie's sudden, unexpected mildness.

"There's no 'of course' about it," Bodie said calmly, perhaps too calmly. "You do have a choice. If you want out, Cowley will let you go. You'd get retraining, they wouldn't just push you out onto the streets."

"What are you on about now?" Doyle asked, his heart sinking because he thought he knew already.

"If you want a complete change--no CI5, no police--they'll help you. You could start a new career, find a new life somewhere." Bodie's heart sank as he realised Doyle was listening intently. "You mentioned a while back that before the police you'd wanted to be a chef--maybe it's not too late. Besides," Bodie added without thinking, "you've even got the money to start your own restaurant now if you--"

"You bastard!" Doyle yelled, lashing out at him, catching him hard just under the ribs. "Do you really think I'm going to touch that money?"

Catching him easily, Bodie held it still. "Money is money, Doyle. And that is your money. You earned it, you deserve it--maybe," he struggled as Doyle lashed out again but managed to hold the squirming, kicking man. "Maybe you'd rather not have it, maybe it would be nice if there was no need for you to have it, but it's there, it's yours. If you need it to start fresh somewhere where you can forget all this, put it all behind you, you should use it!"

"I'm not going to touch it!" Doyle hissed, furious with Bodie, the world and himself. He should have known he wouldn't make it back to the squad, should have known Bodie wouldn't want to be teamed with him anymore.

"Great," Bodie said, relaxing his grip and stepping back. "That's wonderful. If you don't use the money and you won't accept retraining, then you'll have to work harder to get back on the squad, won't you?"

"What?" Doyle said, dazed. Had he missed something or was Bodie genuine, he wondered. "You want me on the squad?" he asked, unable to keep the words in.

"Of course I do."

Doyle was even more dazed by his partner's positive assurance, his almost arrogant assumption that Doyle should know he wanted him on the squad.

"Oh." Deflated, his anger gone, Doyle wondered what they had been arguing about.

"So," Bodie said, equally puzzled, "are you staying?" He had the impression Doyle was, but he still needed to hear it.

"Might as well," Doyle said, relaxing. "Someone's got to look after you."

The cheek of it, Bodie thought, affectionately cuffing his partner around the ear. "Go to bed," he ordered, "and get some sleep. Let's see if we can't get rid of those black bags under your eyes!"

Smiling, tousled, unbelievably weary, but happy, Doyle obediently shuffled toward the door. "Are you coming?" he said, turning back when he reached the door.

Staring into the siren's eyes, Bodie felt his pulse quicken, his body changing gear. You try stopping me, he thought fiercely; aloud he replied, "In a while. I'll tidy up and then take a shower first."

"Okay--but don't be too long."

Ignoring that innocent sensuality, Bodie turned his mind toward practical matters as he cleared the unwanted meal away.

Elsewhere, Doyle pottered around in the bathroom and bedroom, getting ready for bed and much-needed sleep. In the kitchen, hands and arms scalded by hot, soapy water, Bodie did the dishes and thought about his own dream-Doyle; the heavy-eyed practicality of the man replaced by a teasing flirt with come-hither eyes who drifted naked between bathroom and bed.

"Bodie!" Tired and impatient for sleep, Doyle called for his partner as a petulant child calls for something comfortingly familiar.

In the bathroom, the call was woven into a breathy gasp from his demanding lover as Bodie surrendered again to his daydream.

Emerging pink and glowing from hot water and an inner contentment, Bodie didn't notice that Doyle was less sleepy than on previous nights. Worn out physically and mentally, he slipped into bed, his body and mind still singing from the careful, solitary loving, eager to be reunited with his dream. He curled around Doyle, pulling him tightly to his chest, and pressed his face into the soft curls.

More surprised than anything else, Doyle felt Bodie's arms slide around him and went easily into the familiar embrace. He'd grown used to having Bodie wrapped around him whenever they shared a bed and had felt unaccountably lonely when, three nights ago, Bodie had turned his back towards him. Unable to bear the thought of being so alone that night, he'd cautiously inched over to Bodie, pretending to be asleep; he hadn't been pushed away that night or the next.

Twisting slightly more onto his side and pulling Bodie's heavy arm tightly around his waist, he snuggled down until he was comfortable.

Tired, but not that sleepy, he wondered whether he ought to take a sleeping tablet, but after a moment's indecision, decided not to. Maybe, he reasoned, with no drugs pumping around his system, he would shake off the awful out-of-touch feeling that clung to him day in and day out.

An hour later he prised himself out of Bodie's octopus-like arms and padded, naked and chilly, into the kitchen where he drank some cold orange juice straight out of the jug stored in the fridge. Restless and very tired, he was unable to sleep. After wandering through the flat and visiting the bathroom, he returned to bed. On the table, sitting in the soft lamplight, was the phial of sleeping tablets. His hand reached out to pick it up but closed and withdrew empty. No, he thought, he'd never get his head straight if he started relying on pills.

Lifting the duvet, he slid under the covers and quickly snuggled back into the warmth. Bodie protested sleepily at the sudden cold flesh touching his comfortable heat and for a moment Doyle thought he'd woken him up. Muttering something incomprehensible about cold feet, Bodie merely pulled the chilled body towards him.

Smiling at the way his partner accepted his presence in bed, Doyle allowed Bodie to smother him in warmth and tried to relax into the embracing arms. But even though he was soon warm, comfortable and desperately tired, sleep wouldn't come. Giving in, he just lay in the soft glow of the lamplight as Bodie gusted hot breaths into his left ear.

The gentle pulse pressing on his hip had been there for a while before Doyle identified what it was. When he realised, he was amused to discover that even the smallest wriggle on his part resulted in another growing pulse.

"Bodie," he whispered, laughing at the hopeful wriggle Bodie made as he tried to move away. "Oi! Wake up, Romeo, this is me, you know."

But Bodie, lost in dreamland, didn't wake up. Doyle, wide awake now and very conscious of the growing hardness being pressed against him, made another attempt to withdraw gracefully. "If you don't...let me go, Bodie, you are going to be very embarrassed in the morning," he said, greatly amused. "Bodie!"

"Mmgh..." Bodie responded eloquently.

"Will you stop that!"

"Mmmgh...here...'s nice...Ray," Bodie said, pulling the slender body hard against his and thrusting powerfully.

"Bodie..." Doyle chuckled. "Oh boy...you are really going to hate yourself for this."

"Mmg...love you..."

"And I love you too, mate," Doyle said cheerfully. But you're going to regret this."

"Love you... Mmgh...love you...Ray."

"Bodie!" Doyle said sharply as a hot hand unexpectedly skimmed over his belly and gently grasped his own lax member. "Oh my god!"

"Mmgh...love you..."

"Christ! Bodie! Pack it in!" Doyle wriggled in earnest now and tried to pull his partner's busy fingers away from his cock. "Wake up, mate...for Christ's sake, wake up... Oh!" he gasped as Bodie squeezed and pulled, drawing an unbelievable response from his stunned body.

Behind him, he could hear Bodie's breathing becoming rapid, urgent and suddenly the hand deserted him, leaving him half hard and desperate. The hand moved to his hip and pulled hard, forcing the pressure onto the rigid cock that was slipping easily across skin lubricated with pre-ejaculate.

"Oh god...Bodie... Wake up, Bodie!"

The urgency reached a peak and with one final pull and thrust, Doyle felt the ripple of pleasure that tore through Bodie erupting over his hip. Frozen in climax, Bodie hung on and Doyle felt the hot jets cool then run, cold and uncomfortable, across his back.

"Jesus!" he swore quietly. "Bodie?"

Lost in the haze of his dream and the beautiful climax, Bodie pulled his lover into his arms and kissed the smooth shoulderblade. "Mm...beautiful..."

"Bodie?"

''s okay..." Bodie mumbled contentedly, "beautiful...how about you?"

Doyle felt the hot hand snake over his hip again but managed to deflect it this time.

"Bodie!" he said sharply, slapping the hand away and kicking backwards. "Wake up!"

"Mmph...wha'... Ray?" Bodie said blearily. "Wha's 'appening?"

"You, you great cretin!" Doyle said sarcastically.

"What?" Bodie came awake with a sickening jump. Pulling away from Doyle, he immediately felt the tell-tale cooling wetness on his belly and remembered everything. "Oh...Christ!" he said in horror, retreating to the edge of the bed.

Released, Doyle also moved, swinging his legs out and sitting up, presenting his back to Bodie and his flushed face to the unseeing wall.

The soft lighting glistened on the pearly traces of semen smeared across Doyle's back and Bodie wanted to die. He reached over to wipe the wetness away but withdrew his hand before it made contact. "I'm sorry..." he whispered, shame flooding through him. "Oh Christ, Ray, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Doyle said quietly without turning around. "It's just...one of those things, I suppose. Happens to all of us," he went on, struggling to keep in control. "Wet dreams are a fact of life...good one, was it?" he managed to add, desperate to keep it light. Bodie was clearly embarrassed enough without him getting uptight over it.

"I don't know... I'm sorry," Bodie said helplessly, staring at the rigid back. He felt cold to his core when the full shock of what he had done hit him.

"Look, it's... It's no big thing," Doyle said quietly, one quick glance over his shoulder enough to see how horrified Bodie was feeling. "There's no need to make a song and dance about it," he said, trying to joke and failing miserably. "Any old port in a storm and all that," he added bleakly.

"Ray..." Bodie was too ashamed to speak, he knew he had betrayed his partner's trust.

"Look," Doyle said firmly, standing up and glancing down at Bodie before looking away again, "it happened. I know you didn't mean it to and I know it doesn't mean anything, so let's just forget it." The semen smeared across his back had become cold and uncomfortable and he rubbed it away with his hand. He saw the way Bodie looked at him as the evidence was transferred. Unsettled by the whole business and Bodie's obvious shame, Doyle needed to get out of the room. "I'm just going...to clean up...be back in a minute," he said, diving for the door and the bathroom beyond.

Bodie watched him go. He didn't move for a few minutes and only then when he heard the shower start up in the bathroom. Numb with the realisation of what he had allowed to happen, he threw himself back onto the pillows.

"Fuck it!" he swore viciously. How could he have been so stupid as to believe he would be able to cope with sleeping in the same bed? Why on earth had he allowed the insidious cuddling to continue after he had recognised the danger? His hands moved down his belly and he squeezed his still sensitive genitals. "Wasn't twice enough for you?" he demanded of his offending organ. "I'll have to spend all fucking night wanking in the fucking shower at this rate!" he hissed angrily.

"What was that?" Doyle asked, emerging from the shower, bathrobe firmly wrapped around his nakedness.

"I said leave me some water, I'd like a shower," he replied quickly, ducking through the doorway and into the bathroom without catching Doyle's eye.

Viewing the wrecked bed, Doyle turned away and headed for the kitchen. Working without conscious thought, he filled the kettle and set it to boil, busying himself with mugs and teabags, preparing the universal remedy: a nice cup of tea.

Shivering slightly because the central heating had switched itself off, Doyle stood beside the over-filled kettle and watched as it slowly came to the boil. Behind him, along the hallway, he heard Bodie emerge from the bathroom and released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding when Bodie returned to the bedroom. He knew that Bodie was even more embarrassed about what had happened than he was. Christ, he though, fancy waking up to find yourself humping your best mate. He shuddered. Bodie would have killed him if it had been the other way around. Or would he? Doyle mused. He could almost picture the lazy, sardonic grin. "Getting a bit desperate, were we?" Bodie would probably say. "Any time you find you're past reeling them in, just let me know."

No, Doyle realised as the kettle clicked off and he lifted it to pour water over the teabags, Bodie wouldn't dive for the bathroom like and anxious virgin. Bodie, he knew, would be very blasé about the whole thing and tease him endlessly.

In the bedroom, Bodie tidied the bed, removed his robe and got under the covers. He could hear the noises from the kitchen and hoped Doyle would have the sense to stay there. During his second shower that night he had got himself under control again. Fantasies, he'd decided, were fine when left to the unobtainable; dreams about Bo Derek or Sylvia Krystal were fine because there was no danger he would ever be so lucky as to turn them into reality. Dreams about Raymond Doyle were something else entirely!

It was no problem working with the man--or being close to him all day, except for the odd wayward daydream, he amended truthfully; it was sleeping with him, sharing the same bed, that was causing the problem.

Doyle padded softly, mug of tea in each hand, into the bedroom.

"Jesus, if the three minute warning went off, I bet you'd rush off to brew a pot of tea!" Bodie said ungraciously as he took one mug.

"Sort the world out over a cup of tea," Doyle said knowledgeably.

"It's hot!" Bodie yelped.

"Of course it's hot--only just made it, haven't I!" Doyle responded, taking smaller, more cautious sips than his partner.

For a while the room was quiet save for the slurping, sipping noises of two men determinedly drinking tea that was far too hot.

Bodie spoke first. "If you feel more comfortable sleeping in the spare room, I'll understand," he offered, face heating again as his shame returned.

Doyle sipped at his tea and considered what had been said. Bodie's embarrassment was almost tangible.

"I'm sorry that it happened, I'm sorry if it...disturbed you," Bodie went on in the silence. "After what happened to you...before, I realise that this was very unpleasant..."

Sipping his tea, Doyle was shocked to hear Bodie refer to the abuse he'd received in Maidstone; he hadn't even thought about that. Suddenly, he realised that Bodie thought what had just happened had been similar to his treatment by Kingsley. "Don't worry about it," he reassured him awkwardly. "It's hardly the same sort of thing."

"Not much!" Bodie snorted in disbelief.

Over his own embarrassment now, Doyle was beginning to see how badly Bodie was taking it. He thought about the bed in the spare room; if he went to sleep in there now, Bodie would assume it was because he didn't trust him.

"The spare bed's already made up. You'll probably be more comfortable in there," Bodie told him, hoping to any god listening that Doyle would go.

"No," Doyle said, coming to a decision. "Like I said earlier, these things happen, there's no need to make a song and dance about it. I know you didn't mean anything by it. I do trust you, Bodie," he said smiling fondly at him.

