---

CHAPTER THIRTY

The first inkling Cowley had that the operation was not progressing as smoothly as he had hoped was when computer control informed him someone had called up Doyle's criminal record file within an hour of his abrupt departure form the building. The fact that the source of the request had been an unidentifiable Whitehall terminal, while confirming his suspicions, alarmed him due to the speed things were moving. He only hoped that Doyle's carefully doctored file would hold up to close examination and when he phoned later on that morning to report, Cowley took the call.

"I think I'm in," he said, his voice barely audible over the crackling line and thundering noise of traffic outside the call box. "It's killers they want. To kill nobodies, so they said. The money they're offering is big--and they'll provide the guns."

"Describe your contact," Cowley shouted down the phone.

"What? I can't hear--oh, describe them. Two men, Caucasian, thirty-five'ish, one's five eight, stocky, dark hair, moustache, other fella's a bit taller and heavier, auburn hair, full beard, bald--and he's got a sweet tooth--"

"Ferris and Twigg," Cowley confirmed.

"What--can't hear."

"Ferris and--oh, for heaven's sake!" Cowley said in exasperation when it became clear that a fleet of fire-engines and ambulances were passing Doyle's call box.

"They've gone--oh, hang on, here comes another one." Doyle waited for the noise to abate. "That's it, they're gone. Right--I've got to meet Twigg at The Brewers in two hours. I think they're going to give me a job right away."

"Be careful, 4.5," warned Cowley and he told him that his criminal record had been accessed. "We can only assume it's related to this operation."

"It should only back up whatever Mahone's told them...damn," Doyle swore as the pips sounded. "Slot won't take my money--we're going to be cut off--"

"Doyle!" Cowley shouted into the receiver. "Check in when you--damn!" He barely had time to replace the handset when 3.2 radioed in to report that Bodie had met up with the partner allotted to him by Ferris and Twigg and was on his way to a left luggage place. He was still waiting for Henderson to report on who Bodie's targeted nobody was when his office door opened immediately after a brief, perfunctory knock; he looked up and saw Kate Ross entering, a triumphant smile on her face.

"4.5 did not arrive for his assessment," she announced. "I can't say I am altogether surprised--he has been resistant to all formal procedures from the outset. I gather he was told of the importance of this assessment?"

Caught up in the urgency of the morning, Cowley had completely forgotten 4.5's appointment. As usual when he found he'd unwittingly overlooked something, Cowley shrugged the matter away as unimportant. "I'll be sure to send him to you the moment he's free, excuse me." He turned away as he spoke and hit the intercom connecting him to the control room. "Has 3.2 called in yet?" he asked impatiently.

"Not yet, sir--but 3.7 and his contact have just arrived at the building--"

"Keep me informed--and send 4.1 and 6.2 to me immediately."

"Mr Cowley," Ross said loudly, reminding him she was still there. "Do you know where Doyle is? I cannot emphasise the importance of these psychological studies enough--"

"Dr Ross, while I appreciate that your work is undoubtedly valuable and your time precious, you must also appreciate the importance of what I am trying to do here," Cowley said politely before turning back to the intercom a second time and demanding to know what was keeping 4.1 and 6.2.

"If Doyle is hoping to escape from these tests he must accept that you will be forced to drop him from CI5."

"Doyle is working in a current assignment," Cowley snapped at her. "When he has the time to spend two days on your procedures I'll be sure to send him to you--"

"You've already re-activated him?" asked Ross hollowly.

"What kept you?" Cowley all but snarled at the unfortunate 6.2 and 4.1. "I want you at The Brewers Arms in Kilburn right now," he told them. "Observe--but keep a low profile on 4.5. Liaise with Control and Henderson's team and give Doyle whatever support he needs but do not approach him. When he meets his contacts, tail them and report immediately." Dismissing the two men, he re-opened the link with Control. "What's the position?"

"The locker contained information on the target, Elizabeth Walsh, Deneside Cottage, Fordington, Berkshire. Photograph, gun and car keys provided plus bank notes estimated value of four thousand pounds."

"Elizabeth Walsh!" Cowley said in surprise. "And Bodie is going directly there?"

"Looks like it," reported Control.

"Keep me posted." Clicking the intercom off, Cowley looked up and was surprised to discover Kate Ross was still there, her face pinched white in anger. "Was there something else?" he asked mildly.

"You have re-activated 4.5 without my official recommendation on the matter. I am responsible for the psychological welfare on the agents in this--"

"I do not doubt your credentials, doctor," Cowley said soothingly. "But as you can see I am rather--"

"It is a matter of record that I have withdrawn 4.5's access to weapons and you have re-armed him without reference to--"

"4.5 has not been re-armed," Cowley said bluntly, neatly disguising the fact that he had only realised the omission for himself.

"But you have placed him in an ongoing operation without waiting to discover that he is mentally fit to cope!" Ross said in a loud voice, just short of shouting.

"Customs dictate that on occasion decisions are made without time being available to inform and consider all the options or other people," Cowley retorted sharply. "The opportunity to place Doyle into the operation was neither looked for nor expected. It simply happened and we have taken advantage of that fact."

"Mr Cowley, I protest most strongly at your actions. Doyle was to come to me before any decisions regarding his future in CI5 were made--"

"4.5 is perfectly able to cope with any situation he may find himself in--"

"I do not share your confidence," Ross said icily. "4.5 has continued to be evasive and uncooperative with the staff at Repton; he has consistently missed his sessions there even though they were considerably reduced on his request. My assessment of his mental state is not only necessary for the department's sake but for Ray Doyle as an individual--"

"Dr Ross," Cowley cut across her protestations and he collected briefcase, jacket and hat on his way to the door. "I admit I was at fault not notifying you 4.5 was unable to attend your assessment and will take steps to ensure you see him as soon as possible--but right now I have other matters of greater importance to contend with. Good day." He swept out of his office leaving her standing beside his desk.

---

Flying out to Berkshire in an air-force helicopter, Cowley managed to arrive at his old friend's quiet cottage well ahead of Bodie and his new companion.

"George!" Elizabeth Walsh exclaimed on opening her front door.

"Good afternoon, Elizabeth," replied Cowley, smiling and looking as if he made a habit of dropping in unannounced on old colleagues.

"Whatever brings you to my door--I presume that was your helicopter making all that noise a few minutes ago--but first, do come in, leave your hat and coat just there and I'll make us a pot of tea." Totally unfazed by the appearance of the Controller of CI5 on her doorstep on a sunny autumn afternoon, Miss Walsh laid a tray of elegant bone china tea cups and saucers and a selection of home-made cakes. "The tea I can vouch for, the cakes--eat them at your own risk, George. I never had the time, nor, I'm afraid, the inclination to discover the intricacies of baking," she said matter of factly. Just as she set the loaded tray down the phone rang and, excusing herself, she answered it. She was not surprised to discover the call was for her visitor. "George," she called, holding the receiver out for him. "I'll pour the tea while you're talking and then you can explain what is happening."

Pouring the tea, she made no effort to pretend she wasn't listening or watching the worry lines, already etched deep into his face, become more pronounced. When the call ended she passed a brimming cup over. "So, one of your lads has gone missing, George. Do try the chocolate sponge, it has been one of my more successful efforts. Is he working on whatever has brought you to my door?"

Cowley smiled: despite the implications of the disturbing phone call Elizabeth Walsh had always taken even the most bizarre crises in her stride--which was why she had been so good at her job.

"Not so much missing as misplaced, Elizabeth. 4.5 has simply...failed to make a rendezvous--there could be any number of perfectly reasonable explanations why he didn't turn up," Cowley said, the frown and worry lines deepening even as he spoke, betraying his concern.

"You don't have to convince me, George," Miss Walsh said, her crisp tones softening marginally as she saw truth behind the casual answer.

"No, I don't," Cowley agreed, shaking the problem aside for the moment. "As to why I am here; I have two reasons: one, to ask for your assistance with a certain matter and two, to warn you that two men are on their way here to kill you."

"Really!" Miss Walsh said, not able to contain all her amazement. "Another cup of tea, George?"

"Most kind, Elizabeth, thank you," Cowley passed his cup over.

"Well," she said once their cups had been refilled. "I was rather wondering what to do with myself this afternoon. Tell me, do I run and hide in the potting shed or should I lash myself to the front door in readiness to meet the end?" she asked, her face alive with suppressed excitement.

"One of the men on his way here is my man, Bodie. A young man I think you'll find interesting."

"Only one of them belongs to you," Miss Walsh said slowly. "Should I be overly concerned about the second gentleman?"

"I have every confidence in 3.7, Elizabeth," assured Cowley.

"In that case I shall go and make a fresh pot of tea--I daresay the young man will in need of some refreshment when he arrives. The weather has been absolutely glorious just recently, hasn't it? Brings back memories of some long hot summers of years past, doesn't it, George," she said.

Cowley smiled as he recalled those same summers. "Indeed it does."

The sound of a car coming up the secluded drive some time later interrupted an afternoon of pleasant reminiscences. His faith in Bodie rendering harmless any possible threat, Cowley sat waiting for his entrance into the quiet cottage. Sipping her tea in the armchair beside him, Miss Walsh waited with him.

The noise of the window latch being lifted caused Cowley to turn his head slightly and he saw Bodie climb in through the window alone. He gave a slight nod to Miss Walsh.

"Good afternoon Mr Bodie," she said quietly. "Ah, I see you're admiring a memento of the old days. Wonderful man, Mr Churchill--inclined to be rather abrupt when he thought he was dealing with fools but fair, quite fair. Would you care for tea and perhaps a slice of cake?"

Blinking to get his eyes used to the dark shady interior of the house, Bodie knew he was in trouble for allowing his surprise at seeing the cosy tea party show through. "Oh...um...--thank you, milk and one sugar please," he replied politely and tucked the bulky handgun deep into his jacket pocket.

"Where is your associate?" Cowley asked, not rising from his armchair.