Bodie knew he was lost when Doyle unfastened the bathrobe and lifted the corner of the duvet to slip into bed. He watched as his trusting, foolish partner made himself comfortable, lying on his side. Not trusting himself to say or do anything, he put his empty tea mug down on the table with a heavy clunk and slid beneath the covers.

An hour later he was still pretending to be asleep and knew Doyle was in a similar state. As always when struck with insomnia, Bodie was constantly fighting the urge to fidget. No position was comfortable for very long and the large mug of tea solicitously provided by his bed-partner was making itself felt in his bladder--but to give in to his bodily needs he would have to admit to being awake, so he suffered in ungracious, grudging silence.

Eighteen inches away, Doyle was suffering less discreetly but held no one to blame for his predicament--a solution was available within arm's reach but he chose not to take the tablets. Eventually, when his body was tired enough, he would sleep--eventually. In the meantime he counted sheep and tried not to notice the restless fidgeting on the other side of the bed.

When his left arm and hip began to feel as if they were developing bed sores, Bodie gave in and turned over. The relief obtained was immediately negated by the flare of light on eyes determinedly shut. Opening them was almost painful, the soft glow from Doyle's light seemingly as bright as a magnesium flare. "Bleeding Blackpool illuminations," he muttered, forgetting he was supposed to be asleep.

"What?"

"Huh?" responded Bodie to the soft-voiced query.

"Pardon?"

"You what?"

"Nothing... Sorry," said Doyle quietly. "I thought you said something... Sorry."

The hurt in the soft voice only served to fuel Bodie's irritation.

"Oh for...can't you turn that off!"

"Do what?"

"That fucking light!" Bodie snapped.

"Oh."

"It does have an off switch, you know," he said, voice dripping sarcasm.

"Is it bothering you?"

"Since you asked, yes!"

"Oh."

Doyle didn't move. Eyes wide, he stared at the light and traced the flex down to the small rocker switch.

"Jesus!" Bodie swore, levering himself up onto an elbow and stretching over the motionless man. "Like this," he said forcefully, snuffing the light out.

"Bodie!" Instantly Doyle strong-armed him away and turned the light back on.

"Turn the fucking thing off and leave it off!" Bodie said nastily, pushing him back into the pillows with ease and plunging them into darkness again.

"No!" Doyle cried out and struggled to get his arms free to reach for the switch. For a moment they threshed together in a tangle of arms and legs until Doyle managed to get hold of the flex. He pulled at it and the lamp crashed onto the floor.

"Now see what you've done," snarled Bodie.

"No!"

In the back of his mind, Bodie understood Doyle's need to keep the dark at bay and even sympathised with his fear. Even before the days of Ann Holly and her father, Doyle disliked the blanketing darkness provided by the thick lined curtains hanging at the window. But now, even the amber glow of London's streetlights weren't enough to keep Doyle's spectres away.

"Turn it on!" Doyle panted hoarsely as he struggled with his partner. "Please...turn it on...it's dark...too dark..."

"It's not that dark," Bodie shouted into a nearby ear as he fought to pin him down on the mattress.

"Is... It is... Bodie!"

"Just calm down, let your eyes get used to it--it's not that dark," Bodie persisted. "I can see you so it can't be that dark."

"No...no...let me out...Bodie...don't...please don't...please..."

Hot and breathless with the effort required to keep Doyle pinned under him, Bodie managed to draw back a little and he realised that it wasn't the dark in the bedroom his partner was trapped in.

"Ray? It's okay, Ray...just try to relax a bit."

"No...no...get out...can't get out... Bodie, please...help me...help me." The last cry was almost a scream and Bodie knew he had to turn the light back on if he wanted to pacify him. When he tried to let go to reach for the lamp on his side of the bed, Doyle clutched at him like a drowning man.

"No...don't leave me...don't...please don't...dark, too dark..."

"Ray, let me go--I'll put my light on."

"Don't leave me!"

"Okay, okay, I'm still here," he soothed, returning the desperate embrace. "Just hold in tight, I'm still here."

"Don't leave me," Doyle wept, his voice cracking, and his tears made Bodie's shoulder and neck damp.

"Okay...breathe deeply...in...and out...in and out...that's it," he encouraged. "You can do it...in...and out..."

It took a long time but at last the tears stopped flowing, Doyle's breathing took on a gentler rhythm and the desperate grip around Bodie's shoulders eased. Pressed tight together, Bodie could still feel the rapid heartbeat, though, and he continued to offer comfort, willing the fear to leave Doyle alone. But, finally, with a heavy heart he stretched out and flicked his own lamp back on. "Better now?" he asked.

"Mm," Doyle mumbled shakily. "Sorry..."

"Shh." Bodie squeezed him gently. "Why are you sorry--I should be saying sorry for doing that to you."

"No," Doyle insisted. "I know that I've been...stupid...wanted to turn it off weeks ago--but I couldn't. I tried...but I couldn't..."

"Didn't have me to chase the bogeyman away then, did you?" said Bodie lightly, anxious to keep him talking.

"Suppose not," Doyle agreed, sniffing moistly in Bodie's ear.

"Better now?" Bodie asked again, pulling away slightly and looking down at Doyle as he lay against the pillows. "There was plenty of light coming in from the street."

"I know that," Doyle said evasively and pulled away to retrieve the fallen lamp. "Bulb's gone," he announced after clicking the switch on without any result a few times. "I know the street light's there...but...when you first switch the light off...it's so dark--too dark."

"It takes a few minutes for your eyes to adjust," Bodie guessed.

"Yes. A few minutes too many," he said ruefully. "I just can't...I don't know... It's okay now I can see a bit. It's just at first... I'm sorry," he ended lamely.

"Why does it bother you so much?" asked Bodie, slipping to lie beside Doyle, who was disinclined to let him move far.

"Don't know," Doyle answered quickly.

"Yes you do."

Neither man spoke for a while, Bodie keen to get his partner to face his fear and Doyle equally reluctant to do so.

"Well?" Bodie said eventually.

"Worse than the flippin' shrink, you are," Doyle grumbled.

"And?" he prompted.

"And I don't suppose you're going to let me sleep until you've had your tuppence worth," said Doyle lightly, but Bodie heard the note of tension.

"I really don't remember very much about what happened," he started slowly. "Maybe that's why I'm having trouble accepting everything. I keep expecting her to walk through the door...still can't accept that she won't--ever. I know she's dead...but..."

"It's only natural, Ray," Bodie said quietly.

"Because I haven't seen her body, you mean... Maybe it is, I don't know any more. When Constance talked about the funeral, it was like she was talking about some television programme she'd seen but I'd missed...do you know what I mean?

"Nothing's clear about the whole mess. The last memory I have is of her getting dressed to go shopping on Saturday morning... It was a lovely morning...pissing with rain--but good... We were good together, the best for a long time...everything had been sorted out and we were both so happy..." Doyle's anguish broke through and he cried softly into Bodie's shoulder. "She wasn't...you know...there was no baby. It was such a relief...made us both realise what a mistake we were making." He sniffed and carried on. "She was going to America in January to a new job, a better job--she would've been making twice my salary. I was going to go and see you on Sunday and let you know...but she went shopping... I thought it was her coming home but it wasn't."

Bodie felt Doyle's grip tighten as the memories grew darker.

"He was an old man, Bodie... I should have known as soon as I opened the door. His eyes were so... I knew he was going to kill me...I just knew...and then it was so dark...so dark. I thought I was blind...told myself I was blind...knew I...wasn't. It was so dark...heard something...sounds...thought he was still there...thought I was dreaming...knew I wasn't...knew it...was real but I couldn't...believe. I thought he was there...tried to move but...hurt...all hurt so much...and then I did move and the ceiling was there...and the walls...so close...everything was so close and I though he was there...and it was so dark I wanted to...wake up but I knew I was awake...and it was so dark...so dark..."

"Shh," Bodie said softly, ignoring the hands that were gripping him painfully. "It's okay now, it's all over."

"I knew I was awake," Doyle wept, "but I couldn't see. I couldn't see anything. Nothing!"

"You're safe now." Bodie pulled the shaking man close, pressing the tear-streaked face into his shoulder and rubbing soothing strokes across bare skin.

"I kept dreaming...dreamt of the dark...even in my dreams it was dark...couldn't tell the difference...then I dreamt of...then there was a light...I wanted to reach the light but as I got closer it was...so bright...it scared me even more than the dark...still dream that now... I'm in the dark and there's a light coming closer and closer... I don't like the dark but I'm even more scared of the light... Christ, what a mess," Doyle whispered wretchedly into Bodie's shoulder. "I've not dared say anything...they'll chuck me out if they find out the mess my head's in."

"Come on, Ray," Bodie said softly. "Do you really think you're fooling them? They know more about what goes on inside your head than you do."

"They think I'm just...upset over Ann, over what her father did, they don't know anything else."

"They know everything, Ray," said Bodie, realising too late that Doyle had no idea exactly how much the doctors knew. "They know about your claustrophobia and...your dislike of confined, dark spaces."

"Who told them?" Doyle demanded, pulling himself away from Bodie. "How did they find out, did you tell them?"

Bodie tried to keep hold of him but Doyle got out of the bed and reached for his bathrobe. "In a way you could say that you told them," he answered flatly. "They were very concerned that you took so long to regain consciousness; you kept nearly waking up but then falling into a coma again, almost as if you didn't want to come to--"

"You told them!"

"Ray, I had no choice--"

"How could you do that, how could you be so stupid--"

"I didn't have much choice," Bodie snapped back, stung by the accusing voice.

"I trusted you," Doyle yelled at him from the other side of the bedroom. "I trusted you when I told you about that! I've never talked about it anyone else and you told them! Well thank you very--ouch!" The outpouring was suddenly halted by Bodie's open hand hitting the side of Doyle's face hard.

"What was I supposed to do," Bodie shouted into the shocked silence following the stinging slap. "You'd been damn near buried alive for nearly a week and I knew you were claustrophobic. I had no idea how much you knew about what had happened to you, I didn't even know if you were aware you'd been found and were safe. I was so bloody relieved when we found you alive and then you wouldn't wake up--I was scared I was going to lose you. Of course I told them--I'd have told them anything if I thought it would help."

Holding his burning cheek, Doyle was stunned by his partner's outburst; Bodie was shaking with emotion and his face was taut and hard. "I'm sorry," he apologised lamely.

Bodie took a calming breath and subsided back onto the bed, drawing his knees up and hugging the duvet to his chest. "So am I," he said wearily. "Jesus Christ--what the fuck have you been talking to the doctors about if you had no idea they knew about the claustrophobia?"

"This and that," Doyle said, shrugging his shoulders and moving to sit on the bed. "They're a funny lot--keep asking me what I want to talk about...which is anything except what I suppose I really need to talk about..."

"Such as?"

"I dunno...just...things. I keep expecting them to ask me things but they don't... I've talked about...well, nothing in particular...just...things." Doyle gave a rueful snort of laughter and turned around to lie down on top of the covers across the foot of the bed in a pool of amber light pouring in from outside. "I just rabbit on about...anything...it's that or sit in total silence for two hours. I've come to the conclusion that it's some new interrogation technique. They just sit there for hours not speaking, only making notes every time you open your mouth and say something. I did a little experiment the other day," Doyle said, his voice almost relaxed. "I talked for almost an hour non-stop about a holiday I went on when I was a kid with my family. I made the whole thing up, none of it was true--you'd never get Dad to leave the business for a trip to the seaside, but the doctor took pages of notes--pages! And it was all rubbish."

"You've never talked about what Holly did to you--framing you, ending up inside; what he did to you and Ann?"

"What do they know about anything?" Doyle said bitterly.

"Have you?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Why the hell should I?"

"Don't you want to get back on the squad?"

"You know I do!"

"So?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Why?"

"Aren't you tired, don't you want to get some sleep?"

"Don't evade the question," persisted Bodie, careful this time not to lose his temper.

"What question?"

"Why are you refusing to talk to the doctors properly?"

"I talk to them!"

"Ray!"

"Because it hurts!" Doyle yelled at the top of his voice. "Because to talk about it I have to think about it and I can't do it. I can't. It hurts...it's too... I can't think about it, Bodie... I can't."

Bodie reached down to the end of the bed and pulled Doyle up, drawing him into a tight embrace and pulling him under the covers. He waited for the storm to subside before speaking. "You've got to talk it out, Ray," he said. "Talk it out and then you'll be able to lock it all away. Can't you talk to me? I'll listen."

"No... I can't... I'm sorry," Doyle hiccuped.

"Talk to the doctor, then. He's a stranger, Ray. You can talk to him, tell him things you wouldn't want anyone else to know and get them out of your system. You'll never meet him socially and he'd never reveal what you talk about. You can talk to him safely."

"Ross would know--"

"No, she wouldn't. Medical ethics. He can't tell her. All he can report is your mental state, nothing else."

"But...she knows about the claustrophobia?"

"Yes," Bodie admitted. "But she also thinks that providing you co-operate with this therapy, you'll make it back to the squad."

"Really?" a hopeful voice said. "She really thinks I'll make it back?"

"She does," Bodie said, conveniently forgetting the woman's loudly voiced predictions on the possibility.

"Can't see me suddenly being cured of going nuts in dark holes--that's been happening for as long as I can remember."

"You must remember not being scared," Bodie said in disbelief.

"No," Doyle answered more cheerfully. "I've never been too keen--I can still remember my brother getting all irate because Mum used to let me have a nightlight in the bedroom. We had to share until we moved to the new house."

"How old were you?"

"When we moved? Oh, about twelve, thirteen. Had a nightlight until I left home to go to police training," he confessed. "Good job the dormitory was never that dark."

"I can see a nightlight wouldn't have gone down too well in a dormitory," Bodie said.

"I've been all right since then, except for just recently... Still don't care for the dark but as long as I can see something, it's not too bad," Doyle said quietly. "They really know about it and don't want to chuck me out?"

"They know," Bodie reassured him, "and they won't chuck you out--provided you co-operate with the doctors."

"Co-operate with the bloody shrinks, you mean," Doyle said with little heat. "Christ, I'm hot--let go a sec. I want to take this off." Wriggling from Bodie's grasp, Doyle climbed out of bed, removed his robe and then got back in. "Bin one hell of a night, hasn't it," he said around a jaw-breaking yawn.