"Suffering first night nerves in the car, sir," Bodie replied as he drank down his tea, the fine china decorated with dainty roses looking strangely incongruous in his hands.

"We must not keep him waiting," Miss Walsh said. "Finished your tea? Right, well then, I suppose you had better get on with it." She opened the window. "Would you mind aiming for the far end of the lawn--and please do be careful, the cat's out there somewhere."

"One moment, Bodie," called out Cowley as the gun was aimed out of the window. "4.5 has made contact with Ferris and Twigg--"

"What?" Lowering the gun, Bodie spun round.

"He was approached and asked if he wanted a job; his contacts at The Brewers have proved unexpectedly fruitful but he was due to meet up with Ferris a few hours ago. Ferris failed to show up--and so did 4.5."

"Well, where is he then?" Bodie asked, wondering where The Brewers was and why Cowley seemed to think he knew about it.

"I have no idea," Cowley said, the words sounding effortless and uncaring, Miss Walsh, and not Bodie, the only person to see the deepening lines etched on the older man's forehead.

"Doyle's undercover and you don't know where?"

"I've no doubt he'll turn up," Cowley said. "But in the meantime, keep your eyes peeled, he could well turn up inside this operation."

"But he's not been cleared for--"

"Your colleague will be getting anxious, 3.7. You'd best be getting on with the business in hand," Cowley said sharply.

Bodie dearly wanted to ask more questions but knew the set look on Cowley's face from old; he'd get no more from the Old Man while he was in this mood. Checking there were no cats in sight he fired two shots into the lawn, then thanking Miss Walsh for the cup of tea, he climbed back through the window and ran out to the waiting car. "Move it!" he shouted urgently as his so-called 'partner' peered anxiously in the direction of the silent house. "Now!"

Wheels spinning, the car went backwards down the drive, spun around at the end and then roared off towards London. The two men didn't talk much once they had agreed to stay together until their next meeting with Ferris and Twigg and made their way to the modestly comfortable hotel room booked for them by their employers in the names of Mr Caine and Mr Carter. Bodie's joke about spies and secret agents made no impact on his nervous partner and so he claimed Carter for himself and called his fair-haired companion Caine--quietly telling himself that all 'Caine' needed was to lose his posh accent and wear a pair of black rimmed spectacles to be perfect for the part.

As the evening dragged on Bodie drew on his reserves of patience and experience and tried to ignore the edgy, restless man. Concerned about Doyle and wondering where the hell he was and what he was up to, he surfaced from his introspection in time to stop Caine leaving the room.

"I need some fresh air," Caine said defensively as the door was pushed shut and locked.

"We don't split up," Bodie repeated for the umpteenth time that evening. "We stay together until we get the payoff tomorrow."

"I'm only going down to see if the bar is open--I could use a drink!" Caine persisted.

"If you're thirsty call room service," Bodie ordered, tossing the hotel tariff sheet across to him.

But Caine ignored the sheet and turned away from the door, pacing to the window and turning back to Bodie, who had once again sprawled across his bed. "What the hell do you think I'm going to do--I want the rest of my money, I'm hardly going to run out at this stage of the game, am I?"

Bodie was surprised at the man's perseverance; he was doing his best to be intimidating but the sweaty-palmed Caine seemed determined to irritate him: Bodie was forced to credit the man with having more balls than he'd first thought. "I don't think anything," he said mildly. "But I know you're going nowhere. I'll call room service for you shall I? What do you want?"

"Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do?" Caine demanded, enraged by the cool authority Bodie was exuding.

"I'm the man who shot some old biddy as she fed her cat this afternoon while you sat outside pretending to be Stirling Moss and pissin' in your pants!" Bodie said in a dangerously quiet voice. "Tomorrow we report to Ferris and Twigg for the payoff--we may even get a second job out of it, who knows." Bodie continued speaking in a placid, chilling tone. "If they do offer a second job I'm willing to take it--how about you? There's always one person in a team more willing to a certain kind of job. I'm prepared to do the real work if you're ready to watch my back and keep the way out clear. I can do this kind of work blindfolded but I don't trust those two, they haven't got the brains to be responsible for this type of setup--I need to know there's someone at my back I can trust--even if that person is you. You may have convinced them you can kill but they didn't see your face when I came out of the house." Bodie saw the reminder caused Caine to wince and knew he was on safe ground: Caine was no threat.

"So, if you think I'm going to let you out of my sight you've got another think coming, old son. If I'm a murderer--you're an accessory."

"I only wanted a drink," Caine mumbled as he settled back down in the one armchair. "I've no intention of vanishing--"

"'Course not," Bodie agreed smoothly but thinking his role would be easier if the man could vanish--but then Ferris and Twigg might not be so happy to accept one man on his own.

The television made the only sounds in the small hotel room for a long time. Eventually the telly was switched off and they both retired for the night. Having determinedly refused to think about him for the last few hours, Bodie found his dreams full of Ray Doyle.

---

The telephone was already ringing as he opened his office door first thing in the morning and George Cowley picked it up as he threw briefcase and hat down onto the desk. His face registered surprise at hearing the Minister's crisp tones at such an early hour. "I hear you've lost one of your lads, George," the voice said cheerfully.

Cowley immediately knew to whom he was referring and guessed that Kate Ross's angry words had not been as hollow as he had thought. "I daresay he'll show up, Minister, like the proverbial penny," he said shortly, angry at himself for not anticipating the woman's actions.

"Sincerely hope so George--for your sake," the Minister went on. "I trust there won't be any--shall we say...ripples? I hear the young man was due for some special evaluation. Be a damn shame if anything has happened to him."

"4.5 was ready to return to duty--"

"Not quite what I heard, old boy. I do hope you've not made a mistake."

"He'll not let me down," Cowley said, trying to keep the anger he felt from showing in his voice.

"As I've already said, sincerely hope so George," the breezy voice continued. "In the event that something...unpleasant has happened to him or, heaven forbid, that he should do something foolish...outlandish even, there will be a price to pay."

"4.5 is highly trained and one of my best men, I have every faith in him," Cowley said.

"You've been given a lot of rope, some people would say too much. Don't hang yourself."

"Minister--"

"Enough said, George," the friendly voice cut across his protestations. "Keep me posted, oh, and a word of warning; next time a little bird cheeps in your ear at least pretend to listen. You'll never make a diplomat, George," the Minister revealed sadly and then hung up before Cowley could respond.

Replacing the receiver, Cowley allowed himself a rare luxury. "Damn woman!" he snarled. Hitting the control room link, he demanded to be updated on the operation and then stalked down to the small suite of offices Elizabeth Walsh had been installed in. Despite the early hour he did not bother to knock on the closed door; he knew she would be awake and working.

"Good morning, George," she said, glancing up from the cluttered desk. "Or is it? Why such a glum face?"

"That...bloody woman!" Cowley raged, slamming a manila file down forcefully on the desk.

Miss Walsh allowed the shock to register on her face. "Really--she sounds absolutely delightful."

"Damn psychologists and psychiatrists!"

"Ah," Miss Walsh said, understanding the nature of the problem immediately. "I do hear that Kate is well thought of in some circles; she must be invaluable to the department."

"Did we ever need that kind of help before? Bah!" he said in disgust. "Computers and fancy doctors can't replace what you feel in here!" He hit his fist hard into his own midriff.

"Times do have a habit of changing, George. And Kate really is quite astute--perhaps you should listen to what she says occasionally," scolded Miss Walsh.

Perhaps he should at that, Cowley thought bleakly. If anything had happened to Doyle it was obviously going to cause no end of trouble. But his instincts, trained and polished over a lifetime, had told him Doyle was ready to go out on the streets. But what if Ross was right and his instinct let him down; it wouldn't only be Raymond Doyle paying the price. The politely worded threat had been only too clear.

---

Caine drove the car out to the untidy warehouse to collect their payment and possibly details of a second job. Ferris, jovial as ever, grinning widely and still sucking his sweets, greeted them and listened to the account of their first job. "Witnesses?" he asked.

"No. Made it look like a botched up burglary," Bodie said nonchalantly.

"Where's the gun?"

"In the river," replied Caine, making his first contribution to the tale--his unease and frayed nerves blatantly obvious.

"Old girl give you any trouble, did she?" Ferris asked, looking directly at the sweating man.

"No," Bodie answered. "Dead easy."

Ferris looked hard at Bodie before speaking again. "Well done," he said slowly. "Ready for another job? Without waiting for an answer he told them to follow him inside, shouting up to his associate as he went. "Bring him down, Twigg."

Following a little way behind the two men, Bodie saw the sudden tension in Caine's back before seeing what was in the cramped room. Gun pressed to his temple, sweat staining his tee-shirt, Doyle didn't even blink as Bodie stepped into sight.

"Job number two," Ferris said, his voice loud in the deathly quiet room. "Kill him," he ordered. "Now." He held a gun out; after a moment's hesitation Bodie moved to take it but Ferris snatched it away. "No. Not you. I'll bet it was you who shot the old girl. Him, Mr Nervous, he can do it."

Bodie watched Caine take the gun and check it was loaded, and knew that backed into a corner he would do it, he would carry the order out: his heart thudding, his mouth dry, Bodie scanned the room for some solution. Then, at last, he saw the camera mounted on the wall and saw the red light gleaming on the casing. "I wouldn't, not if I were you," his voice sounded breathless and harsh but he managed to keep his alarm out of his facial expression. "Not with candid camera recording the whole show."

Caine looked up and Bodie saw the relief wash over the pinched face. He knew the man didn't really have the stomach for it.

"Fair enough," said Ferris, only slightly disgruntled. "Mr Careful and Mr Nervous can take our little visitor off and do the deed somewhere else, somewhere more private. But you do it." He pointed at Caine. "You, not him. Understand?"

Ferris watched them leave, Bodie driving and the blond man with his gun turned on Doyle, who had been shoved in the back seat and ordered to keep his hands on his head.