"One way to describe it," Bodie said, slightly disgruntled by the way Doyle rearranged the bed, plumping up pillows and fluffing the duvet.

"Feel tired now," Doyle remarked, turning onto his side and pulling Bodie's arm to rest over his waist.

"You didn't take any sleeping pills," Bodie accused.

"No...they make me too sleepy," Doyle replied drowsily.

"You don't say!" Bodie replied sarcastically as he realised that Doyle had every intention of curling up and falling asleep.

"Shurrup an' go to sleep."

"Doyle!"

"Mm?"

"Are you listening to me?"

"Mmm."

"Ray? Ray!" There was no answer save for a little wriggle and a tug on Bodie's arm, both movements ensuring Bodie was firmly and comfortably wrapped around the sleeping man. With little choice but to give in, Bodie gave a wriggle of his own, tucked his knees behind Doyle and planted one careful, chaste kiss on the back of the curly head.

"Night, love," he whispered and snuggled down to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it had been several years since the one occasion he'd managed four successful hard-ons in one night.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Bodie stared at the screen with intense dislike and punched furiously at the keys; again the machine bleeped at him.

"Bloody thing. Do something!" he said, all patience lost. "Sitting there bleeping at me--"

"First sign of madness, Bodie," an amused voice called from the doorway.

"Bloody machine won't do anything," Bodie complained.

"What are you doing?" Lake asked, coming over to the cramped desk.

"I'm trying to do my report!" Bodie said heatedly. "But all the fucking thing does is bleep at me--I don't know why we can't get the girls downstairs to type this stuff like we did before these bloody things arrived!"

"Progress," Lake said cheerfully. "This is supposed to make us more efficient; cheaper too, in the long run," he added while helpfully bashing a few keys; the machine bleeped furiously at him as well.

"Penny pinching Scotsman--he's got an arse tighter than a fucking hamster!"

"Have you tried...oh, see what you mean... How about this one and this one?" The machine bleeped loudly. "Have you tried turning the whole thing off and starting again? That sometimes works," Lake finished helpfully.

"Turn it off--it took me half an hour to turn the bloody thing on!"

"When's the report got to be in?"

"Last Monday," Bodie said, pushing himself away from the terminal. "It's an assessment report on those new handguns the MoD are trying to fob off on us."

"How did they test out?"

"They didn't. Of the three I was given to test, one had a loose handle, one had a faulty spring and the third one's balance was off centre. They're cheap crap. If that's a sample of their quality, forget it."

"I wondered what you were doing on the range last week. I though you were still assigned to Doyle."

"I am, sort of," Bodie shrugged. "He doesn't need me around twenty-four hours a day any more, besides which, the doctors want him to stand alone for a while, get his feet back and all that."

"How's he doing--no-one's said anything about him for weeks, not since he left Beeches."

"He's doing...okay. He'll make it," Bodie said distractedly, suddenly leaning forward and hitting a different key. The machine bleeped at him again.

"You've not said much," Lake pushed cautiously. Everyone knew how close Ray Doyle had come to being pushed right over the edge, but since the call to The Beeches, they'd heard nothing further. "I hear he's living at your place. I would have thought he'd be safer if they kept him in."

"Safer?"

"Well, safer..." Lake hedged. "Especially after what he tried at Beeches."

"What have you heard about that?" Bodie asked, only his eyes revealing the question wasn't as casual as it sounded.

"I heard he cracked up."

"I think a person who went through what he did is entitled to crack up--don't you?"

"Suppose so," Lake answered. "What's he going to do next, when he's finished at Repton?"

"Do?"

"Where's he going to go?"

"He'll be allocated a new flat soon, but he'll be off the squad for another month at least, then retraining and back to the grindstone."

"He's coming back!"

"You think he shouldn't?"

"No, no, it's just-- I'm surprised. I thought he was..."

"Finished?" Bodie supplied, his voice hard. "I suppose it would make life for some people a lot easier if that was the case."

"Bodie--I didn't mean--"

"No, he's not finished. He's coming back--if only to prove that he can."

"Don't take it out on me, Bodie," Lake warned. "You know me better than that. I'll be as pleased as you are to see him make it back."

Bodie sighed and slumped back into his chair. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "It's been a bloody awful couple of months."

"You can say that again," Lake said easily. "But the worst's over now, isn't it?"

"Oh yeah, the worst's over. He'll be back at HQ after next week, on office duties. The Cow's got something lined up for him. I'll be back on full duties by then as well so things will, hopefully, soon be back to normal."

"Normal?" Lake queried.

"Normal for this place, anyway." Bodie laughed and threw the computer manual at Lake's retreating back.

---

After finishing off his last length of the pool, Doyle rested a while on the bars at the deep end, letting the water take his weight. Beside him his new friend turned to begin another length, the powerful body cleaving its way through the water with regular, even strokes.

Later on in the changing room, Doyle was nearly dressed when the man came in.

"You looked like you were going to keep on all day," Doyle said lightly.

"No, I always do a hundred lengths. A regular hundred," the soft Welsh voice said. "I like swimming."

"Me too," Doyle agreed. "Makes me hungry though--you fancy coming up to the cafeteria?"

"The cafeteria?"

"Yeah. Coming?"

"I...er...I always go to the lounge...they'll be waiting for me in the lounge."

"Who?" asked Doyle, curious about this quiet man. "Are you expecting visitors?"

"Visitors?"

"Are you expecting someone today?"

"Who?" the Welshman asked, puzzled.

Doyle finally realised that all was not as he first assumed.

"Have you been here long?" he asked.

"Long," Quinn said thoughtfully. "Oh yes, a long time."

"When do you go home?"

"Home?"

"When will you leave here and go home?"

"I'm not leaving, am I? Am I leaving here?" Quinn asked anxiously.

"Do you live here?" Doyle asked in disbelief.

"Here? Yes, I live here, my home is here--am I leaving here--are they taking me away again?"

"No, it's okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. No-one is taking you anywhere; you're safe here, aren't you," Doyle reassured the man.

"Safe here," Quinn said, still a little nervous. "Here is safe. I feel safe here."

"That's nice," Doyle said awkwardly. He'd seen the tall man moving confidently around the rooms at Repton several times over the past few week but had never spoken to him before. He hadn't realised that the man wasn't what he seemed.

"You can get tea...and biscuits in the lounge."

"You can?" Doyle said, surprised. He'd never seen them provided there.

"Mrs Collier always makes me tea every afternoon...sometimes she even brings in cakes...makes a lovely cherry cake does Mrs Collier."

"Cherry cake, well, might be worth giving the cafeteria a miss," Doyle said cheerfully. He waited quietly while his new friend got dressed and then they left to go in search of tea and cherry cake.

The lounge was empty when they arrived but Quinn walked straight through and into a small side room.

"Hello, Mrs Collier, got any cake, have we?"

Mrs Collier, a short, incredibly plump and cheerful looking woman, smiled brightly. "Of course, bach, fresh baked this morning, see, it's still warm." The soft lilt of her voice carried easily past the bulk that was Quinn to Doyle. "There's enough for your friend, too, if he wants some," she offered generously.

Leaving Mrs Collier and Quinn to sort out the cake and tea, Doyle wandered over to the large bay window and watched the less than agile antics of the men outside on the tennis courts. The four men, one on crutches, one in a wheelchair, were playing a simple knockabout and their shouts and groans rang out loud in the quiet grounds. He would enjoy a game of tennis or even squash himself, but there were few people he could play against, most of the patients apparently recovering from injuries of one kind or another. At first, he had thought the blond Welshman might partner him in a game, but now he realised that wouldn't happen; though fit and strong, Quinn was obviously not a fast thinker.

Accepting a generous slab of home-made cherry cake, Doyle sat and watched as his new friend and Mrs Collier began a board game on the table in front of him. It still struck Doyle as odd that such a powerful looking man would find snakes and ladders so taxing. Declining to join the game, Doyle helped himself to another smaller slab of cake and sat back to watch.

He was bored stiff. Having finally found the reason for his discontent made little difference though. It was a shame that Bodie had to report to headquarters for duty, Doyle thought miserably. It wouldn't be so boring if Bodie were here.

Repton had turned out better than he hoped but even so Doyle found himself wishing he wasn't there. It would be good to get back to work, even if he was going to be tied to the office for a while. But, if what Cowley had told him was right, work could prove very interesting: it had been a long time since he'd worked with computers. Working out the training programme for the rest of the squad could prove to be rewarding.

Provided, of course, that the squad hadn't thrown the computers, hardware, software and programmers and all through the nearest window before he got there. Every night for the last week Bodie had come home moaning and complaining about computers and Doyle had been hard put not to explain Cowley's strategy to him.

George Cowley was no-one's fool and he knew that none of the men felt they needed or wanted to learn now to use the terminals cluttering their overcrowded rooms and cramped desks. For all reports (except the important, most urgent ones) the facilities of the typing pool had ceased to exist. Each agent was required to make use of the terminals at their desks to compile and log their reports. For a whole week the agents had pored over incomprehensible computer texts in an effort to produce their reports. So far only a few had met with any degree of success. Cowley gauged that by the time Doyle began to run the training programme, the whole squad would be aware of the need to attend the training course they had all previously shunned. Even Bodie.

Bodie.

Doyle found his thoughts drifting on to his partner. Bodie was often in his thoughts. Bodie was...Bodie, Doyle decided. But recently Bodie had been...different. Watching the game of snakes and ladders, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his wandering thoughts uncovered the cause of that difference; ever since that night Bodie had been more than just different--he had become distant, remote--even though he was always there when he was needed. In the morning Bodie would begin making their breakfast whilst Doyle showered off the sweat produced by their run around the park, then they would change over; Doyle, clean and dressed, would finish the breakfast and put it all on hot plates and pour the coffee out. After breakfast, Bodie would drive to headquarters, dropping Doyle off at the gates leading to Repton. At night, he would collect Doyle from those same gates and they would travel home together. They took it in turns to cook an evening meal or, if neither felt like cooking, they visited the nearest takeaway; together. But totally separate.

Sometimes Doyle felt that if he took his eyes off Bodie for even a single second he would vanish. He was always there beside him--but sometimes it was as if he was completely alone and Bodie had never been there for him.

At first he thought they had got away with it and Bodie's unfortunate dream and its consequences had been dealt with, but Doyle soon realised how wrong he had been.

Bodie no longer touched him. Until that contact had been withdrawn, Doyle hadn't realised how much he had accepted, even wanted and expected it from his friend. Now even a casual brush of their bodies, an accidental meeting of arms or legs under cover of darkness and duvet were met with muttered apologies and instant withdrawal. Bodie no longer touched him, no longer welcomed Doyle's touch either. Being used to having Bodie pressed close behind him in bed, Doyle felt unaccountably lonely when the lights were turned out and they settled down to sleep. Now, as soon as Doyle's eyes became accustomed to the dark, Bodie would pull away to his own side of the bed and turn his back.

The first night after Bodie's mishap, Doyle wanted badly to comfort the man lying tense and uncomfortable a scant six inches away, but Bodie had radiated a 'do not touch' sign and so he stayed alone, turned towards his source of comfort and tried to remember when he hadn't had to ask for it.

Since then things hadn't improved much. He had tried to move back into the spare room to save him further embarrassment, but Bodie wouldn't hear of it, insisting that until Doyle was much better he had to stay where he was, just in case. In case of what, Doyle wasn't sure; his sleep had been untroubled for the most part since he left off taking the sleeping tablets. He didn't remember having any bad drams but, even so, Bodie was walking around with dark rings under his eyes and was definitely not his normal, suave self.

Maybe he should insist on moving into the spare room, at least that way he knew Bodie would get a decent night's sleep. Besides which, Doyle reasoned, he would be moving into his new flat soon and returning to work--he could hardly expect Bodie to want to share his home and his bed for much longer. Then again, Doyle considered, the spare bed wasn't that comfortable, the mattress had seen better days and Bodie's bed was just...perfect: it was a shame that one night had spoiled it all. Remembering the embarrassment, his own as well as poor Bodie's, Doyle wondered whether they would be having these problems if he had reacted differently. It wasn't as if anything terrible had happened--wet dreams were a fact of life--they happened. Maybe, Doyle considered, if had behaved differently afterwards, if he had pretended not to have been so shocked or surprised, Bodie's embarrassment would have been less. If it happened again, he decided he would try to be a bit more blasé. Unbidden, the memories of how that throbbing, thickening hardness felt against his buttocks returned and, unconsciously, Doyle was swept along on the sensations. It had felt...surprisingly pleasant, he thought, especially when Bodie had pulled him backwards to rub himself harder, the firm circular motion spreading a warm silkiness over his skin, making the movements easier...more pleasurable. The sure grip around his own rising penis had been...shocking but not unwelcome, and Doyle remembered, more vividly in retrospect, the disappointment and unvoiced protest when the tight grip released him, left him...

Doyle drew a deep breath as a jolt of sexual heat flared through his body, centring on his groin. He fidgeted in the now uncomfortable armchair as he tried to ease the restricting tightness over his arousal.

"You all right, dearie?" Mrs Collier asked suddenly as she looked up from a successful climb up a ladder and into the last row of nineties. "You've gone quite pink."

"I'm fine," Doyle recovered quickly. "A bit warm in here, isn't it?"

"Warm enough when the sun's out, but a bit nippy when it goes behind the clouds," Mrs Collier said. "You mind you don't catch a chill."

"I'll be careful," Doyle said, smiling. "But I think I'll make a move. Bye, Quinn, bye, Mrs Collier."

"Bye, love."

"Goodbye, Ray," Quinn called out as Doyle reached the door.

Grateful to have escaped so easily, Doyle checked that the corridor outside was clear and then made a few adjustments to his clothing to make himself more comfortable.

"Bloody hell!" he muttered under his breath. What a way to discover your libido was in working order, he thought in amazement.

It was still too early for Bodie to come and pick him up and Doyle decided it would be quicker if he met him at headquarters and then went home from there.

However, his arrival at headquarters did not pass unnoticed and it was an irritable, defensive Doyle that finally found his erstwhile partner bent over a keyboard in their small office.