Throughout the long drive Doyle waited anxiously for the signal that Bodie was going to act. At each crossroad and set of traffic lights he tensed in readiness but nothing happened. As the traffic on the road became less and the town opened up into countryside and the relative safety of busy roads full of cars and pedestrians and witnesses were left behind, Bodie continued to drive following the blond man's instructions to turn right, or left or keep driving straight. But Doyle kept calm, he tried to think himself into Bodie's mind; maybe he was waiting until there were no witnesses so they could disarm the man without any fuss or risk to the public.

Turning off the main road onto a poorly made up lane which was flanked by overgrown bushes and low hanging trees that scratched against the side of the car as they continued deeper into the wood, Doyle braced himself for the moment Bodie would slam the brakes on--but he parked smoothly, Bodie climbing out first, leaving Blondie to get Doyle out.

Holding his hands up high, Doyle climbed out, his eyes meeting Bodie's over the roof of the car, the unspoken 'when?' hanging between them. But Bodie ignored him. Totally. Playing the role of the impassive assassin to such perfection that Doyle felt himself go cold and a nasty suspicion began to solidify. Quite how his cover had been blown was still a mystery but clearly Bodie's was watertight and Doyle began to doubt whether his former partner was prepared to risk blowing everything just to save him. His gut instinct on seeing the blank, cold eyes told him no.

Bodie was going to watch him die.

The fear that had receded when he recognised his would-be executioner returned full force, his heart thumping so loud he thought Bodie would hear it. But the disappointment was almost as bad, the betrayal of what they had shared hurting as much as the fear. The manner of their parting flashed through Doyle's mind, the anger and near hate in Bodie's voice, the speed that Bodie had arranged for him to be re-housed giving him no comfort as he stared at the gun trained on his heart.

"Move into the wood," the stranger ordered.

His instinct was to refuse; to go deeper into the woods with this man was to invite death and he didn't want to die. He turned frantic eyes to Bodie but found no support or recognition there and with no other option backed towards the trees, suddenly scared to turn his back on the two men.

Bodie watched as Doyle backed towards the trees; throughout the long drive he had been conscious of Doyle carefully ignoring him while waiting for some sign. He was confident that 'Caine' would balk at the final moment and knew there was no real danger but he still felt angry enough to want to make Doyle suffer as he had suffered. The troubled look he had caught over the roof of the car had pleased him greatly as he realised that finally Doyle was beginning to wonder if help was at hand after all, the thought acting like a balm to his wounded pride. A little suffering might teach Raymond Doyle a lesson, he thought sourly.

As Caine forced him back into the trees, Bodie saw the beginning of true panic in the wide green eyes and felt like laughing but, even at this moment he could see that Doyle still expected to be saved. He stared back, his eyes cold, disguising the thrill of power that coursed through him when he saw the shocked eyes fall and defeat wash over the grey face.

Standing alone in the sunny glade, Doyle felt the world slow down; time become irrelevant and no longer held any meaning. His senses were overwhelmed by the sound of birdsong, rustling leaves and creaking branches; beneath his feet the ground felt spongy and a whisper of a breeze was making the sweat pouring off his body chilly and uncomfortable. The sweet fragrance of the surrounding bushes masked the smell of fear. He could see the cold hate in Bodie's eyes that seemed so very blue and the black eye of the gun pointed unerringly at his chest. Beyond the gun he could see white, clenched fingers tensing around the trigger and he knew it was going to happen.

His whole world shrank to the sight of those white fingers and the peculiar buzzing sound in his ears. Then the world went dark.

Enjoying the thrill of Doyle's belief he had been deserted, Bodie missed the infinitesimal changes in the man standing beside him. He never saw the haunted look replaced by hard confidence or the stiffening of spine and arm as the man took aim. He was just beginning to wonder why Doyle's flushed face should suddenly look so pale when he heard the faint metallic click that happens a split second before a gun fires.

"NO!" he roared, lunging at Caine and knocking him down, one hand chopping at a vulnerable neck instinctively. The gunshot deafened them and shocked all the local wildlife, sending it flapping, shrieking and tweeting into the air and then deeper into the woods.

Then it was quiet. A deathly, unearthly hush descended on the sunny glade and Bodie had to force himself to look over at the sprawled body of his lover. "Ray?" he whispered fearfully. Automatically checking that Caine was still out of action, he stumbled across the clearing and fell to his knees beside the still body. "Oh no...dear god, no...Ray? Ray!" he exclaimed as Doyle moved slightly and groaned. "Don't move, let me check you out...lie still, don't move," he urged as Doyle rolled onto his back and tried to lift his head. Bodie pushed him to lie flat on the ground and searched gently but anxiously for the entry wound. Face deathly white, eyes clearly not quite focussed, Doyle didn't protest at the examination. "I can't see where you were hit," Bodie said after a moment's frantic fumbling. "Where do you hurt? No...lie still you fool--"

"I'm gonna...be..." Doyle tried to roll onto his side but found a hand pinning his shoulder to the ground. "Gonna be...sick--"

Bodie managed to escape the sudden flow by throwing himself backwards. With a final last-ditch effort, Doyle managed to get hands and knees under him and lifted himself up while he threw up.

Trying not to look or breathe too deeply, Bodie took the time to check on Caine before returning to his partner. "Okay now? Where are you hurt?"

"Shut up, Bodie," Doyle mumbled, fumbling through empty pockets for a handkerchief to wipe his face on; giving up, he wiped his face with his sleeve--the jacket was already ruined.

"Where did he hit you?" Bodie said, realising with relief that it obviously wasn't serious.

"I think...oh god," Doyle groaned and rolled away from the mess he'd made on the ground, slumped back down and covered his face with his arms. "I must 'ave..."

"What was that?" Bodie asked, pulling the concealing arms away from Doyle's mouth. "I couldn't--what?"

"Fainted!" Doyle said irritably, wanting to be left alone for a few minutes to recover his thoughts and scattered senses; Bodie's enveloping anxiety was only making him feel even worse.

"You what?" Bodie yelled as the words finally sank in.

"And don't fucking well start shouting at me!"

"I thought he'd shot you!"

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you but he didn't--remind me to stand still next time, won't you," Doyle retorted sourly.

"You really fainted?" Bodie asked, his tone changing as relief took over from shock.

"Yes. I really fainted," Doyle snapped back, a little colour returning to his face. "Gave up waiting for me knight in shining armour to come to me rescue," he said acidly. "An' don't look now but James Bond's coming back to life."

A moan from behind them returned Bodie's attention to Caine, who was beginning to regain his senses. "What the--" he said groggily as he suddenly discovered the small gun was thrust hard against his throat.

"Move and you're dead!" Bodie said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Wisely Caine didn't struggle. He looked over at Doyle, who was struggling to his feet, and then up at the man who had hit him so expertly. "Who the hell are you?" he asked warily.

"CI5," Bodie replied arrogantly.

"Prove it," the man demanded, clearly unimpressed by the revelation.

"You don't seriously think I'd be carrying ID on a job, do you?" Bodie said viciously.

The blond man looked at them both with hard, probing eyes. "You're both CI5?"

Bodie nodded but was distracted by a groan of pain from Doyle. "What's wrong?" he asked anxiously, seeing the smear of blood on Doyle's fingers.

"Dunno," replied Doyle, wincing as he gingerly probed the tender spot on the back of his head. "Must 'ave 'it me head when I went down," he grumbled.

Relieved that the small cut was not serious, Bodie's voice was tart. "Just duck next time--there's no need to get a fit of the vapours!"

"Fuck off, Bodie!"

Watching the two agents the blond man chuckled.

"Want to share the joke? I wouldn't 'ave thought you'd have much to laugh about," Bodie enquired, sensing somehow that the danger was past. But the blond man only laughed harder, finally falling to lie flat on his back. Bodie and Doyle exchanged puzzled glances and then shrugged; whatever the joke was they both seemed to have missed the point.

Finally, sensing Bodie's patience was reaching its limit, the man sobered up and introduced himself. "Clive Williams," he said. "MI6."

"Prove it!" responded Bodie, somehow unsurprised at the news.

Williams only laughed harder. "Oh Lord," he croaked between paroxysms of giggles. "What's the odds on all Ferris and Twigg's other recruits working for D2 or Special Services!" Clambering to his feet, accepting Bodie's helping hand, Williams rubbed his sore neck. "Next time I meet Macklin I'll give him your regards," he said ruefully. "You okay?" he asked Doyle.

Doyle merely stared at him, he was still trembling from shock. "You were going to kill me, weren't you?"

The smile vanished from Williams's face. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, I was."

"Why?"

"It's all part of the job," he shrugged. "I'm under orders not to blow my cover." He turned to face Bodie, his face hardened. "You took your time stopping me--you could have disarmed me easily several times--why leave it so late? He's right, I was going to kill him."

Bodie felt two pair of eyes turn on him, one pair mildly curious but the other furious and burning into his back. "I didn't think you'd do it," he said offhandedly, trying to sound casual.

Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Williams decided to let the matter drop. "Who the hell are you anyway...Bodie and--?"

"I'm Bodie and he's my partner, Ray Doyle."

The news that the two men were partners surprised the MI6 man; they didn't even appear to be friends.

---

Once in the car, Bodie driving and Williams finding himself relegated to the back seat, they headed toward London. "Been in CI5 long?" he asked.

"Almost five years--he's been with us for two," Bodie answered, ignoring the glare Doyle gave him.

"How do you rate George Cowley?"

The question could have been a simple 'what's your boss like?' from a colleague but both CI5 men heard something else in the quiet question. Bodie answered cautiously, alert for the reason behind the enquiry. "He's okay. Inclined to come the bastard when it suits him bar fair."

"You trust him?"

"In this job we don't have much choice...but yes, I trust him."

Williams was quiet after that until they reached central London and began the slow drag through traffic. Doyle twisted round in his seat to talk to him. "You've had some changes in your lot recently, got a new top man haven't you?"