"What's up, how did you get here?" Bodie greeted him anxiously.

"Nothing's wrong and I came on a bus--all right!" Doyle snapped in response.

"A bus?"

"Yeah--one of those big red things," Doyle said, slumping heavily down onto his chair. "So this is the new computer then. How's it going?"

"Don't ask," Bodie sighed. Why have you come in? Everything's okay at Repton, isn't it?"

"Give over, Bodie, please!" Doyle flashed a poisonous look across the desk. "I'm fine, Repton's fine; I just got fed up hanging around waiting for you. What's up with everyone here?" he asked, leaning over to look at the work Bodie was trying to input.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone I've met has looked at me like I was a ghost or something. I had one hell of a job getting past the front security too--I've still got to collect my ID and stuff from the duty officer."

"How did you get in, then?"

"Cowley was on his way out as I was arguing the toss with Security. He told them it was okay. What are you supposed to be doing with this?" Doyle asked, pointing at the screen.

"It's a report," Bodie replied.

"In what language?"

"There's something wrong with the keyboard," Bodie said heatedly. "Look, I touch the letter A and that thing appears, it's the same with all the letters. I keep getting funny symbols."

"Maybe it automatically codes the text," suggested Doyle, his face barely keeping its deadpan expression when he realised Bodie was taking him seriously.

"That's plain daft!" he complained. "How the hell am I supposed to know what I've typed if I can't read it!"

"Why don't you try releasing the control lock?" Doyle leant over and hit a key. "See, it works now."

"How did you do that?" Bodie demanded to know.

"Easy when you know how. Are you ready to come home yet?"

"What?" Bodie tested a few more keys to check. "Might as well. I can start this tomorrow. It's working properly now."

"Well, leave your new toy alone and come on," Doyle said tiredly. "It'll still be there tomorrow."

"Worse luck," Bodie muttered, slipping his jacket on.

Walking out to the car, Bodie saw what Doyle had meant about people's reactions to him. They were crossing the front hall when Bodie saw Lake and Wilson do a double-take at seeing Doyle. One look at the glowering face beside him made Bodie discreetly wave the two men away.

"Why do I get the feeling that not too many people were expecting to see me back here?" Doyle asked sourly as the car sped away towards home.

"You're still on sick leave," Bodie countered mildly. "They were surprised to see you, that's all."

"Hmpgh!" Doyle grunted, keeping his opinions to himself.

Bodie was relieved that his partner let the matter drop there. His unexpected arrival at HQ had been a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. Ross had suggested that the agent might experience some difficulty in returning to the buildings that were CI5 and meeting his workmates, but Doyle had just proved otherwise.

From the passenger seat, Doyle cast a surreptitious look at Bodie's profile. Rarely ever rosy-cheeked, Doyle decided his partner was exceptionally pale and tired looking, the bags and darker rings under the blue eyes confirming his suspicious. As he watched, Bodie yawned widely and flexed his shoulders as much as he could and still drive. Bodie was tired, overtired in fact, Doyle decided, and he knew why. It all stemmed from that one stupid night when he should have had the sense to pretend he was asleep as Bodie came all over his back.

Could he have pretended, Doyle found himself wondering. Probably not, he decided, not unless he was genuinely doped up and out for the count with sleeping pills.

"You didn't take your sleeping pills."

From the recess of his mind, Bodie's accusation burst out from his subconscious. Why on earth was Bodie so angry he'd not taken the tablets, Doyle wondered. Had something happened before when he had taken the tablets and hadn't woken up, he thought, giving a sudden suspicious sideways glance at Bodie. No, he told himself. Bodie would never do anything like that. He'd trusted Bodie with his life before, so he certainly trusted him in bed. Bodie would never take advantage of him like that.

Not without good reason, anyway, Doyle thought a heartbeat later. He turned sideways in the seat to get a better look at his partner without being too obvious. Eyeing the strong hands gripping the steering wheel and gearstick, Doyle remembered the heat of the same hands pulling on the bare skin at his hips, pulling and rubbing his own body against the throbbing member. Travelling down Bodie's chest on to cord-covered thighs, Doyle remembered how smooth the almost hairless body had felt along his back. Unlike himself, Bodie had neither a hairy chest nor hairy legs and they always felt cool and smooth, like a woman's skin and yet so very, very different. The memory was so clear Doyle could almost feel the bulk pressing against the cheeks of his arse, the hard heat with its moist, seeping head and the prickly hair and bulky softness at its root. It had felt...big.

Shuddering under the impact of the memory, Doyle couldn't help but look into the cloth-covered groin of his partner: Bodie didn't look like he was hung like a carthorse, he decided, trying and failing to be objective. Masculine pride coming to the fore, Doyle wondered if Bodie was bigger than he was and a fleeting mental image of two cocks standing erect side by side, his and Bodie's left him reeling and looking anywhere but in his partner's direction.

"What's up?" Bodie asked in a concerned voice when he noticed the flushed and troubled expression.

"Nothing!" mumbled Doyle. Oh, Christ, he thought furiously, not again. What's wrong with me--all I have to do is think about sex and I nearly burst my pants!

"If you say so," Bodie retorted, stung by the obvious lie.

"Sorry," apologised Doyle, rapidly thinking up an excuse. "It's been a pretty rotten day, that's all."

"Shrink give you a hard time?" Bodie asked cautiously. They had an unspoken rule: Doyle never talked about his morning sessions with the psychologist and Bodie never asked.

"Not too bad," Doyle said after a few minutes during which time he stared out of the window and got his errant body back under control. "I'm cutting the sessions down as from next week. I only have to go to Repton a couple of mornings so I can start back at work soon."

"Willis will clear you for duty?"

"Office duties, day shifts," Doyle replied. "I've still got a way to go before the shrinks and the quacks let me loose on the streets," he joked.

"You'll make it," Bodie said cheerfully.

"I know I will," Doyle said confidently.

---

All that evening, Doyle was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was mentally assessing his partner's sexual attributes. From his armchair he could watch Bodie as easily as the television, without being noticed, and did so unashamedly. Every movement drew his attention to the region of Bodie's groin. While his head and upper body were hidden behind the Daily Telegraph, Bodie's groin was clearly visible and Doyle found his eyes drawn time and again to the revealing bulge resting on one thigh. Later, as Bodie sprawled out along the sofa, the definition of his sex became even clearer and Doyle found it almost impossible to look away.

Apart from noticing that Doyle seemed a little edgy during the evening, Bodie was unaware anything was wrong. A couple of times after dinner he'd surfaced from behind the newspaper or from the television to find a stern green-eyed Doyle almost glaring at him. He'd asked what was wrong but each time his question fell on deaf ears, Doyle clearly in a world of his own.

He greeted Doyle's departure into the bathroom with relief much later in the evening. Whatever thoughts were churning through the troubled mind were only adding to Bodie's own problems. He was tired: he was exhausted. Not sleeping properly night after night was taking a heavy toll. It would, he knew, be better for him if Doyle were to move into the spare room--but not better for Doyle. Although they could now sleep with only the streetlights showing through uncurtained windows, Doyle's sleep was still restless and at times uneasy. Bodie knew part of the blame was his. As soon as Doyle relaxed into sleep, safe in the reassuring pool of lamplight, Bodie retreated to the other side of the bed and turned his back. Sleep was next to impossible because of Doyle's nearness; Bodie was afraid to relax too much just in case he forgot the man beside him was not his fantasy partner. Doyle's restlessness often drew Bodie back from the brink of sleep and he would have to turn over and attempt to soothe him. It still surprised him that Doyle rarely tried to punch him out whenever their bodies touched once he was asleep; a few moments' gentling and Doyle's demons would be banished until the next time--and Bodie would be wide awake.

While waiting for Doyle to emerge from his shower, Bodie strolled casually through into the bedroom, switching on both bedside lights and collecting his bathrobe from the hook behind the door. Normally quick, Doyle took an unusually long time in the shower tonight and Bodie found himself looking for things to do to fill in the time: finishing off the few bits of washing up in the kitchen, locking up and switching everything off. But still Doyle didn't leave the bathroom, the sound of the shower obviously drowning out Bodie's requests that he hurry up and leave him some hot water.

Tired and impatient to get into bed for what would probably be another sleepless night, Bodie stripped off, throwing his clothes in a heap by the door, donned his robe and lay down on top of the bedcovers. The constant noise of the shower reassuring him, Bodie stretched out on the bed, easing kinks and knotted muscles. Conscious of a dull ache in the small of his back, he rolled to lie on his face and arch his back into a taut bow for a few seconds. His muscles protested at the abuse and he collapsed face down into the pillows. He had pulled at it, pressing his face into it and inhaling the lingering scent for several minutes before he realised what he was doing with Doyle's pillow. Shocked, at first he pushed the pillow away and rolled onto his back...but then slowly, almost against his will, he tugged it back into his arms, squeezing it against his body and pressing his face into it. He knew what he was doing, knew it was dangerous, but was unable to stop himself. One ear cocked, listening to the shower, Bodie undid his robe and pushed the material away. He twisted to lean slightly on the firm pillow and took a grip on his painfully distended cock; the pressure of his own hand and the heady scent of Doyle was almost his undoing and he fought desperately to hold back.

---

...His face turned upwards, eyes blind with lust, Doyle gasped aloud as the sure hands teased him further and higher than he'd ever been before. Not yet, he thought desperately, too soon...not yet...let it last...please god let it last...

The knowing hands released him and the pressure eased a little. It was enough; leaving the urgent thrusting member, Doyle's hands, Bodie's hands roamed freely over the planes of belly and chest. This, he thought with shock from some sane, safe distance, is what it would feel like; Bodie's hands would be just like this. Unable to delay the inevitable a second longer, Doyle moved his hands--Bodie's hands--back down his body, back arching, forcing his urgent erection upwards toward the relief it needed and closing his eyes with a grateful sigh when it was enclosed in the hard, hot tunnel that drew him up to climax.

Sagging back against the shower wall, Doyle gave a groan that was a mixture of relief, horror and despair. What had he done; wondering about Bodie, thinking about might have happened was one thing, but to do what he'd just done, deliberately to build up a sexual fantasy about his best friend was unforgivable.

Sick to his stomach and disgusted with himself, Doyle sluiced away the evidence of his terrible sin and switched the shower off. Refusing to give in to his body's demands, that he be gentle with his over-sensitive skin, he rubbed fiercely at himself with a towel.

Dry and clean but feeling unaccountably hot and dirty, he sank down onto the edge of the bath and held his head in his hands. Christ, what a mess, he thought angrily. What the hell was he supposed to do now? How could he possibly climb into bed beside Bodie now, after that?

---

In the bedroom, Bodie was surfacing to a slightly different problem. Already resigned to the hold his fantasy lover had over him, he no longer berated himself for his weakness, only for the stupidity of allowing himself to ejaculate all over Doyle's pillow and the duvet cover.

The sudden silence from the bathroom galvanised Bodie into action, sending him scrambling for a wad of tissues, but dabbing at the damp patches made little difference; dark brown cotton turned almost black when it was wet and even the soft lighting did little to disguise the damp circles.

Praying to whatever gods might be listening to keep Doyle in the bathroom a bit longer, Bodie made a dash into the kitchen. He was back in the bedroom, glass of water in hand, just in time to hear the bathroom door creak open.

"Bathroom's all yours," Doyle called out before turning down the hall away from the bedroom.

Although puzzled as to where Doyle went to, Bodie stayed where he was, ready to set the scene when he came back. It was a few minutes before Ray appeared at the door to find Bodie mopping at the bedcovers.

"Had a bit of an accident, spilt some water--but don't worry, you can have my pillow," Bodie said cheerfully.

"When did you make up the bed in the spare room?" Doyle asked without even noticing what his partner was doing.

"What?" Thrown completely, Bodie couldn't produce an answer.

"Thanks, anyway, it's a good idea. We'll probably both sleep better now. You look like you could do with a good night's sleep."

"What's a good idea?" Bodie asked, only just seeing the shuttered expression on the solemn face.

"I should have used the spare bed from the start," Doyle said flatly. "Can't think why I didn't."

"Oh!" Bodie said lamely. "I suppose if you want to you can. It's up to you." He couldn't detect any embarrassment in Doyle, no hint that he'd realised what had been happening, but he'd learnt over the last few years that Doyle never revealed what was hurting him.

"See you in the morning, then. Goodnight."

"Night," Bodie answered numbly.

Doyle turned and walked down the small hall, closing his bedroom door behind him. Forcing himself to move smoothly, he turned the bedcover down, switched the small side lamp and the overhead light off. Dropping his robe over the foot of the bed, he slid under the crisp cotton sheet and layers of blankets.

For a while he lay in the soft glow of the lamp, listening to the sounds Bodie made banging around in the bathroom, but refusing to allow himself to think. Finally, he drew a deep breath and stretched out a hand to the light switch and turned it off. But the expected dark and wash of panic never materialised and he gave a relieved sigh. The spare room had a portlight over the door and the light from the hallway spilled into the little room. The bathroom door opened and the other bedroom door slammed shut but, more importantly, the hall light stayed on. Hardly able to believe his luck and sleep still a long way off, Doyle listened to the sounds of the flat, the refilling cistern and soft tick of his alarm clock all he could hear. The quietness was oddly unsettling as he had grown used to the breathing rhythm of another person beside him, the warm presence a few inches away and the comforting dip in the mattress that meant someone was there. He had grown used to Bodie.

Along the hall, Bodie was no nearer sleep; the king-size bed had never felt so empty--nor so cold. Apart from his feet, which were never less than chilling, Doyle was always hot. Whilst he would never entertain an electric blanket, Bodie was always grateful for a hot water bottle of the human variety. A bed that contained Ray Doyle was never cold and Bodie had decided a long time ago that Doyle could warm his bed anytime.

In the end, Bodie gave in and pulled Doyle's scent laden pillow into his arms and wrapped himself around it. It was no substitute but he consoled himself with the thought that it was probably the nearest he would ever get to the real thing.

---

Feeling uncomfortably hot and restricted in the smart, expensively cut suit he had donned to attend the meeting at the MoD, Bodie was much relieved to find the relatively cool sanctuary of CI5 headquarters. Removing his jacket and undoing his waistcoat, he helped himself to a glass of cold fruit juice and slumped down into one of the armchairs. He was finishing his second glass of juice when Day, looking as miserable as always, sauntered in and totally ignored Bodie until he found someone had emptied the carton of juice he'd bought only that afternoon.

"Bloody typical, that is!" he moaned loudly. "No respect for other people's property. Why can't they buy their own supplies."

"Oh, was that your juice?" Bodie enquired and drained the last mouthful. "Very nice."

"Was it--I wouldn't bloody well know. I haven't had a drop of it."

"You leave things in the fridge, people will take them, you ought to know that by now," Bodie lectured sternly.

Murphy walked in just then, jacket suspended by one long finger over his shoulder, and looking as hot as Bodie felt.

"Wish it would rain, might clear the air a bit," he said, bending over to open the small fridge. "Any of that juice left?"

"No, there bloody isn't," Day snorted in disgust and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Such a friendly chap," Murphy remarked. "How'd you get on with the MoD bods?"

"Fucking awful," Bodie said mournfully, loosening another button. "I told them what I thought of the guns and they weren't amused--they'd have liked it even less if I hadn't made such an effort to be polite!"

"Your report didn't go down too well then?"

"Like a lead balloon. Still, with Cowley backing me up, they won't get away with fobbing that load of crap onto CI5." Bodie was still fuming over the mercenary, uncaring attitude of the men from the Ministry--just because the guns were less expensive and easier to repair, the men who depended on them were expected to risk their lives using weapons that were poorly made--all for a few pennies!

"I notice Ray's making a rapid recovery," Murphy said.

Not understanding the reason for the amused glint in Murphy's eyes, Bodie looked up, curious.

"How do you mean?"

"Getting on very nicely with Ann-Marie, he was, last time I saw him."

"Ann-Marie?"

"Come on, Bodie! You must have noticed her, about five-four, nicely stacked, smashing legs up to her armpits, auburn hair down to here," he drew a line across his chest.

"Silk blouse and a split up the side of her skirt?" Bodie asked.

"Knew you'd seen her," Murphy confirmed. "I've been looking hopeful ever since she arrived, but no luck... We've all tried our damnedest but she's blanked us all--except for your mate, of course," he added in disgust. "He's got her eating out of his hand."

"Ray?"

"It's obscene. I keep telling myself it's because he still looks peaky, but personally, I don't think it's her maternal instincts he's arousing."

"Who is she, anyway?" Bodie asked, ignoring the prickle of irritation he was feeling.

"One of the computer programmers. I think she's going to run the training programme for us. She can teach me everything she knows anytime," Murphy said suggestively.

"Where is Doyle, anyway?"

"In the ops room--talking to Ann-Marie."

Leaving Murphy slightly stunned by his abrupt departure, Bodie walked quickly to the operations room. The section had been transformed by the installation of the new computer system and he was obliged to rap on the security glass to get his partner's attention.

Looking up from the paper-strewn desk, Doyle's face lit up with a smile of welcome before turning his attention back to the woman sitting beside him.

Looking at her, Bodie realised he had seen her around over the last month but this was the first time he had really looked at her. What he saw made his heart sink and he guessed why Doyle was attracted to her. She was from the same mould as Ann Holly, that much was obvious straightaway; fine-boned elegance and immaculate poise went hand in hand with expensive haute couture. Beauty, brains and class--just what Doyle liked.

Rapping sharply on the glass and gaining Doyle's attention again, Bodie tapped meaningfully on his wrist watch. It had been a long day and he wanted to go home.

Doyle signalled five minutes and turned back to the woman, who hadn't even bothered to see what had distracted her companion.

Half an hour later, Doyle climbed into the car that shot away from the pavement even before the door was properly closed.

"Where's the fire?" he asked, curious.

Bodie didn't bother to answer and drove them home in a determined, icy silence.

"Bad day at the office?" Doyle ventured once they were safely indoors.

"What?" Bodie snapped.

"Don't bite my head off, Bodie," he said quietly. "You've been like a bear with a sore head ever since you picked me up."

"You can say that again!" Bodie mumbled under his breath, remembering the uncomplicated days before he ever knew Ray Doyle.

"What?"

"Yes, I had a bad day!" he snapped. "I think I'm allowed to have one now and again, aren't I?"

"'Course you are," Doyle agreed, deciding to retreat. "Pardon me for breathing."

Alone in the kitchen, Bodie fought to regain control. It wasn't Doyle's fault he was pissed off, the MoD bods had a lot to do with...and Miss Ann-Marie, of course. Taking a deep, calming breath, he walked through into the lounge. "Sorry," he apologised, smiling in response to Doyle's relieved grin. "It has been one of those days. I think, given a choice, I'd take a week with Macklin and Towser rather than one day, suited up, talking economics, politics and stupid, friggin' budgetary control with that lot of pin-striped dinosaurs!"

"But you did convince them you were right?"

"Of course," Bodie replied in mock indignation. "Wouldn't let them out of the room until they promised to drop the whole lot on CI4 and let us have the West German stuff as soon as it's available."

"Well done. What did Cowley say?"

"Bastard that he is. I might 'ave known he had a reason for wanting me to report in person. He'd just about talked himself hoarse trying to convince them the guns are useless--he only wanted me there to give a few demonstrations--I swear old Ponsonby-Clarke crapped his pants when that round jammed in the barrel!"

"You took a risk."

"Nah...shoved a piece of wadding down the barrel before the meeting started."

---

The rest of the evening passed smoothly until Doyle dozed off on the sofa. Dead to the world, he looked very comfortable, but Bodie knew the sofa was in reality too short, too hard and a bit too narrow to be suitable for a night's rest.

"Wakey, wakey, sunshine," he called out. "Time to go to bed."

"'uck off."

"Same to you with knobs, sunshine," countered Bodie. "Come on, you'll be more comfortable in bed."

"Okay...okay... I'm moving."

"That's better," Bodie said. "You'd hate me in the morning if I left you there all night.

More asleep than awake, Doyle padded along the hallway to his bedroom. Watching him go, Bodie prayed for a decent night's sleep for both of them. Ever since Doyle had moved into the spare room a week ago, neither of them had slept well. Too conscious of the empty space beside him, Bodie had been alert to every sound Doyle had made in the spare room. There hadn't been any screaming nightmares but even so he knew Doyle's sleep had been uneasy and restless, particularly if the trips to the kitchen and bathroom at irregular intervals were anything to go by.

By the early hours of the morning, as he listened to Doyle closing his bedroom door after another walk around the flat, Bodie realised his prayers had been wasted. It was almost daylight when he was roused from a shallow, unrewarding sleep when he heard Doyle's door creak open again. Tired and angry, Bodie pushed back the covers and left his room.

"What bloody time do you call this?" he bellowed from the doorway into the lounge.

Peering through the curtains into the empty street below, Doyle hadn't heard Bodie's approach and he started in surprise. "Oh...it's five past six."

"Five past six!" Bodie shouted. "What the hell are you doing up at this bloody hour for?"

"Sorry...did I wake you up?" Doyle answered apologetically.

"Yes, you flaming well did, just like you did at four thirty, quarter to three and one o'clock tonight, last night, the night before that AND the bloody night before that!"

"Sorry."

"Sorry! Is that all you can say, sorry!"

"What do you want me to say?" Doyle retorted, on the defensive. "I'm not doing it on purpose. Is it my fault I can't sleep?"

"Have I said you're doing it on purpose--no, I haven't. I knew you were going to find sleeping difficult, that's why I keep on about the pills."

"I'm not taking any more sleeping pills!"

"Why not?"

"Because they make me feel...rotten, like my head's full of cotton wool. Besides, it's not healthy to take them for too long."

"Not healthy for you or me?" Bodie asked sarcastically. "Why not take them, just one--or at least half of one so I can get some sleep."

"No!" Doyle refused and Bodie knew he wouldn't give in.

"Well...what's the trouble then?" he asked irritably, too tired to be diplomatic. "Nightmares again?"

"No."

"Well, what, then?"

"Nothing... I don't know...nothing... I just can't sleep."

"Why not, what's keeping you awake?"

Doyle turned back to look down into the street while he considered which answer he ought to give, a truthful one...or a lie. I can't sleep because the bed's too cold without you in it; I can't sleep because when I do you're there in my dreams, in my nightmares, even, but when I wake up you're not there anymore.

"I don't know...just dreams...feelings...nothing specific. I just can't sleep, and I can't spend all night staring at the ceiling, counting sheep. I'm sorry if I keep disturbing you." The drooping shoulders and low voice told Bodie a lot more and he felt his anger fade away.

"You'll get over it, things will soon be back to normal," he offered gently, crossing the floor to stand behind Doyle's shoulder.

Although he felt the warmth of Bodie's body so close behind him, he still jumped when a hand rested on his shoulder. "What's normal?" Doyle asked, hoping Bodie hadn't noticed the movement. "Can't remember when I last had a decent night's sleep."

"What sort of dreams are you having?" Bodie enquired, already imagining any number of horrors, death, violence, being trapped, feeling helpless.

"Just...feelings," Doyle replied helplessly. "Sometimes I just...feel...bad...sometimes frightened...sometimes though, just for a few minutes, it's like I can remember everything and it's terrifying--but then I lose it all and I'm just left with the fear. Sometimes I just don't want to go to sleep in case I do dream." And sometimes I dream about you, he thought, not daring to say the words aloud, but I can't guarantee that I will, almost wish I could. Dreams about Bodie were preferable to the other dreams he usually had.

Looking at the dejected slump of his partner, Bodie felt guilty that he had given in to his own selfish, greedy desires and allowed Doyle to leave his bed. Apart from the odd night when they first returned from Beeches and he began visiting Repton, Doyle had slept safely, although restlessly, in the bed beside him. His sexual awareness of Doyle was, for the moment anyway, superseded by his desire to comfort him and keep him safe and happy, and Bodie was sure he would be able to control his sexual responses to him even better now he knew his limitations. "Look," he said gently. "Come back to bed, my bed. You were always a bit restless but I think because I was there I managed to quieten you down, stop the bad dreams from taking hold of you. It'll pass, Ray, I'm sure of it--but meanwhile we both need to sleep properly. Come to bed with me?"

"No!" Doyle said abruptly, knowing there was no way he could accept Bodie's offer even though he knew it made sense. Until he got himself over the ridiculous juvenile crush he'd suddenly developed on his partner, Doyle knew there was no way he could share Bodie's bed without his partner realising something was seriously wrong.

Bodie only heard the vehement rejection. Face flushing, he withdrew his hand and retreated a few steps. The disgust on Doyle's face could only mean one thing, he decided. Doyle had realised that his wet dream had been a lot more than just an unfortunate accident. Remembering that night he'd masturbated until he ejaculated over the bed and pillow, Bodie suddenly wondered why Doyle had taken so long in the bathroom; perhaps, Bodie thought, cringing inwardly, he had only seen Doyle emerge for the second time! Had he seen him wanking in the bedroom? Probably, his guilty conscience told him.

"You know best, I suppose," he said quietly. "Perhaps you'd do better to ask Dr Willis for some different tablets then, ones that will help you sleep and not affect you during the day."

"Perhaps I should," Doyle agreed, aware that his withdrawal had hurt Bodie. "I'll get on to accommodation about that new flat tomorrow as well. I want to be settled in the new place before I get back to active duty."

"You want to move out?"

"Well, I can't stay here forever, can I?" Doyle shrugged his shoulders. "The accommodation blokes have already crated my stuff up and moved it to the store...there's nothing left at the old flat now."

"When was this done?" Bodie asked. "I knew you had to move but I thought they were leaving it until you felt better?"

"I saw the officer on Monday. The lads went round and packed everything up--there was no need for me to go over. You've already moved my clothes here, and I won't need anything else until I'm in the new place."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't aware I needed your permission," Doyle responded to Bodie's angry question.

"I suppose you would have got around to telling me you're moving out at sometime!"

"What's got into you? I meant to tell you on Monday but things happened and I forgot. I've not seen that much of you since and I've had other things on my mind--"

"You've forgotten to tell me for a week that you're leaving here?"

"I've been busy. I've been running all over the place, Repton, headquarters, the gym, home, and who the hell do you think's been doing the shopping and the cleaning for the past week or so--you've either been too busy or snoozing on the sofa--"

"If I've been snoozing on the sofa it's because you've been keeping me awake half the bloody night!"

"Well, sorry, I'm sure," Doyle said, sneering. "If that's the case, I should think you'll be glad when I do move out!"

"Well, at least then one of us will be able to get some sleep!" Bodie shouted over his shoulder as he stormed out of the room.

"Bodie--" Doyle called after him, sorry too late for the argument that had erupted from nowhere. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" A bedroom door slammed shut on his apology. "Well, screw you too!" he said without any heat as he threw himself onto the couch, realising that he was unlikely to get any more sleep after that little scene.

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Both breakfast and the drive out to Repton were conducted in stony silence, Bodie determined to wait for Doyle to make the first move and apologise. But having had his first attempted apology ignored, Doyle was not feeling especially forgiving.

Dropping Doyle off in the main road just outside the hospital wall, Bodie unbent a little. "Will I see you later?" he asked.

"You're in the office all day?"

"Unless something breaks, yeah," Bodie answered.

"I'll see you later, then," confirmed Doyle with a weak smile that grew stronger when he saw it returned.

"I'm sorry about last night," they both said at once, then broke off, laughing.

"I am sorry," Bodie said.

"So am I," Doyle echoed. "You're right--as bloody usual. I'll see Willis this afternoon, see if he can't prescribe something--I'll tell him you need your beauty sleep."

"You do that, sunshine," Bodie called as he revved the engine. "Catch you later."

Doyle waved once and then turned into the hospital grounds.

---

Bodie's good mood lasted until the court papers landed in his lap. The ensuing meeting with Cowley and Ross only served to worsen his mood. His first encounter with Clive Greerson, three years ago, had been enough to make Bodie determined that however long it took, he'd put him away--if not permanently then at least for a very long time.