"Dawson," Williams said. "But he's only acting Head. There's no guarantee it will become a permanent post."

"Is that in doubt?" Bodie asked in surprise. The didn't usually appoint an Acting Head without considering them for the final position.

Williams shrugged his shoulders and sat back refusing to be drawn any further.

Puzzled, Bodie asked where they should go to report, CI5 or MI6 headquarters.

"Well," Williams said in a flat monotone. "It's two to one isn't it. If you two insist on reporting to George Cowley I won't have much choice, will I?"

The two men exchanged worried looks; something was definitely very wrong.

The moment George Cowley saw the three men he felt an enormous weight lift off his shoulders; his relief at seeing Doyle alive and well restoring his faith in his instincts--a faith that had been sorely tested since his disappearance twenty-four hours previously.

"What the hell happened to you?" he demanded angrily once the were safely in his office.

"My cover was blown," Doyle answered, surprised at the older man's obvious anger. "They picked me up before I reached The Brewers, I don't think they know I'm CI5 though--Ferris said something about my being an informant. I was shoved into a room and left there until this afternoon when these two were told to take me out. He was going to kill me," Doyle indicated Williams with a nod of his head. "In cold blood."

"Just be grateful it was me," Williams snapped back impassively. "Me and your partner here aren't the only assassins those goons have hired." The reminder of how lucky he had been effectively silenced Doyle.

Cowley regarded the MI6 man with interest. "How long have you been undercover on this particular job?"

"A week."

The easy reply shook Bodie; he had sweated for a month before making contact with Ferris--Doyle had received an invitation to join up and now the lanky MI6 man had worked for one week. There was simply no justice in some jobs, he decided.

Once Doyle reported the few facts he knew about the case Cowley dismissed him. "Report to Dr Ross," he ordered. "Your evaluation will start immediately--"

"But that'll take two days--what about this job?"

"You mean you haven't been cleared by Ross?" Bodie exclaimed.

"Report to Ross, 4.5," Cowley ordered again.

"What the fuck were you doing undercover without clearance?" Bodie demanded to know of Doyle, then he turned on his superior. "And what in blazes were you doing putting him in?"

Williams watched the whole scene with growing amazement.

"There is nothing wrong with me--"

"4.5, you have been dismissed. Go to--"

"What the hell has been going on here?" Bodie demanded to know.

"3.7, will you kindly control yourself!"

"And I don't need Kate Ross to tell me I'm all right!"

"Of all the fucking, stupid, brainless things to do--and why the hell are you wearing one of my shirts?" Bodie asked, the sudden change setting Cowley and Williams blinking.

"Because I didn't have a clean one left!" Doyle replied.

"You stand there and tell me you've thrown up and bled all over one of my shirts--"

"Well I'd hardly do it to one of mine, would I!"

"3.7 and 4.5!" Cowley bellowed, drawing the protagonists' attention to the fact that this was not the time nor the place for such a discussion. "Thank you," he said sarcastically once order was restored. "Doyle, you've been injured?" he asked solicitously, only now seeing the obvious stains on the shirt and jacket.

"No, he only fainted," Bodie said. "Must have hit his head on a stone on the ground."

"I did not faint!" Doyle denied the accusation hotly, his face flaming red.

"Sorry, sir," Bodie apologised in a saccharine sweet voice. "He did a swan dive into the ground--and very elegant it was too," he added, grinning wickedly at the embarrassed man.

Doyle glared at him.

"Well," Cowley said, lips twitching at the two men's behaviour and seeing Williams's despairing look. "Have Willis check you over before you see Ross. That will be all, 4.5."

Thoroughly dismissed, his dignity in tatters, Doyle left the room, Bodie's muttered "And make sure you iron it before you give it back!" ringing in his ears.

---

In under an hour Ray Doyle found himself dismissed by several people; George Cowley, Dr Willis and Kate Ross--the latter, on seeing his dishevelled and malodorous state, told him to go home, clean himself up, catch up on some sleep and present himself at her office at nine o'clock sharp the next morning. But with the adrenalin of the past few days singing through his veins he was reluctant to take himself home; grabbing a cleanish T-shirt from his locker, he wandered towards the control room in the hope of discovering what was happening to Bodie and the MI6 man.

"Ray! I've been looking for you for days."

Looking up, Doyle saw his team captain. "Sorry Kel, but I've been out of the building--what was it you wanted?"

"I didn't think you were operational yet," Kelly said in surprise.

"Ah...well," Doyle said wryly. "I'm not--but Cowley managed to overlook minor details when it suits him."

A snort of amusement greeted that statement. "Are you free tonight? Only we want a team meeting to work out tactics and training schedules for the tournament in November."

"Not really," Doyle said in dismay, he didn't want to miss a training session with the final round so close. "I'm sort of confined to barracks. I won't be able to get to the range."

"How about the pub?"

"Sorry, got to keep my head down."

Kelly accepted the explanation without question. Then, smiling broadly he slapped Doyle on the back. "Brilliant idea--we'll all come round to your place tonight. What's your new address and I'll pass it on to the others?"

He gave him Bodie's address before he had a chance to think about it.

"Great, we'll be there around eight. See you later, Ray." And then he was gone, leaving Doyle gaping after him and wondering how on earth he was going to explain to Bodie the sudden appearance of the entire CI5 shooting team at his flat.

"Still here, 4.5?"

Cowley's voice took Doyle by surprise and he spun around to face him. "Just on my way home, sir," he said.

"You've seen Ross, I presume?"

"Oh yes, I'm to report back to her at nine tomorrow."

"Very well, off home with you then--and...good luck tomorrow," Cowley added in a voice that was not as stern as usual.

Doyle turned to leave but then looked back, a question forming. "Sir--Bodie and Williams, what's happening there?" he asked.

Cowley regarded the scruffy looking young man with lines of tiredness and tension highlighted in the bright neon corridor light; about to reply that the operation was none of his concern now he relented; Doyle had handled himself extremely well in the circumstances and it was hardly his fault that his cover had been blown so quickly. "In here," Cowley moved them out of the public corridor into a small office and closed the door behind them. "3.7 and Williams have returned to the operation. There is no reason for Ferris and Twigg to suspect they are other than what they appear."

"How the hell did they tumble me so fast?" Doyle asked curiously.

"You're sure you did nothing to alert them yourself?"

"No!" said Doyle forcefully. "And they didn't seem to know I was CI5 anyway--Twigg said something about me being an informant."

"I see," Cowley replied. He was silent for a few minutes, considering how much he could safely tell Doyle. Throughout, Doyle waited patiently. "It is my belief," Cowley began quietly, "that a certain individual in MI6 has...divided loyalties. It is something I have suspected for a number of years but only recently been able to find evidence of.

"This...individual would have access to all police files and, I regret to say, certain CI5 material. He is in a position to know your name is linked in some way with CI5--this material is available to very few persons other than myself and so by recognising your name he has incriminated himself," Cowley said quietly accepting that the young man might need to know his own actions did not betray him. "Williams has also provided some very interesting insights into the matter." Cowley's voice grew tight with anger as he recalled the MI6 man's awkward report. Reluctant to be disloyal, Williams was clearly unhappy at divulging information about his new controller, but now Cowley knew his suspicions about Nigel Dawson had been right and the man had to be stopped. "So, 4.5--your efforts in this case have not been wasted. 3.7 and Williams will be able to wrap everything up in another day or so."

Relieved that he had not jeopardised the case, Doyle left headquarters and made for home looking forward to a shower, food and some sleep.

On reaching Bodie's quiet flat he decided that two out of three wasn't so bad. There was no food in the house because over the last few weeks, his time taken up with Macklin, the shooting team and his efforts on behalf of The Brewers darts team, he'd been too busy to spend time shopping.

Clean but hungry, he collapsed into bed.

It only seemed like minutes before the persistent ringing of the doorbell pulled him from sleep. Slipping Bodie's dressing gown on he padded to the door, groaning as he heard the braying laugh of Turner outside and realising the entire team were about to descend on him.

"Hello, Rip Van Winkle," Turner said cheerfully. "Caught up on your beauty sleep yet?"

"Doesn't look like it," added Jack Crane as he elbowed his way through, carrier bags full of cans and bottles threatening to spill out onto the floor. "Another hundred years or so should fix the damage though," he said kindly.

Stepping back to let them file past, Doyle followed them through and watched as they made themselves comfortable in the lounge. Seeing that they needed no help from him on that score he returned to the bedroom to dress. Rummaging around in wardrobes and drawers for clean clothes, he made a mental note to himself to get the washing machine fixed before Bodie came home.

Re-entering the lounge, he discovered Jack had already found the glasses and was pouring drinks out. "What's your poison, Ray," called out Kelly. "We've got it all here."

Looking at the bottles lined up on the coffee table, Doyle didn't doubt it. Knowing he was probably going to regret drinking on an empty stomach, he gave in. "Gin and tonic, thanks Pat."

"Here you go," Kelly passed the brimming tumbler over. "Macklin and the others will be here soon."

Of all the team, Macklin had been the biggest surprise to Doyle. The burly instructor that seemed to delight in torturing him during training sessions was a totally different man socially. Friendly, relaxed and unreserved, Macklin was good company--he was also a bloody good shot and had been a member of the team for five years.

The seven man team was drawn from different sections within CI5; Jack Crane acted as armsmaster for the team as well as the department, he also arranged the shooting schedules, fixed up the tournaments and occasionally drove the white minibus they hired to get out to the competitions. Pat Kelly, who was also the team captain, Dave Turner, Macklin and Crane were all that was left of the original team. Peter Ellis and Colin Ferguson had joined only shortly before Doyle; Ellis worked in electronic surveillance and Ferguson worked alongside Kelly on Henderson's observation squad. Only Doyle and Turner were active agents: as Kelly and Crane explained to Doyle, having too many team members on the active list made training schedules and tournaments bloody difficult to arrange.