Greerson was a clever man, though, and until recently had always managed to protect himself from the full weight of the law. For a prosperous, charming, spirited bank manager, Clive Greerson had an ugly hobby. He bought and sold secrets: industrial, commercial, political, military and even sexual secrets.

Bodie had first known about the darker side of this paragon of public life shortly after joining CI5, when an operation had been a spectacular failure and Tom King's body had been found washed up on the French coast some months later.

This time, they had been better prepared and deliberately lulled Greerson into a false sense of security; but even so, their plans had not gone smoothly. They had manipulated events to force the aide from the Cabinet Office to meet face to face with Greerson, but events conspired against them. A burst watermain in Trafalgar Square and a small fire in Tottenham Court Road brought London traffic to a complete standstill--the CI5 backup being right in the middle of it.

Outside the plush Indian restaurant, Bodie had fumed silently as he watched Greerson, flanked by his goons, enter the premises. Inside, Doyle, a camera hidden in his briefcase, was watching and waiting for the backup which never came.

The meeting over, secrets touted and bought, the Cabinet aide and Greerson left at five minute intervals. It had taken Doyle five minutes to realise that the camera had been faulty and the photographs were useless.

And now Greerson's trial had been brought forward. Scheduled for October, it was to start at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.

"Do you think he knows that 4.5 has been...off the active list?" Bodie asked, as troubled as Cowley was at the sudden turn of events.

"I don't see how," Cowley said thoughtfully. "I think we've been successful in keeping the lid on things. Doyle's state of health, mental and physical, has only been the concern of this department. No, I think his counsel is merely hoping to catch us unprepared."

"Well, they've miscalculated then, haven't they?" Bodie said silkily.

"You think so?" Cowley said, arching one eyebrow. "You are certain of a conviction? I was under the impression that the charges are shaky, to say the least. With Francis Lafontaine acting for the defence, I hope your confidence is justified."

"Lafontaine?" Bodie exclaimed. "Where's he sprung from?"

"Greerson engaged his services last week--it would appear he's wasted no time."

"Getting the trial shifted forward five months was no mean feat!" Bodie said in grudging admiration.

"Which brings us to why I have called yourself and Dr Ross in," Cowley said brusquely. "Owing to the lack of physical evidence, it is obvious that our strongest material is 4.5's eyewitness account of the meeting between Greerson and Matthew Woodrough. Is Doyle fit to appear in front of Lafontaine as a hostile witness?"

"Yes."

"No."

The two voices spoke together and Bodie glared at Ross as she calmly informed George Cowley that, in her professional opinion, Raymond Doyle was not ready to be put through a harrowing ordeal in court.

"He's given evidence in court hundreds of times," Bodie protested. "Of course he can do it."

"I'm not saying he can't," Ross said, unruffled by the hostility emanating from the man sitting beside her. "It is my considered opinion that mentally and emotionally, he is not ready to be thrown to the wolves."

"I know Lafontaine has a reputation for being fierce, but--"

"I have observed Lafontaine in action," Cowley interrupted. "He will make sure to give both you and especially Doyle a hard ride."

"Why Doyle especially?" asked Bodie.

"Because the basis of Greerson's defence is that he has never met and does not know Matthew Woodrough. Given the lack of photographic evidence," Bodie grimaced at the sour reminder, "4.5's eyewitness account of the meeting is all we have. I have little doubt that Lafontaine will be able to discredit and ruin what little else we have on his client."

"Then Doyle has to testify," said Bodie.

"Not necessarily," countered Ross. "If I declare him unfit to appear, his written statement of the meeting can be read out in court."

"How can the cross-examine a written statement? Lafontaine will laugh his way to an acquittal!" Bodie said in disgust. "Doyle has to appear--we don't stand a chance of a conviction if he doesn't."

"I do not understand the reasons for your decision any more than 3.7," Dr Ross," Cowley said, disappointed at her decision but understanding she must have a perfectly valid explanation.

"4.5 is recovering," Ross began. "However, we must make allowances for the enormous stress he has lived with for the past five years. Firstly prison, and then a move into CI5--hardly what he was expecting and, I suspect, a great disappointment. His efforts to renew his relationship with Miss Holly were an attempt to pretend nothing had ever happened. Ever since recovering consciousness in hospital he has refused to discuss Miss Holly, even to the point that he won't say her name. He is co-operating better now than at first, but he is still unwilling to be drawn and has become quite adept at circumventing discussions he finds threatening. His self-confidence is growing but is still very shaky. I feel strongly that if Lafontaine were to detect a weakness, he would attack 4.5 and could possibly destroy him."

"Rubbish!" snorted Bodie, unable to keep quiet.

"Not so," snapped Ross. "4.5 knows that the case rests on his evidence. If he falls to pieces in the witness box and the case is lost, he will feel guilty. Ordinarily, he would be able to carry that--but not now, not on top of everything else that has happened."

"But if he doesn't appear, we'll lose the case and Greerson will walk!" Bodie protested, even though deep inside he could see Ross was speaking the truth.

"There will be other times for the likes of Clive Greerson," Ross said, implying that it was not so for Ray Doyle.

"Very well, then," Cowley agreed reluctantly. "Bodie, you'll be in court next Monday; I don't expect it will take more than a day for Lafontaine to move for an acquittal. There's no point in telling 4.5 the trial has been brought forward--he'll find out as soon as Fleet Street run the story and that will be soon enough."

"Sir," Bodie agreed with poor grace. He wanted Greerson--badly. But if there was a risk to Doyle, perhaps it would be better to wait until a conviction was more promising.

"Bodie," Cowley called out just as he was about to follow Ross as she left the office. "How are the trials on the new sights and handguns going?"

Bodie only just restrained himself and managed to answer politely. "Slowly, sir. Very slowly. They are marginally better than the last lot."

"I'll expect your report by Friday," Cowley said, his attention already moving on to the next piece of business.

"Sir," Bodie called him back from his work. "With due respect, sir," he began, "this is the third set of trials you've set me to do. Now I know it makes sense to have one of us do the tests, but even so--this is the third set in as many weeks!"

"I am aware of that, 3.7. Are you telling me you are unable to evaluate the working potential of the equipment?" he enquired frostily.

"No, sir," Bodie answered. "It's just...this is the third time. I don't mind the trials, but it's getting bloody difficult to write reports twenty pages long and be polite about shitty equipment and workmanship that quite frankly stinks!"

"Your reports have been what I would expect from you, 3.7."

Bodie wasn't sure whether Cowley was congratulating him or not.

"Dr Ross informs me that Doyle has significantly reduced his dependence on you and that it is time for you to resume normal duties."

"Thank you, sir," Bodie responded, surprised at the sudden change of topic.

"So, after you have completed your third twenty-page report, you will resume full duty status."

"After the weekend, sir?" Bodie asked hopefully.

Cowley outstared him with ease but then relented. "As if you have na' had it easy enough the last few weeks," he scoffed. "Aye, since you've the cheek to ask, I'll see you on Monday when you've finished at the court. You'll finish here once the report on the latest weapons batch is on my desk," Cowley added generously. "Monday morning, mind."

---

A trip to the armoury took up the rest of the morning and when Bodie arrived back at HQ, around one o'clock, he looked for Doyle, who he knew would have arrived from Repton by now.

He finally tracked him down in a quiet corner of the sprawling canteen. He walked right up to the table and stood unnoticed until he rapped his knuckles on the Formica topped table.

"Oh...hello, Bodie," said Doyle, looking up from his companion and seeing him for the first time.

"Hello, yourself--what's got you so engrossed--could 'ave had a chorus of Tiller girls prancing down the aisle for all you would have noticed just then."

"Nothing special, just some outlines we're working on."

Bodie looked at the other half of Doyle's exclusive 'we.' "I'm Bodie. This ignorant lout is my partner. Nice to meet you," he introduced himself formally as he pulled up a chair to sit beside Doyle.

"Marie, this is Bodie," Doyle said, pantomiming a grand introduction. "Bodie, this is Marie Hellman, who is going to design and run the programme which will hopefully enable you to do more than play Space Invaders on your computer."

"You mean she'll make it show Channel 4 and colour?" Bodie said excitedly.

"Pillock!" Doyle scolded, casting an apologetic look towards the woman. "Excuse the idiot, please," he said, giving Bodie a mock glare that was more affection than anger.

"What's on offer today, then?" Bodie asked cheerfully, looking about at the plates of other diners. "Anything worth having?"

"I dunno why he bothers with the menu--he always has the same thing," Doyle said, rising to his feet and picking up the sheets of notepaper from the tabletop.

"Where are you going?" Bodie asked as Ann-Marie also collected her things and rose from her seat.

"We're off," Doyle said as he passed over the small ladies' briefcase to Ann-Marie. "Got a meeting with Cowley in...five minutes."

"What happened to lunch?"

"It was lovely--I recommend the cheese omelette. See you tonight."

"Doyle!" Bodie called out, annoyance warring with disappointment. "Where?" Where shall we meet, what time?"

"Oh, don't worry about me. I'm collecting a car from the garage later this afternoon--I'll see you at home later tonight. Bye."

Speechless, Bodie watched him go, his feelings ambivalent; part of him was pleased to see Doyle so cheerfully independent, but only a small part: underneath the pleasure he was already missing the air of vulnerability that had been firmly wrapped around his partner. Doyle didn't need him anymore.

Yes, he does, Bodie thought fiercely as he watched his friend leave the canteen with the attractive programmer. Or, maybe I need him? He knew he should be pleased at Doyle's re-established confidence, knew it was wrong--even a little sick--to want Doyle that dependent on him. If a meal with an attractive woman and a new set of wheels were part of his new independence, Bodie was pleased for him. If it was what Doyle truly wanted.

The computer programmer? Bodie wondered how true the gossip was; Doyle and Ann-Marie had seemed very thick...and he had approached accommodation about a new flat earlier in the week, Bodie realised.

Wandering back down to the armoury to wind up the final trials, Bodie wondered how much longer he would have his house guest.

---

The meeting with the section heads and George Cowley over with, Doyle was feeling very pleased with himself.

"You handled Mr Cowley very nicely," Ann-Marie commented as she helped him put the papers and equipment away. "You seemed to know just the right level of technical jargon to use without baffling them all."

"Get too technical with that lot and they'll all fall asleep. They still think pocket calculators are high technology," he said, laughing easily.

"No, there's more to it than that. Mr Cowley was right in getting you to help me design the training programme. You've got the knack of breaking complicated concepts into understandable examples. Where did you get your training?"

"Initially when I was with the police, six or seven years ago now. I did a couple of courses then, only basic stuff. I learnt about programming...a few years back. Never got around to completing the course, though, only managed two and a half years out of the four-year course."

"Why did you drop it after so long, you were over halfway through?" Ann-Marie asked curiously.

"Didn't have much choice, really," Doyle said, wishing the conversation had never started. "I only started it for something to do, anyway. I thought it might be useful when I started job-hunting...but then things happened and I wound up here with CI5." He didn't bother telling her the reason why his studies were terminated so abruptly; further education in prison was considered a privilege--and privileges were withdrawn from uncooperative prisoners as punishment: prisoners in solitary confinement were denied access to the education complex.

"You ought to finish the course," Ann-Marie said, not noticing the dark mood sweeping over her companion. "You're a natural with computers, you have a logical mind. The work you've done on this training programme has been excellent--it would have taken me twice as long on my own."

"Maybe I will, one day," Doyle said thoughtfully. "If I leave CI5 I'd need something to fall back on."

Ann-Marie caught the wistful note in Doyle's voice and wondered at its cause. For the most part she recognised her companion was as arrogantly chauvinistic as his colleagues, but at times she could see how different he was. Always controlled and faultlessly polite, Doyle occasionally struck her as being incredibly vulnerable, particularly since his recent visit to a barber's had left him with a short crop of curls that clung to his head, emphasising its paleness and high cheekbones. The hairstyle--necessary because of some recent injury--only heightened the impression that he was too gentle to survive the type of work she knew he usually did. He seemed genuinely interested in helping her design the training programme and her original doubts at his enthusiasm to work with her had faded as time passed and he still made no attempt to take advantage of her or to seduce her as his colleagues had tried. Almost regretful, Ann-Marie realised that it was the work he was doing that Doyle found so captivating, not who he was working with. Still, she thought cheerfully, perhaps when the programme was running and the demands on their time were less...

---

The keys to his new car in his hip pocket, Doyle sauntered around to the armoury, hoping that they hadn't already locked up for the night.

"Hello, Jack," he greeted the armourer chirpily. "Glad I caught you. I've been meaning to get down here all week, just never had a moment."

"Afternoon, Ray," the older man said, covering his surprise. "What can I do for you? You've missed Bodie by half an hour if it's him you want?"

"No, I wanted to see you. I want my gun back. Bodie said it had all been checked in here a while ago," Doyle said awkwardly. "When I was...missing. Someone picked it up from the place in Eastbourne."

"Oh yea, I remember," Jack Craine said, wondering how to handle the situation. As far as he knew, Doyle was still off the active list. "The Major send you down, did he? Got your chit?"

"What?"

"Allocation chit," Jack explained. "No chit--no gun. Sorry, but rules are rules."

"It's my gun, Jack," Doyle said. "It's already been issued to me--I just want it back, I don't need a chit."

"I'm afraid you do, sorry," Jack said firmly.

"Look, someone picked it up and brought it in," Doyle explained. "It's already in the records, I don't need a bloody chit!"

"I'm sorry, but--"

"Why the fuck do I suddenly need a piece of paper to get my gun back?" Doyle demanded.

"Look, why don't you go and see the Major?"

"I need Cowley's permission to get my own gun?" said Doyle, bemused.

"Yes, I'm sorry, but you should have known--"

"Known what?"

"Where have you been the last two months, Doyle?"

"Off sick, you know that!"

"But where? I can't give you a gun without authorisation." The older man looked at Doyle warily, unsure of how he would respond.

All of a sudden, Doyle understood. They would not give him a gun because he had been in a psychiatric hospital: he was still considered too dangerous to be let out on the streets with a gun.

Not saying another word, he spun on his heel and left the armoury. He found his car and drove away from the building, looking for somewhere safe to release his temper.