Doyle's gin and tonic was filled up to the brim a second time when Peter Ellis, Macklin and Fergie arrived. When food was suggested he thought it might be a good idea but then realised he had a confession to make. "Sorry lads," Doyle said sorrowfully. "Forgot to get shome--shome--forgot to...go shopping," he finally got the words out.

The announcement, instead of damping the party, only caused more excitement as they tried to decide which local take-away to visit.

"Chicken and chips."

"Chinese--I fancy some prawn balls."

"Indian."

"Got a kebab place anywhere near here, Ray?"

"Did I see an Indonesian curry house back on the main road?"

"By the traffic lights? No, that's a Thai restaurant."

"No you're wrong, I know the place you mean and it's some fancy Chinese place."

"Can't stand curry anyway!"

"...Donar kebab, a large one with chilli sauce."

"...and I'll have pickled onions and a gherkin with mine."

"Someone should get some more tonic and some whisky--whisky goes well with chips."

"Prefer vinegar myself."

"Three Indians, one Chinese, one large donar with chilli, prawn balls for Macklin--" Crane tried to organise the meal.

"I'll have a pissa."

"A piece of what?" Kelly asked, mopping up the liquid Doyle splashed all over him.

"Pissa!" Doyle said louder. "With essra scheese and...cheese." He hiccuped.

"And one pizza for the drunken bum in the corner," Kelly yelled across to Crane.

"Right," Crane wrote out a list. "That's three Indians, two Chinese, one kebab and one pizza. I'll get the Indians and the drink, Turner, you get the Chinese and the kebab--"

"What about my pissa?" Doyle demanded to know. "Haven't e'tn...e'tn...had somfink to eat shince...dunno--agesago."

Crane sighed and pushed Doyle back into the armchair. "I'll pick it up on the way back. Right, how about some money, people?" Everyone except Doyle dug into their pockets and a pile of money grew on the coffee table.

"Ray," Turner said. "Cough up, mate."

"Pockets are...all empty," Doyle said, smiling. "Forgot to go to the bank."

"Bloody hell, you said that last time!"

"It's the truth!" Doyle said, deeply offended that his friend thought he was lying. "I'll pay you back, honest."

"You said that last time as well!" Turner complained. "You owe me fifteen quid already, five quid for the drinks tonight and whatever your bloody pizza costs!"

"An' essra scheese...don' forget the essra scheese!" Doyle called out as the men left to get the food.

Hours later, leaving Crane snoring at one end of the sofa, Ellis and Fergie arguing hotly at the other end, Macklin, Turner and Kelly half carried, half dragged Doyle into his bedroom and dumped him on the double bed.

"No need to get vio...vio...vilent...nasty!" Doyle mumbled thickly.

"Shut up, Doyle," Macklin said, breathing heavily.

"Do we just leave him there?" asked Kelly.

"Yes," said Turner immediately.

"No," contradicted Macklin. "Get his clothes off."

"Don' you dare!" Doyle said, struggling up onto his elbows trying to focus on them. "No...don't...don't tickle me feet!" he begged and Macklin and Kelly each whipped off one shoe and sock. "Do you mind?" Doyle asked primly, glaring in outrage at Kelly, who was attempting to undo the button of his jeans.

"Just shut up, Doyle," Kelly pushed him back on the bed and undid the tight jeans, allowing Macklin and Turner to yank them off his legs.

"Go back to sleep, Ray," ordered Macklin. "You've got a busy day tomorrow."

"Goin' to see...Katie--K-K-K-Katie--" Doyle tried to sing.

"Got to be your best for Old Iron Britches!" said Turner.

"Katie Iron Britches!" Doyle repeated, obviously enjoying the sound. Then he frowned. But she's not old is she--not really old...is she?"

"No, she's not old, sunshine," said Kelly as he tugged the shirt out from under Doyle.

"No, she's quite young really..." Doyle pulled the duvet up a bit higher under his chin. "Pretty too..."

"Yes, she's pretty," Kelly agreed, a soft smile appearing on his face.

"What--Old Iron Britches?" Turner exclaimed. "When did you last have your eyes tested?" he asked Kelly.

"Anyone would think she was some old hag the way you lot talk about her!" Kelly said, bending down to push Doyle's shoes under the bed and to hid his own flushed face.

"She isn't?" asked Turner.

"Pretty..." Doyle mumbled sleepily.

"Shut up, Doyle!" Macklin said.

"I'm...shutting up," Doyle said obediently.

"You don't fancy Old Katie, do you?" asked Turner with sudden insight.

Kelly flushed furiously and refused to deny it. "I think she's a very attractive woman," he said. "Intelligent--"

"Like brainy sex, do you?" Turner said crudely.

"Wha's brainy sex?" Doyle asked, eyes opening and he tried to sit up.

"Shut up, Doyle," Turner and Kelly's voices sounded together and they both pushed him back onto the bed.

"I...like...sex...Bodie likes...sex. I like sex with--"

"Shut up, Doyle!" said Macklin firmly and he pulled the two men out of the bedroom, leaving Doyle to sleep in peace.

"Don't forget his alarm clock!" Turner said suddenly as they reached the hall. "What time's his appointment with Ross?"

Crossing back to the bedside, Macklin adjusted the alarm clock. "I hope you can wake up in the morning, sunshine," he said, setting the clock on the table beside the sleeping man.

"Pat can come by in the morning and take him in--that way he can get to see Katie himself," Turner sniggered.

"Will you shut up!"

"You don't really fancy her, do you? Seriously?"

"And what's it to you if I do?" Kelly demanded to know. "Just 'cos your women wouldn't know an intelligent thought if they had one!"

"Let's face it," said Macklin as they joined the others in the lounge. "If his girlfriends were intelligent they wouldn't go out with him, would they?"

Hotly defending his taste in women, Turner forgot about Doyle and Kelly wisely returned the torch he carried for Kate Ross to the closet.

---

Arriving outside Doyle's block of flats early next morning, Pat Kelly was unaccountably disappointed to see Ray Doyle, pale but otherwise upright, climb into his car and drive off for his meeting with the department's psychologist. Oh well, Kelly thought dejectedly, he'd have to work out some other way of gaining her attention.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The debriefing took so long that Bodie's voice was hoarse by the time he finished and only then did Cowley offer him a drink.

"So," he asked as he sipped at the smooth, fiery liquid. "What will happen to Dawson now?"

"That, 3.7," said Cowley tiredly, "remains to be seen. He is, potentially, a major embarrassment to the government. There have been too many scandals of late and one more could well prove one too many."

"You think the government will fall?"

"It will probably end in an election," Cowley said. "But then one has been in the wind a while now. The facts of Nigel Dawson's fall from grace will be easily lost in the furore of a general election." Bodie almost groaned aloud. An election would involve all the security services for months on end. "But you did well, Bodie. As did Williams and 4.5. Once you finish your reports you may commence two days' leave," he said generously.

"Thank you, sir." Bodie swallowed the last of his drink and stood up.

"Good night, Bodie," Cowley said, making no move to follow, he had far too much work to even think about going home just yet.

Once Bodie had closed the door, Cowley poured another small measure into his glass and slumped back into his chair. There was little joy in proving that a man he had known for over thirty years was a double agent, and, worst of all, he thought grimly, Dawson was not alone. There were others; men and women at various stages of their careers just waiting to get high enough up the ladder to be of use to their other masters.

The whole operation had been sensitive and dangerous, personally as well as professionally. The risk he had taken placing Doyle undercover had proved worthwhile, but it could just as easily have turned sour. The Minister's politely worded warning proved that even George Cowley was not invulnerable. If anything had gone wrong; if Doyle had been killed or had cracked under the pressure, it would have been George Cowley in person, not Doyle or CI5, that would have had to answer for it.

Rolling the smooth malt around in his mouth, Cowley savoured the taste and the texture before swallowing, draining the glass. His intuition had never failed him--when it did it would be time for him to quit CI5 anyway. Putting the bottle and the glass aside, he pushed Dawson's file away and pulled the next bundle forward.

If a general election was on the calendar, he had better check on one or two things.

---

Bodie leant on the doorbell for a third time then opened the letterbox and yelled through the opening his partner's name. But still there was no answer.

Stepping back into the narrow street, he looked up at the dark windows of Doyle's flat. It had taken half an hour to convince the bespectacled clerk in the accommodations office to give him Doyle's new address. Finishing the reports had taken him until ten o'clock and so here he was, knocking on Doyle's door, trying to get in.

Checking his watch again, Bodie found it hard to believe that his partner had already gone to bed. "Come on, Ray," he muttered as he leant on the doorbell again. He wanted to see Ray. Badly. Nearly two months of working very hard not to think about the man had been ruined the moment he saw the wide-eyed white-faced man with a gun held to his head in the storeroom. For one split second he had nearly blown his cover and got them both killed, but common sense and training had taken over in time.

Then he had become over-confident. Seeing the moment of realisation dawning in Doyle's eyes had pleased him no end; it had made him feel omnipotent. For a few heartbeats, there was little doubt that Doyle knew exactly who controlled his life; and so Bodie had nearly killed him. So full of his need for revenge, he had nearly let Williams kill him in cold blood. The fact that Doyle had fainted from sheer fright, Bodie knew only too well, was the only reason he was still alive. Bodie had acted too late...far too late.

Giving the doorbell a final ring, Bodie stepped back to the road and returned to his car. There was no way Doyle could sleep through the din he had been making; either he knew who was at his door and was refusing to open it, or he wasn't home. Either way, Bodie knew he was going to get in. Tonight.

The night duty officer was a little surprised by the request and was unwise enough to attempt to refuse.

"Look," Bodie growled, "I'm his partner. I want a key to his flat. If I hadn't just spent the last two months undercover, he would already have given me the key."

"It's not normal procedure...."

"Fuck normal...." Bodie calmed down, realising it would not be to his advantage to upset the man too much. "Check the records and you'll see that 4.5 holds a key to my flat. Stands to reason he'll agree to me having a key to his place."