He drove automatically, mindlessly, for a couple of hours. It was only when he realised he needed to buy some petrol that he actually began to think clearly again.

Forking out for a full tank, Doyle made a note to bend the mechanic's ear next time he saw him. Leaving the forecourt, he realised he was only a short drive from The Brewers and on the spur of the moment decided to drop by.

Ivy's greeting was loud and enthusiastic, ensuring that the whole pub knew he was there. "I was so worried about you," she moaned as she pulled him into a big hug. "You looked like death warmed up last time you were here, and then you didn't come back! What happened to you--are you better now? Poor love, you still look a bit peaky."

"I'm fine, Ivy," Doyle managed to reassure her. "I'm sorry you were so worried--but thanks for thinking about me," and he meant it. Ivy's welcome and the friendly reception he received from the few regulars he recognised was warm and genuine. It felt good to be on the receiving end of such uncomplicated goodwill.

"What on earth 'ad you been up to that day you came in here?" Thomas Mahone asked as he served Doyle a drink.

"I'd been having a few...problems," Doyle answered discreetly, knowing he could safely leave it to Tom to manufacture his own story.

"Trouble with the law?" Tom asked quietly. Doyle nodded truthfully but refused to be drawn.

"Bleedin' pigs, once they've had you they never bleedin' let you go," Tom snarled. "You looked like you'd been done over pretty good. Was it one of them?"

Them and us, Doyle thought. It was still strange knowing Tom and the other regulars thought of him as 'one of us' and not 'one of them.'

"No, wasn't one of them...was someone who had it in for me from a long time ago," Doyle said, suddenly very tired.

"He sure as 'ell done you proper. If you need any help getting 'im back, just say the word, Ray, mate. Round these parts we 'elp our friends," Tom offered, sincerity written in his face, and Doyle know he meant it.

"Nah...thanks for the offer, though."

"Shouldn't let him walk, Ray. If you change your mind, just say."

"Oh...he won't walk," Doyle said harshly. "I won't have to worry about him anymore. He won't be troubling anyone again. Ever." The harsh voice made Tom Mahone look up sharply and he just glimpsed the glimmer of raging fury in the expressive green eyes. Doyle's smile was at odds with his words and Tom knew that Doyle had spoken the truth. He didn't need anyone's help to deal with his attacker--not any more. Remembering the stories he'd heard about Doyle, Tom suddenly believed them. It had been hard to identify the quiet, gentle man with the hardened ex-cop who had taken on the likes of Albert Kingsley and Ward. No-one knew where Doyle had gone to after Maidstone, but rumours had him on Broadmoor.

Moving away to serve another punter, Tom wondered if it was wise to encourage Doyle to keep returning--there was no knowing what might send him back over the edge into insanity.

Drinking alone, Doyle sensed Tom's withdrawal and smiled to himself. With the landlord's imagination, there was little need for him to reveal or even pretend very much. He knew they thought he'd been transferred to a psychiatric prison hospital but it didn't bother him. What really bothered him was Jack Craine refusing to give him his gun because he had been in a top-security psychiatric hospital wing! What did he have to do to prove he was safe, he wondered. Would they never let him carry a gun, did they mean to keep him inside forever? The questions rattled around inside his head without finding any answers and eventually he left the problem alone and turned his attention to what was happening in the pub.

The darts tournament took up most of the evening, Doyle taking over for a team member who failed to arrive. His scoring impressed his team-mates but not the opposition and the friendly bickering was loud but harmless.

One of the last to leave that night, Doyle found Tom walking out with him to put some traffic cones on the road.

"Bleedin' buggers from the factory come round the corner fill the bleedin' road up by seven. When the brewery lorry comes they can't get close unless I put these things out," he said as he placed the cones in front of the cellar entrance. He looked across the road to the one remaining car. "That's never yours?"

"Who else do you think it belongs to?" Doyle asked, pulling the keys from his pocket.

"Don't come cheap, cars like that don't," Tom observed shrewdly. "Flash, ain't it."

"It's a nice car," Doyle agreed.

"Bet it cost a packet?"

"Wouldn't know," Doyle answered carelessly as they crossed over to the car.

"You're working then?" Mahone said in surprise; not many of his regulars did.

"In a fashion," he answered vaguely as he opened the door and climbed in.

"What do you do?" asked Mahone, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I make a living," Doyle answered with an evil little laugh.

"Doing?" It was an impolite question and Mahone knew Doyle would only answer it if he wanted to.

"It depends," Doyle answered as he keyed the ignition. "Changes all the time...bit difficult to say really."

"But it pays well," Mahone said with a sly smile as he ran a hand over the smooth bodywork. "It's a nice car."

"It's a nice car," Doyle agreed for the second time before revving the engine and leaving Mahone standing alone in the darkened road with his overactive imagination working double-time.

---

Bodie heard the key turn in the front door but didn't move from his position in front of the television--although he did glance angrily at his wristwatch.

"Evening," Doyle called from the lounge door. "I'm going to make some coffee--want some?"

"No," Bodie answered tonelessly, still without turning.

Doyle heard the annoyance in his partner's voice and grimaced as he went through into the kitchen. Coffee made, he drifted back into the lounge and sat on the arm of the sofa. He noticed that Bodie didn't even look at him and sighed. "I meant to ring and say I was going to be out all evening, but I forgot." Bodie still didn't say anything and Doyle knew that he was really in the doghouse. "What are you watching?"

"The last fifteen minutes of a film--so belt up or go to bed," Bodie snapped.

"I'll go to bed then," Doyle said, feeling guilty and angry at the same time. "Goodnight." Bodie didn't reply.

Alone in his bedroom, Doyle put his coffee mug down and moved to open the small window. It was very hot and humid with scarcely a breeze to move the air around and the room felt stuffy and closed in. He stood by the open window, trying to cool down, until he heard the television being switched off and Bodie moving around in the kitchen. Draining his mug, Doyle went to find him.

"Film finished?" he asked.

"Obviously," Bodie replied.

"Oh...any good, was it?"

"Passed a few hours," came the toneless response. "Got fed up talking to myself. Have you eaten?"

"What? Oh, er...had a cheese roll," Doyle said quickly.

"You been drinking?" Bodie asked suddenly as Doyle moved closer to rest his mug on the drainingboard.

"Only a couple of halves," Doyle replied, irritated at the presumptuous question. "Why, what's it to you?"

"Nothing," Bodie said as he picked up the mug and washed it. "Have a nice time, did you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did. It's been a good night, I've enjoyed myself."

Bodie rinsed the mug and slammed it down for Doyle to dry.

"I just missed you this afternoon," Doyle ventured quietly as he watched Bodie's shuttered face. "At the armoury, missed you by half an hour, so Jack said."

"Were you looking for me?"

"Not really, I went down there to collect my gun." He watched the momentary stillness in Bodie's face and waited to see if he would say anything but he didn't. "He wouldn't hand it over, said I had to have a chit from Cowley."

"Did he?" Bodie said carefully."

"Did you know anything about that?"

"Like what?"

"Why can't I have my gun back?"

"If you think about, the reasons should be obvious, even to you," Bodie said mildly.

"What's obvious?"

Doyle's outraged innocence irritated Bodie. "God, you can be thick sometimes, Doyle," he said harshly. "You force a man to help you escape from a secure hospital. You attack a guard and steal his gun, you barricade yourself in and threaten to shoot anyone who comes near you, you even pull a gun on your own partner before turning the fucking thing on yourself, and then you wonder why they won't give you your gun back. You're unbelievable, Doyle! For an intelligent man you can be so bloody stupid sometimes!"

"I wasn't really going to shoot anyone!" Doyle said indignantly. "Hell, I didn't even realise they were armed until the gun was in my hand. I wouldn't have shot anyone."

"Well, at the time, sunshine, we weren't too sure of that; from where we were it looked like you had every intention of going through with it!"

"Don't be so stupid!" Doyle retorted scathingly.

"Who's being stupid, Doyle?" Bodie raged. "You were off your bloody trolley and didn't even know which end was up. You had the gun on me for several minutes before you even recognised me--"

"No!" Doyle cried out in denial. "I knew what was happening...everything just got a bit out of control... I wouldn't have shot you...I wouldn't."

Although the memory of what had happened had always been there in his mind, he had managed to push it aside. Now, for the first time, he pulled the memories out and examined them. "I wouldn't have hurt anyone..." he whispered. "Not anyone..."

"What about yourself?" Bodie asked in a quieter voice. "What about you?"

"What about me?" asked Doyle, confused.

"It wasn't just ourselves we were concerned about--we were scared you would...hurt yourself."

"With the gun?" Doyle said. "You thought I meant to kill myself?"

"Didn't you?"

Doyle sat down onto one of the kitchen stools, eyes wide as he recalled the confusion and fear of that night. "I don't know...perhaps...can't really remember now...but I don't think so." One memory, clearer than all the others, suddenly sprang into his thoughts; he saw Bodie appearing on the stairs below him, saw himself train the gun on him; that split second when Bodie made the mistake of reaching for the gun lasted forever and he saw himself take aim and knew that if Bodie had twitched he would have fired. He could have killed Bodie that night. Almost six weeks later, the shock of what he'd nearly done hit him hard. "I could have killed you," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I could have killed you!"

"But you didn't," Bodie said softly, realising that only now did Doyle understand how close to disaster they had come that night.

"God...what a mess," Doyle said wretchedly. "And then I wonder why they won't let me have a gun... God, I've been so stupid!"

Moving to stand closer to the dejected man, Bodie put his hands on Doyle's shoulder and was surprised to feel them trembling. "Hey, don't take on so," he offered, fingers attempting to massage the tenseness beneath them. "You've been under one hell of a strain... We do understand, no-one blames you. You've got to be patient, Ray. They can't afford to take chances--you'll be active and armed as soon as they think you're ready."

"They'll clear me for duty?" Doyle asked in surprise. "I thought I'd got it all wrong and I wouldn't get back on the squad--"

"Of course you'll get back--and soon," Bodie said. "You're getting better, stronger, all the time. Another month and we'll be working together again."

"You reckon?" Doyle asked, hardly daring to believe it. He stood to face Bodie. "Really?"

"I'll want to know why, if we're not," Bodie said sternly. "Just think back to a month ago and you'll see how far you've come. Another month and you'll be in the clear--providing you put some more meat on these bones!" He pulled Doyle into a bearhug, squeezing and tickling the ridges of his ribs.

"Gerroff! Bodie--get off--ouch--ooff," Doyle fought back with burrowing fingers.

"Ouch!" Bodie cried out and pulled back a little. Laughing and flushed from the exertion, Doyle looked a lot happier. "Even your fingers are bony," he complained.

The beautiful sensation of being enfolded by Bodie's warmth swept over Doyle, leaving him breathless and excited; he felt his heart rate quicken even as his awareness of his partner suddenly increased. He could feel the way one of Bodie's legs was positioned between his own, the hard rub of his thigh caressing the sensitive inner region of his own legs; through the thin cotton T shirt he was wearing he could feel the heat and dampness of Bodie as they tussled. He could even smell Bodie, a rich tangy scent that filled his senses and almost made him dizzy with excitement. The desire to stop the game, to stop tickling Bodie and to let that man do whatever he wanted to him, caught him unawares and completely by surprise.

Bodie only say the sudden withdrawal and retreated to protect himself. Anxious that he may have let his control slip, he swiftly ran through all his actions of the past few minutes. Had he done anything wrong? No, he decided, relieved, it had been a game, just a silly game to pull Doyle out of his despondent mood.

"It's...it's getting late, Doyle said awkwardly. "I think I'll turn in."

"Okay--did you see Willis about some new sleeping pills?"

"Forgot," replied Doyle. "I'd prefer to do without them... I'll see how it goes for a while longer. Goodnight," he called over his shoulder as he made his escape.

Alone in the kitchen, Bodie was left with the feeling he'd been hit by a steamroller--dealing with Doyle's mood changes often left him feeling that way. Tired but knowing he probably wouldn't get a decent night's sleep, he fiddled around with a few tasks until he heard Doyle had finished in the bathroom. A while later, duvet tucked under his chin, he was roused from a heavy doze by the sounds of someone moving along the hall toward the kitchen. He glanced at the bedside clock: it read one forty-three a.m. And so it begins again, he thought wearily, another sleepless night to get through!

---

On reaching the kitchen, Doyle made straight for the sink where he turned the cold tap full on and stuck his face under the icy flow. The cold made him gasp and then he stood up straight, the water dripping from his face and hair while he filled a cup with water and then drank it down.

The water droplets fell onto his chest, making him shiver and he stretched for the towel. Dry and feeling cooler, he slumped down onto the stool and rested his head in his hands, his despair obvious. The dream he had woken from minutes ago still held him in thrall, his senses reeling and nerves smouldering with banked-down need and energy. Christ, he thought, what a dream! It had begun like countless others: he was hot, it was dark and he was alone. Then the light, cold and harsh, had come into his sanctuary: Bodie had been there and the light hadn't been so frightening...then it had changed. He had known that with Bodie beside him he could walk into the light and be safe--but he also knew that once he reached the light, Bodie would be gone, and so he tricked him into staying in the comfortable darkness. He preyed on his partner's protectiveness and, feigning his own weakness and paralysing fear, kept Bodie by his side.

In the dream-dark they huddled together with Bodie protecting him from the cold light. He felt Bodie's arousal instantly and deliberately fed it, knowing it would keep him close by, but he now faced another dilemma: if he teased him to satisfaction, they would resume their journey towards the light.

No matter what he did, he knew he was going to lose Bodie and he had woken up with that thought paramount in his mind as his dream-self failed to stop him reaching completion.

In the kitchen, Doyle wondered whether Bodie would think he was going mad if he told him what had been going on in his mind. Awake and fully aware of his actions, he finally understood what he had been doing. He had first realised he might lose Bodie when Ann arrived on the scene; for a while things between them had been strained until they had settled into a comfortable routine. When she was in London, he spent his free time with her; when she wasn't, he went to Bodie. Once they'd had the good news, Doyle had been eager to pass it on to his partner and impatient to get the weekend with Ann over and behind him.

Waking up in the hospital, he quickly understood how important he had become to Bodie and resented anyone that forced them to be apart. Whatever he did or said, Bodie always came back and Doyle knew he liked that, wanted or even expected it. Bodie cared in a way that was different to anyone else and he revelled in that difference, enjoyed being the centre of Bodie's universe. But then he began to get better and found Bodie slipping away from him.

And the sex? Doyle wondered about that too. Over the last two months he'd had neither the inclination, time, energy, nor, come to that, opportunity to indulge himself. Maybe, he thought, I'm just getting a bit...desperate, and he's handy? Why else would Bodie figure so prominently in his fantasies? And what about Bodie, he thought? What had he been dreaming about that night when he came all over my back? Who had he been dreaming about?

Under the harsh kitchen light, Doyle suddenly sat bolt upright as he remembered the words his partner had mumbled as he came. He said my name, Doyle realised, mouth dropping open in shock. He was dreaming about me! Me!

No, he told himself, he was mistaken, he was seeing what he wanted to see. That single thought ripped through Doyle like an electric shock. I want him to dream about making love to me? He shook his head in amazement, unable to believe his own thoughts. Was that what he wanted? Yes! Really? Yes!

"Oh my god," Doyle groaned aloud, sinking his head into his hands again. "Now what do I do?"

Only silence answered him. Getting to his feet, he padded quietly along the hallway and peered cautiously through the half-open door into Bodie's bedroom. At first he didn't understand why the room was so dark but then he noticed the closed curtains. The kitchen light and the light from his room overspilled into the hallway and into a corner of Bodie's room. He could just see the curved shape of the sleeper. Doyle noticed that his side of the bed had a pillow lying lengthways beside Bodie. He backed out of the room without realising Bodie had been awake throughout his visit, and went into the kitchen, switched the light off, and then returned to his own room.

He lay in bed, flat on his back, staring with wide-open eyes at the ceiling. Bodie, he thought incredulously. Bodie? He knew it was impossible, that he was stupid even to imagine...

Why would Bodie want him? What did he have that Bodie could possibly want? The answer came quickly. Nothing. He had nothing for anyone. He didn't even like himself very much anymore. How could he have fooled himself into thinking he needed to depend on Bodie? He didn't need Bodie, not in that way: he only pretended so as to hide behind his real reason for wanting Bodie to stay close. No, he finally acknowledged, he didn't need Bodie--he wanted him!

Homosexuality. The word flashed into his mind. Homosexuality with Albert Kingsley, with any number of other hopefuls...or with Bodie? The memories of Kingsley's hot eyes, burning, hurting hands, the raspy, obscene whispers across a dark cell and the knowing, leering looks of his companions tumbled into being and he pushed them aside easily. It would be different with Bodie, Doyle told himself, it would have to be different. But it was hopeless. Whatever Bodie felt for him, Doyle knew it wouldn't extend to that! It simply couldn't because Bodie was not like that.

Doyle closed his eyes, cursing himself for even considering such a stupidly dangerous thing. Bodie would kill him if he ever found out.

---

Along the hallway, Bodie pounded a clenched fist into the pillow, Doyle's pillow, and swore. For a moment he had thought Doyle was going to come into the room and climb into bed beside him. He hoped his stupidly stubborn partner had finally acknowledged that, for whatever reason, they slept better together than apart.

"God knows we both need a decent night's sleep!" Bodie muttered angrily. He heard Doyle's bedroom door click shut and punched the pillow again.

Enough, he decided, was enough. He slid out of bed and pulled on his robe without bothering to fasten it and strode purposefully along the hall towards the closed door.

"What that--" Doyle nearly fell out of bed, he jumped so much as the door was flung open.

"I have taken as much of your pratting around as I can. I have had enough!" thundered Bodie from the foot of Doyle's bed.

Heart in his mouth and his burgeoning erection shrinking beneath his fingers, Doyle gaped, open-mouthed, in shock as his fantasy appeared from nowhere.

"You're spending the rest of tonight in my bed," Bodie told him. "And every bloody night after that until you can sleep like normal people!"

"I can't get in your bed!" Doyle said in horror.

"I'm not asking," Bodie said, "I'm bloody telling you. Move!" He took hold of Doyle's bare arm and tugged hard.

Doyle snatched himself free and pulled the covers up to his chin. "You're mad," he said, inching away from the outstretched hands. "I'm not moving from here!"

"That's what you think." Bodie lunged towards Doyle and yanked him up off the bed and over the edge.

"Bodie!"

"Move!" Bodie ordered, but Doyle pulled away and made to crawl over the mattress to safety. "I want you where I can keep an eye on you--you know you'll sleep better in with me. I don't know why you insisted on coming in here in the--ouch!" Struggling to pull Doyle back across the bed, Bodie stubbed his toe painfully on one of the wooden legs. "Will you stop fighting--" he said, smarting from the hot pain in his foot and a glancing elbow in his ribs.

"Put me down!" Doyle yelled in outrage. Bodie had picked him up along with half the bed covers, causing his arms and legs to be tangled in acres of strong cotton. "Put me down!"

Bodie ignored him and turned towards the door, catching Doyle's ankle bone hard on the corner of the bedside cabinet. The howl of pain was covered by his own loud groan of complaint at how heavy Doyle was.

Kicking and fighting, Doyle was carried in Bodie's arms out of his bedroom. He managed to grab hold of the door but only succeeded in catching them both between door and lintel, Bodie fetching up hard with his back and Doyle getting caught on his hip by the sharp edge.

"If you don't...put me down this instant I am going to kill you!" Doyle yelled as he tried to free his arm from the sheet's folds.

"Jesus..." puffed Bodie as he finally prised Doyle's fingers away from the door, "thought Willis...said you were under...weight!"

"Huh!" Doyle crowed. "Can't take the strain, eh?"

"Pack it in and stop messing around!"

"Put me down, then." Doyle finally freed his other arm and tried to lever himself away from Bodie's chest. The knowledge that if he succeeded he would fall to the floor did not influence his efforts.

Staggering under his burden, Bodie reached his bedroom door, where he tripped on the trailing sheet. Trying to recover, he slammed his elbow into the door frame and Doyle was granted his wish. Free from the tight grip he landed painfully on the floor at the foot of Bodie's bed.

"Ow!"

"Ouch!"

Hot, sweaty and exhausted, they each rubbed their hurts; Doyle had a cloth burn on his arm, a sore behind and back from where he hit the floor, and a sore spot over his ankle. Bodie had a pulled muscle in his shoulder, a sore toe and what felt like a broken arm.

"You could have put me on the bed!" Doyle complained as soon as he could catch his breath.

"I'll remember next time," Bodie answered, trying to bend his arm around to check the damage.

"Next time?" Doyle squeaked incredulously. "What do you mean, next time?"

"Give over, Ray," Bodie said without heat as he stepped over him to collapse on the bed. "I've hurt my bloody arm!"

"Hope it's broken," came the ungracious response. "Give me a hand up, will you? I think I've dislocated me bum...ow, take it easy." Assisted by his partner, Doyle finally made it onto the bed, where they lay panting like beached whales.

Lying flat on his back with his feet still resting on the floor, Bodie was painfully aware of all his sore spots. "You're bloody hard work sometimes, Doyle," he informed the panting body beside him.

"But I'm worth the effort?" responded Doyle, his voice bubbly and cheerful.

"I'm beginning to wonder about that," Bodie answered as he drew his leg up in an attempt to examine his foot. "I think I've broken my little toe." Hands clutching his ankle, Bodie rolled until he was sitting upright and then curled over the injured toe to examine it closely. It was a stupid thing to do considering how close he was to the edge of the bed, and he fell to the floor. Still prone on the bed, Doyle saw him go and made one futile grab to save him.

By the time he stopped swearing and discovered that while he might well have broken his toe, he hadn't broken his back after all, Bodie recognised the odd noises coming from Doyle.

"Well, I'm pleased one of us finds this amusing," Bodie grumbled as he lifted his aching bones back onto the bed and tried once more to examine his injured toe.

For Doyle, the sight of Bodie examining his toe with such painful concentration was exquisitely funny--and the fact that Bodie didn't find it amusing made it even funnier.

"It bloody hurts!" Bodie said defensively in the face of such mirth. The look of hurt indignation result in Doyle dissolving into gales of laughter. "I don't see what there is to laugh about."

Doyle howled and clutched his stomach.

"Doyle!" Bodie said, totally bewildered. "Ray?" Helpless in the face of his partner's laughter, Bodie felt a smile tugging at his own lips. He reached out and pulled Doyle around to face him, his face lighting up with a wide smile as he did so. "Ray...will you please tell me what's so bloody funny?"

Doyle opened his eyes long enough to see Bodie's confusion and collapsed totally.

"Ray? You're nuts...d'you know that? You're nuts!" It was impossible not to get swept along with the high emotions and Bodie soon found himself equally helpless with laughter, though what he was laughing at he couldn't say. It just felt good.

Slowly, eventually, their laughter slowed and stopped and they recovered where they had fallen, side by side on top of the bed.

"Have you really hurt your toe?" Doyle asked solicitously a long time later.

"No, not really. It really hurt when I bashed it, though," Bodie admitted.

"Serves you right."

"Very probably," agreed Bodie.

For a while there was silence, warm and comfortable, but as the silence continued it became tense and their awareness of each other's discomfort grew until Doyle, suddenly self-conscious and very aware of his own nakedness and Bodie's easy sprawl so close by, sat up and forced himself to look away from the gaping robe his partner was wearing.

"Ray?" Bodie sat up and put a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Doyle lied. "I'm sorry...sorry for making such a fuss..."

"Ray..." Bodie could feel the withdrawal and tried to stop it before it got too far.

"I keep on messing things up, don't I?" Doyle said bitterly. "I'm never satisfied with what I've got--I've always got to have that little bit more."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bodie said.

"Maybe I should leave, get out of the department...start again somewhere new."

"Leave? What are you on about?"

"Why should I stay--no-one really wants me in CI5. What's the point in staying where--"

"Don't talk daft!"

"It always happens to me," Doyle went on, talking to himself more than Bodie. "I always want more than I've got--and then I end up with nothing."

"Ray, I--"

"Is there something wrong with me, Bodie-- Am I so selfish that I don't give enough in return? What can't I make people want me?"

"Ray..." Bodie felt like he was drowning as he struggled to get the words out. "I want you, Ray," he whispered.

"No-one wants me," Doyle continued without hearing the quiet statement. "At first it seems that they do, but then when they find the real me they back off. What's wrong with me?"

"I want you, Ray," Bodie said a little louder.

Doyle ignored his words and continued to wallow in self pity. Bodie pulled him around to face him and forced the downbent head up with unsteady fingers beneath his chin.

"I want you, Ray."

"No, not the real me, no-one wants that."

"I do," Bodie insisted.

"No--no-one does, no-one ever does."

"But I do!"

"But you're different, Bodie," Doyle said miserably. "You don't really want me, you only work with me, that's different, that's not wanting," he explained.

Confusion stumped Bodie for a moment. Doyle wanted to be wanted. Hope flared unbelievably inside Bodie and he forced Doyle to look at him.

"I want you, Ray," he insisted, hoping Doyle would understand, still reluctant to say the whole truth out loud.

"No, Bodie...it's not that--"

"No, Ray...please listen...I want you, really I do."

"You don't, you can't," Doyle protested, still thinking Bodie didn't understand.

"Ray--"

"Bodie..." Doyle pulled away and tried to get up from the bed but Bodie pulled him back.

"Ray... I love you, Ray." There, Bodie thought desperately, he'd said it.

"No, you don't," Doyle said with a tired smile, knowing that what his partner meant by love was very different to what he meant.

"Yes, I do."

"Bodie...you don't, you can't possibly."

"Ray, will you listen to me. I'm telling you that I love you--"

"I know you mean well, Bodie, and I'm sorry. I really never meant for you to find out but you don't have to pretend--it's okay."

"I'm not pretending," Bodie said, getting angry that Doyle wouldn't believe him. "I love you!"

"No, you don't, Bodie," Ray said with another tired smile.

"Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

"I do!"

"Bodie, you don't."

"I bloody well do!" Bodie yelled in a furious voice. "When I tell you I love you, the least you can fucking well do is believe me!"

"Bodie--" Doyle stopped dead, blinked twice and opened his mouth.

Bodie snatched him into his arms, crushed him against his chest and took possession of his mouth. Doyle was too stunned to fight and Bodie so angry that even if he had fought, he wouldn't get away.

When Bodie released his mouth and relaxed his hold, he was prepared to counter any move Doyle might make to escape--but found it was only his arms that were holding the smaller man up. "Ray?" he said softly, every trace of anger vanished as if it had never existed.

Doyle's eyes opened slowly and he looked at Bodie as if he had never seen him before. "What did you say?" he asked, breathless, a pink tongue licking out and feeling his lips where they felt bruised and tender and still moist from his partner's mouth.

"When?" Bodie said softly, feeling safe enough to tease.

"Just now...before...before--"

"Before I kissed you?"

"Yeah...before you kissed me," Doyle agreed.

"I was trying to convince you that I love you. How am I doing so far?" He smiled and pressed two fingers against Doyle's lips; the pink tongue darted out to touch them and Bodie felt a shiver run all the way down to his still throbbing little toe.

"Passable," Doyle said shyly, dropping his eyes from Bodie's. "Don't go a bundle on your technique, though."

"What?" Concern and disappointment threatened to crash down but then he saw the upturned mouth. "What do you mean?"

"Do you make a habit of carrying 'em kicking and screaming over the threshold, then?"

"You weren't screaming," Bodie said, lifting Doyle's chin up and re-establishing eye contact. "Swearing, shouting and kicking--but not screaming. Besides, I didn't bring you here to seduce, a good night's sleep was more of what I had in mind then," he said wryly.

"And now?" Doyle asked, voice husky and eyes growing bolder. "Are you still looking for a good night's sleep?" He lowered his eyes a few inches to look at the full mouth that had only minutes before kissed him; he did not notice that he licked his own lips and tilted his mouth expectantly towards Bodie.

Seeing the movement, Bodie knew that everything was going to work out all right and lowered his head to take possession of what he had regarded as his for a long time.


...Continued in Chapter 26...

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