The officer did check the records and was forced to agree. "Can't you call back in the morning when the accommodations officer is here?" he asked.

"No!" Bodie almost shouted. "I need the key tonight."

"Well...," the man hesitated.

"I'll come by in the morning and clear the paperwork with the accommodations officer," Bodie offered.

The man passed the key over, but his request for Bodie to sign for it echoed down the empty corridor.

---

Bodie found the lightswitch in the narrow hallway as he banged his shin hard on what turned out to be a tea chest.

"Ray? It's only me," he called out. Stepping past the packing cases, he moved into the lounge. Everywhere stood cardboard boxes and tea chests; the very boxes and chests Bodie himself had packed when Doyle was still in hospital.

Eventually discovering the staircase, he tiptoed up. If Doyle really was asleep, he wouldn't disturb him. Cautiously, he peered into the bedroom. It was too dark to see anything. "Ray?" he called softly. "Are you awake?" he asked in a louder voice.

When still there came no sound or movement, Bodie turned the passage light on and pushed the bedroom door open--revealing an empty bedroom and bare mattress.

"What the...." He looked for the second bedroom and when he couldn't find it he returned to the empty room. Switching the light on, he opened the wardrobe and drawers and found them empty.

He went back downstairs and searched the rest of the flat. Like the bedroom, the kitchen was empty, only a cup and plate standing on the draining board and a packet of biscuits open on the worktop indicating anyone had ever been there. On top of the fridge was a newspaper, Doyle's scrawling script all over the margin on the crossword page. It was almost two months old.

Turning all the lights off, Bodie left the empty flat, locking it up behind him. Maybe, he reasoned, it was an old paper that Doyle had left lying around. Not knowing where else to look, he drove straight home, puzzling over where Doyle could be. Preoccupied with his thoughts, he failed to notice the Capri he parked behind.

As soon as he opened the front door, he realised that the hall light was on. Stepping inside and drawing his gun, he moved silently down the passage. He knew it couldn't be anyone else, but he still had to check. Quietly he pushed the door open a little wider, allowing the light to spill into the room.

Doyle's only reaction to the light was to hug the pillow he was holding even tighter.

Feeling weak with relief, Bodie re-holstered his gun and went back to the front door to set the locks. Returning to the bedroom, he stood beside the bed looking down at the sleeping man.

"Ray?" he whispered, at first softly but then louder as he gained no response. Looking at the way Doyle was sleeping so soundly in his bed, Bodie felt all the hurt, all the bitterness and pain wash away, leaving him weak at the knees and sure he was grinning from ear to ear like a lovesick fool.

"Enough to try the patience of a bloody saint, you are, Ray Doyle," he muttered, wanting more than anything to reach out and touch the soft, bare skin. His hand was only a hair's breadth away when he snatched it back, unwilling to destroy the peace of the moment.

"What," Bodie asked softly as he silently undressed, throwing his clothes down on the floor, "what the hell am I going to do with you?"

Naked, he stood by the bed, trying to work out how to get in without disturbing Doyle, waking up the entire building and committing suicide in the process. Smiling, he carefully lifted the rolled up quilt Doyle had placed on top of the covers on the empty half of the bed--Bodie's half--then, lifting the sheet, he slid between the covers; taking care not to rock the bed too much.

He didn't risk breathing until he was settled and lying comfortably on his back with Doyle's warmth scant inches away. Listening to the easy rhythm of Doyle's breathing was the only lullaby Bodie needed, the exhaustion and strain of two months swiftly overtaking him. He was shocked back from the brink of sleep by a minor earthquake in the bed. When, without warning, Doyle was there, curly head pillowed on his chest, one arm looped across a flat belly and one leg, warm and slightly damp, hooked comfortably across his thigh.

Bodie held his breath and waited for Doyle to wake up. He fell asleep himself, waiting.

---

Bodie had been aware of the street noises on a subliminal level for a while before Doyle's restless movements finally woke him up. During the night, they had curled around each other even more and now Doyle's head was neatly tucked beneath Bodie's chin, they each had an arm looped around the other's waist and, as Bodie soon discovered, if he wriggled his hips, Doyle's leg brushed the tip of his cock. Pressed snugly against his leg, Bodie felt his partner's cock pulse in time to his subtle movements.

One second he was fast asleep and the next Doyle was sitting up, eyes wide and a huge smile on his face as he realised what his pillow had turned into overnight. "Bodie!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"It is my bed!" Bodie said peevishly, pointedly rubbing the spot on his rib cage that Doyle had levered himself up on.

"When did you get home? I didn't hear you come in? Why didn't you wake me up?" Doyle demanded to know as he snuggled back down under the covers and again cuddled up to his lover. "Is the job over? Did you get Cowley's double agent? Who is he--can you tell me?"

"Ray...."

"Why the hell didn't you wake me?" What time did you get home?"

"Ray...," Bodie tried again, but there was no stopping Doyle now he was awake.

"I've been dying to see you, Bodie," he said, rubbing his face against the smooth chest, being careful not to scrape the tender skin with his beard. "I couldn't get you on your own before, there was Cowley or that MI6 bloke and, before that, I didn't have a clue where you were.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, Bodie, I'm so sorry. I just didn't understand. I'd no idea that it didn't have to be like that--I know I should have, but I didn't. I thought you wanted it like that. I didn't mean to hurt you, really I didn't. You do believe me, don't you?" Doyle pulled away to look at Bodie, trying to gauge his reaction. "I am sorry, Bodie, really I am."

"Ray," Bodie said, swept away by the torrent of words and emotion. "I don't--"

"I know you're not kinky, Bodie. I know you didn't mean to do it like that, and I promise I'll never--"

"Ray." Bodie clamped a hand across his mouth, smothering the words. "What the hell are you on about?" he asked.

"I know you're not kinky, Bodie," Doyle said when his mouth was uncovered and then smiled as if he thought his explanation would clarify everything.

Bodie blinked. "How did you come to that conclusion?" he asked, deciding to take it one step at a time.

"When I realised you aren't into pain--about five seconds after you ran out of that door."

"I see," said Bodie, finding that the strange logic somehow made sense.

"I forgot about the Vaseline," Doyle said, eyes lowering as he remembered his stupidity. "I only saw it after you'd left--but it was too late then. I never meant to hurt you, Bodie--honest, I didn't!"

"I believe you," Bodie said, pulling Doyle back when he tried to get away. "And...I'm sorry, too, for getting it so wrong." He tapped Doyle's cheek to get his attention. "Stupid me thought you were doing it just to get back at me...I thought you'd been playing games with me and so...."

"No!" Doyle cried. "I wasn't...."

"Know that now, don't I?" Bodie cut in, pulling Doyle closer and running his hands across the smooth back, sighing as the caress was returned in full. "But it's me that needs to apologise."

"What for?" Doyle asked, arching his back against the searching fingers.

"Nearly getting you killed. I was so mad with you."

"My own fault," Doyle conceded.

"Probably," purred Bodie. "Oh...yes...just there...but...harder, oh...but I never thought...oh, yes...thought he...had...mmmn."

"Had what?" Doyle asked, breaking off from loving a small, button nipple.

"What?" Eyes glazed, Bodie found the conversation difficult to follow.

"Never thought," Doyle moved to the other nipple, "who had what?"

"Balls!" gasped Bodie.

Doyle obliged and moved further down the bed, pushing the duvet away.

"Williams...balls!" Bodie struggled on.

"What?"

"Nearly got...you killed...oh...yes...no...no don't...oh, yes...just like...oh, Ray...that feels so..."

Shifting to a more comfortable position, Doyle tried to twist round far enough for Bodie to be able to reach him. Lifting his head, he smiled wickedly as he saw the tightly closed eyes and expectant face, and trying to watch Bodie's expression as his mouth closed over the thrusting cock, he caught sight of the alarm clock. "Fucking 'ell," he cried, throwing himself backwards off the bed. "It's half past eight!"

"Wha'?" Bodie asked in a daze.

"It's half past eight!" Doyle yelled, already on the run for the bathroom. "I'm due to see Ross in half an hour--if I'm late she'll kill me!"

"Ray!" The haze was beginning to fade, the powerful climax receding to a painful knot somewhere just behind his balls when Doyle re-entered the bedroom.

"Don't mind if I borrow some of your stuff, do you--thanks," Doyle said as he pulled open drawers and wardrobe doors. "Damn," he swore, fumbling through the top drawer of the unit. "Must get some washing done," he muttered to himself.

"Ray!" Bodie called out with a little more strength.

"Oh, Christ, fifteen minutes--if the traffic's bad I've 'ad it," Doyle muttered as he heeled and toed his way into a pair of trainers. "Have you got the day off?"

Bodie nodded.

"Lucky bugger--don't spend all day in bed," came the parting shot as Doyle ran out of the bedroom.

Hearing the rattle of keys at the front door, Bodie sat up in bed, numb and aching, one hand curling around his throbbing, urgent member.

Then, Doyle was back, taking Bodie completely by surprise. Knocking him back onto the pillows, taking possession of his mouth, one hand closing tightly over Bodie's, squeezing his cock, sending delicious signals rushing through him. "Welcome home, Bodie. See you tonight." And then he really was gone.

Left lying like a beached starfish, one hand wrapped around his cock, Bodie heard the slam of a car door and urgent revving of an engine, followed by the squeal of tyres. The noise finally merging into the distance, joining other traffic. Beneath his fingers, his flesh throbbed, re-asserting the need for action. Closing his eyes, Bodie pictured what he would like to do to his partner--nothing particularly gentle or loving--he was beyond that. As he jetted, joylessly, into his hand, Bodie decided that it was perhaps for the best that Doyle hadn't come back. He would have enjoyed the experience, but somehow he doubted that Doyle would share his feelings.

The homecoming that had started out with such promise left Bodie feeling emotionally bewildered, physically numb, and his sole consolation a limp prick, a sticky hand and a cold bed. It was also his first day off in ages, it was the wrong side of nine o'clock and he was wide awake.

Picking up the shirt he'd thrown on the floor the previous night, he wiped his hand clean and rubbed at his belly. Balling the dirty shirt up, he tossed it into the corner where the washing basket stood.

Stretching and relieving all the knots and kinks out of his spine, he ambled slowly into the bathroom. After flushing the loo, he bent down to turn the bath taps on and swore when he discovered his shirt soaking in a few inches of grubby looking water. Lifting the sodden mass up, he pulled the plug, wrung the shirt out and then rinsed it under the cold tap. A faint blood stain was still visible on the collar, but Bodie hoped the washing machine would be able to shift it. Dropping the garment in the wash basin, he ran his bath, nice and hot and deep, and enjoyed a leisurely soak, his mood becoming more peaceful as the hot water eased into his tired bones.

Emerging from the bathroom pink and glowing, Bodie padded into the bedroom to dress. He opened first one drawer, and then another...and then went back to the first one again. "Where the hell...." He bent down and peered into the deep drawer as he rummaged through a collection of vests and winter combinations.

"What's he done with them?" he asked in a confused but slightly indulgent tone. A visit to the airing cupboard to discover no clean pants or socks were stored there soon got rid of his goodwill. Pulling yesterday's pants and socks, Bodie pulled a clean pair of trousers from the wardrobe and searched for a shirt...and then for a tee-shirt that he could wear. He finally settled on an old army, winter weight, short-sleeved vest and slammed the wardrobe and unit drawers shut. He'd thought the laundry basket looked rather full.

Tipping the linen basket upside down, he soon discovered where all his clothes had gone. The bottom of the basket contained Doyle's clothes; the top half and two foot high pile on the floor beside it consisted of his. Not one to make a crisis of a domestic hiccup, Bodie sorted the washing into piles of stales socks and underpants, shirts, towels, and Doyle's jeans; then carried the most urgently needed pile into the kitchen, shoving pants and socks into the drum.

He didn't notice the state of the kitchen until he realised he couldn't find any washing powder. Refusing to look at the pile of dirty dishes, he hunted through the cupboards. When he saw the packet he cheered, but then noticed the large blue laundry bag. Why, he wondered as he tipped the powder into the machine, did Doyle have a laundromat bag in the cupboard.

He soon found out.

Pulling the pants and socks back out of the machine, he shoved them all into the blue bag, wedging the powder packet down the side of it. He'd visit the laundromat after breakfast.

The empty fridge and half a stale loaf failing to tempt him, he decided that perhaps today was the right day to check out the new cafe in the high street; the one just down from the laundromat. By the time he entered the lounge, Bodie was simmering nicely.

It was the smell that hit him first. In the dark room, the stink of cigarettes was unmistakable, but beneath that was something even worse. Face twisting in distaste, Bodie opened the curtains and pushed the windows wide open.

The bathroom and the kitchen had only prepared him for the lounge.

"What the...," he gasped, looking at the devastation in amazement. He had thought the pizza box and fried chicken boxes in the kitchen were bad enough; here every surface was covered with tinfoil cartons--some empty, some still holding smelly, congealed food. Glasses, plates, beer cans, bottles and ashtrays were everywhere. "Jesus!" Bodie felt too stunned to say anything else. He sat down heavily on the arm of the chair, scarcely able to believe the wreckage of his lounge.

His first thought was that Doyle had truly cracked up; that the man had not washed a single cup, plate or glass in the two moths he'd obviously been living here on his own. But then he realised Doyle didn't smoke. Cigarettes or cigars, he thought numbly as he tossed the empty packet of Castellas onto the coffee table.

But even the flies crawling over the stained coffee table and dirty plates didn't cause Bodie's temper to break. What finally did it was his discovery, after a really good crap, that there was only one tiny, useless sheet of pink loo paper stuck on the roll and on seeing the neat row of naked loo rolls on the shelf where the spares were usually kept he blew up.

For a slob, Bodie decided, Doyle could, on occasion, be quite tidy sometimes. The naked loo rolls were thrown across the bathroom where, like missiles, they knocked over the shampoo bottle which then neatly poured bright blue, anti-dandruff liquid all over the shirt sitting in the basin. Doyle had left the cap off.

---

Checking that Doyle was in the small room on his own, the man quietly backtracked to the swing doors he had crept through moments ago. Knocking them open noisily, he then walked, heavy-footed, past the open door.

"Pat," Doyle called out as he saw his friend walk past. "Pat!"

"Oh, hell, Ray, didn't see you there," Kelly lied. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for Ross to come by."

Hearing the gloomy answer, Kelly felt his spirits lift. He'd hoped he had timed it nicely. "Oh...well, I'll see you around then," he said, making no move to leave.

"Not in a hurry, are you?" Doyle asked. "Hang on a bit, will you?"

"Why, what's up?" Kelly asked casually.

"I'm waiting for the final results. She looked okay and said she would telephone me in the morning," Doyle said. "But I can't wait until then, if she says no...she won't, I know she won't. She can't...but if she does...." Doyle's nerves showed themselves. The evaluations over the last one and a half days had been exhausting and even though he felt confident he was scared to expect too much.

"I'll wait with you, if you like," Kelly offered gallantly. "Kate bringing the report here herself is she?" he asked, trying to damp down his own fluttering nerves.

"Yes!" Doyle said in a despairing voice. "I've been waiting all afternoon."

"Oh, well, she can't be much longer then," Kelly said brightly, checking his reflection in the small mirror.

"She's doing it deliberately," Doyle complained. "She bloody knows I'm sitting here waiting."

"Now then, Ray, just calm down. How do you think you did?"

"I did okay!" Doyle shot back defensively.

"I only asked. Kate's not a bad sort, she knows her stuff. She's not going to push you out for no reason is she?" he said reasonably.

"It's all right for you lot," Doyle grumbled. "You don't have to put up with her bloody stupid games for hours on end!"

"I know," Kelly sighed. "Bloody shame," he added softly.

"4.5?" A crisp, feminine voice drew Kelly out of his reverie, and he turned to see Dr Ross.

"Well?" Doyle asked anxiously, jumping to his feet.

"Good afternoon, Doctor...Kate...Dr Ross...nice afternoon," Kelly muttered as Doyle pushed past him.

"Well?" Doyle asked a second time.

"I haven't had a chance to study your reaction times fully," she started to say.

Doyle groaned. "You're not going to keep me hangin' on any longer," he protested, "or else I will bloody crack up!"

Kelly tried to pull Doyle back and laid a restraining hand on one shoulder. "He's a bit edgy," he said, "understandable really...given the circumstances...." He grinned and blushed beetroot as Ross raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"I suppose it is being unfair to keep you in suspense any longer, 4.5," Ross said as she smiled in response to the huge beam Kelly was giving her. "Going by the provisional figures, I can see nothing to suggest I ought to advise Alpha One to permanently reduce your status."

"What?" Doyle blinked.

"She's not going to tell the Cow to kick you out!" Kelly explained.

"I couldn't have explained it better myself, Mr...?"

"Kelly." He drew himself up to his full height and beamed at her. "Patrick Kelly."

"Are you new to the Squad. I've not seen you before, have I?" Ross enquired.

"Good lord no," Kelly said. "I work with Tim Henderson--don't get the opportunity to come over this side very often. I was just passing when I saw Ray...thought he looked a bit anxious--"

"I can have my gun back then?" Doyle interrupted.

Kelly raised his voice and pulled Doyle back away from Kate Ross. "So I thought I'd come and keep him company. He's been a bit anxious about these tests," he confided.

"And you'll tell Cowley I can work with Bodie again?"

"Well...," said the doctor, smiling again at the cheerful, handsome agent, "er...yes, 4.5, I'll inform Mr Cowley."

"Terrific--come on, Pat, let's go." Doyle shot out the door. "Pat, come on!"

"Well...," Kelly paused by the door, "goodbye...it was a pleasure meeting you...Kate."

Kate Ross smiled. "Yes...nice to meet you, too."

"Pat, are you coming?" Doyle yelled along the corridor.

"Goodbye, then...see you around perhaps," Kelly said, suddenly unsure of himself.

"That...might be nice," Kate agreed, surprising even herself with her answer.

"Oh," taken aback, Kelly ignored Doyle's loud calls. "Do you ever go to the Roundhouse?" he asked, naming the favourite lunchtime venue of some of the technical support staff.

"Occasionally...on Fridays," she replied.

"Fridays?" Kelly repeated. "I...might see you there then...buy you a drink perhaps?"

Amazed at herself, Kate Ross nodded and smiled again, her eyes twinkling.

"Pat!" Doyle's voice echoed along the corridor.

"I'm coming!" Kelly yelled. "See you Friday then. Bye."

The two men burst into the carpark with so much enthusiasm it was hard to tell who had received the best news.

---

Bodie met Lake on his way home from the laundromat and supermarket. "Here you go, Puddle," he said. "Cop hold of that."

Taking two of the bulging carrier bags, Lake struggled into the front hall and dumped the bags on the floor of the lift. Dumping his own bags beside them, Bodie told him to hold the lift while he ran back out to the car.

"It's not Christmas for months!" Lake exclaimed when he saw the armful of bags Bodie staggered into the lift with.

"Ha, bloody ha!" he snorted and punched the button to take them up. "For wisecracks like that you can help me carry them all through to the kitchen."

It took a while, but finally everything was taken into the kitchen, Lake even helping by shoving the laundry bags into the bedroom.

"Thanks, Puddle," Bodie said once the bags had been unpacked. "God, I'm knackered!"

"You look it, fancy a cuppa?"

"Oh, yeah...."

"Would you like me to make it for you?" Lake asked dryly when Bodie made no effort to move.

"Oh, yeah...."

"Hard job was it?" he asked as he arranged the kettle, cups and coffee jar.

"Exhausting," Bodie agreed. "Haven't stopped since I woke up. Cleaning, washing, hoovering, shopping...fucking launderette...."

"I meant the job you've just finished," Lake said, laughing at the image of Bodie as a housewife.

"Job was a fucking doddle!" Bodie said exasperatedly. "It's this flat-sharing lark that's hard work!"

"Pardon?"

"It's that fuckin' toad I'm teamed with. God knows what he's been up to while I've been away, but this place was in a right mess!" complained Bodie.

"Doyle's been living here?" Lake asked, surprised.

"Living it up, more like!" Bodie said forcefully. "I come home after two months to find he's pinched all my clothes, eaten all my food, and not washed a bloody thing since I left. I don't know what's come over him--he used to make hardly any mess...never even knew he was staying here...and then this morning...it's like a bomb's hit the place, and he runs out on me to meet Kate Ross."

Lake peered into the lounge and then waved a hand around the neat kitchen. "Place looks okay to me."

"You should have seen it this morning!"

Keeping his amusement firmly in check, Lake wandered through into the lounge with his coffee. Sitting on the sofa, his hand fell onto something and he lifted it up to examine it.

Bodie saw the card. "And how the hell did that get here?" he wanted to know. "What the hell has Doyle been up to for Macklin's score card to turn up in my lounge!"

A flash of pain crossed Lake's face as he read over the card. He had seen one before. "Macklin's in the shooting team," he explained in a quiet voice.

"Shooting team?" Bodie said, puzzled.

"The department team. I heard something about Doyle joining them."

"Joining what? Who?"

Lake smiled as more enjoyable memories flooded back. "I've not kept up with them, they broke up after the Wakeman business." He looked up and waited for Bodie to remember. "Williams, Mathieson and King were part of the team. With them gone...the team fell apart. I heard Crane and Macklin were trying to get it going again. Apart from Pat Kelly and Doyle, I don't know who else is in it, oh yes, and John Turner." Lake paused and then leant over to pass the score card to Bodie. "Now I think about it, I remember Turner saying something about the team keeping Doyle occupied the other night." He laughed as he remembered what they had planned. "Doyle was really strung out about the evaluations with Ross--really sweating, he was. Turner said the whole team were going to keep him occupied so he wouldn't have time to worry...and I've seen the way Macklin and Crane operate," he said, laughing out loud. "I used to get roped in with Williams when they celebrated a win or sank their sorrows when they lost. Knows how to organise a good piss-up does Macklin and Crane."

"They were here?" Bodie asked. "In my house!"

"I remember seeing Williams's place after a night of team celebration--christ, it was bad. And he was usually so hung over he couldn't see to tidy the mess up so I had to do it."

Although he was less than delighted at the idea of Macklin, Crane, and, particularly, Pat Kelly living it up in his house, Bodie was pleased that Doyle had had someone to keep him occupied.

"Well," Lake said, draining the rest of his coffee. "What are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Do you know anything about washing machines?"

---

As cheerful as he was, Doyle was eager to get home and break the good news to Bodie; Kelly, unfortunately, had ideas of his own.

"Why not ring the rest of the fellas and meet up at Ray's place again. Have a repeat of the night before last?" Kelly said to Turner, who immediately agreed.

"But, Bodie--"

"Nah," frowned Kelly. "We won't bother asking him. Last time I met Bodie I ended up with bruised bollocks and he got a black eye and a week's suspension!" Under cover of Turner's roar of laughter, Doyle gulped. "Miserable old git, your partner," continued Kelly. "Can't you get Cowley to re-team you--oh, there's Peter and Colin." He ran over to intercept them.

Hoping Turner would be sympathetic, Doyle spoke quickly. "You know Bodie's been undercover for two months. He only got back last night. We're planning to...to have a quiet drink," he said lamely.

"Bodie needs brightening up," Turner said heartlessly. "Anyway, have you been to the bank yet?"

"When have I had time to go to the bank?" Doyle said irritably.

"It's all fixed, Ray," Kelly said as he rejoined them. "Colin's going to ring Macklin and Jack and tell 'em the party's at your place."

"John--"

"Lord, is that the time," Turner said, checking his watch. "If I don't put in an appearance, the wife'll sue for divorce on grounds of desertion. See you at your place later tonight, Ray."

"John!" But Turner was gone, leaving Doyle with Kelly; he turned to him in a last ditch attempt.

"Look," Kelly cut in before he could speak. "Invite Bodie over as well," he suggested helpfully. "I'm sure he'll have a great time. See you about eight."

Driving home, Doyle wondered how on earth he was going to explain away a surprise party. He was still struggling to get the right dialogue when he inserted the key in the front door. "Bodie?" he called out as he let himself in.

There was no answer, but he thought he heard voices coming form the kitchen. He walked in and found Bodie and Lake sitting beside the upturned washing machine.

"Okay," Lake was saying, "now try it," and Bodie pushed a screwdriver into the machinery.

"What are you doing?"

The two men looked up in surprise, Bodie's face mirroring the same silly grin on Doyle's face.

"Hi, Ray," Lake said, looking up from the innards of the machine for a brief moment. "I don't suppose you've any idea why this thing won't work. I can't find anything wrong with the motor, the drive belt or the switches."

"His brother works for Hotpoint," Bodie explained.

Doyle shrugged his shoulders. "No, not a clue. I just plugged it in, it went fizz-bang and then nothing."

"What went fizz-bang?" Lake asked curiously.

"Dunno," Doyle said, peering into the machine, "but I thought it was the plug." The three men turned to look at the plug still inserted into the wall socket. "It looks sort of burnt--so I just switched it off."

"The plug blew!"

"I think so--but I don't know much about electrics," Doyle admitted.

"Did you check the fuse?" Lake asked.

"In the washing machine?"

"No," said Bodie slowly, "in the plug."

"Ah," said Doyle thoughtfully. "I never thought of that."

Bodie closed his eyes and tried to remember a breathing routine reputed to guarantee a calm disposition.

Lake threw the screwdriver down and swore. "Three fucking hours we've been fart-arsing around inside this poxy, bloody machine and then Lord Fauntleroy wanders in and says the fuse in the fucking, poxy plug blew!"

"Sorry," Doyle apologised.

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" Bodie asked quietly.

"Well, when it happened you weren't here...and then this morning...." Their eyes met and for a moment they forgot all about the washing machine and Lake. "Sorry about this morning," Doyle said softly, a rosy heat staining his cheeks and darkening his eyes, "and then...well, I forgot."

"Anything else you've forgotten to tell me," Bodie asked, eyes smouldering and already making plans to send Lake off home.

"Ah," Doyle said, eyes widening in remembered horror, "a few of the lads said...they might drop by tonight."

"What?" Bodie asked, surprised.

"The rest of the team...I've joined the Squad team," Doyle admitted.

"Oh, no!" Lake cried, scrambling to his feet. "I'm not getting mixed up with that lot again--I had enough of being a Shooting Team groupie when Ken was one of them!"

"Puddle!" exclaimed Bodie.

"They're bloody parasites," Bodie," warned Lake. "If I were you I'd barricade the front door and pretend you're not home. When are they coming?"

Doyle looked at his watch just as the doorbell rang. "That'll probably be them now," he said.

"Has this place got a fire escape?" asked Lake.

"I'd better go and...open the door," Doyle said, backing out of the kitchen. He never broke eye contact with Bodie until he received a weary smile and a small nod of consent. Realising Bodie understood, Doyle opened the front door with an easier heart.

Turning a deaf ear to the noise coming from the hallway, Lake asked Bodie to pass the plug over.

"I'll shove a new fuse in it, and if it still doesn't work, I'll ask my brother to come by and have a look at it when he's got time."

"Thanks, Puddle," Bodie said gratefully as he sorted through the small tool box for the packet of fuses.

Once the machine was upright again, Bodie left Lake fiddling with the plug and wandered into the hall to discover what all the noise was about.

He could hardly see Ray for the men milling about in the narrow area. They were all slapping him on the back, ruffling his hair and--to Bodie's surprise--Macklin had picked him up and was swinging him around. Doyle was cheerfully accepting it all. The sounds of congratulations slowly became clearer, and Bodie realised what they had come to celebrate.

Managing to break away from the group, Doyle pushed towards Bodie, a huge smile threatening to split his face in two. "I meant to tell you as soon as I got in," he said softly under all the noise. "Ross has passed me fit for duty."

Bodie knew he had never doubted that she would.

The doorbell rang again and, as Doyle pushed everyone through into the lounge, Bodie opened the door.

"Ta, Ray--oh, it's you," Kelly said in dismay. "Er...pleased you could make it," he said lamely, side-stepping past a glowering Bodie. "Don't...shut the door," he said just as Bodie was about to. "There's two more coming up the stairs."

When Turner and Fergie arrived with the bags of bottles and cans, Bodie began to understand how his lounge had got into such a mess.

Leaving the other men to set up the drinks and sort themselves out, Bodie caught Doyle's attention and nodded towards the bedroom.

Sitting on the bed in the oasis of quiet, Bodie only had to wait for a few minutes before Doyle, flushed and bright-eyed, joined him and carefully closed the door.

"Ray...," Bodie began.

"Bodie, I'm really sorry," Doyle cut in. "They sort of invited themselves," he apologised.

"Well, un-invite them!"

"You try!" Doyle said, exasperated. "I already have and look where it's got me."

About to lose his temper, Bodie saw and heard Doyle's despair and suddenly everything was all right. "Oh, god," he groaned, falling backwards to lie on the bed. "One day I'm going to be able to see the funny side of all this."

"Bodie?" Cautious, Doyle moved towards the bed and knelt on the edge, looking at Bodie's closed face. "You okay?" he asked worriedly.

Bodie opened his eyes and smiled up at the anxious face. "So, Kate's cleared you for duty, has she?"

"Yeah...Jack's brought my gun round, too. Cowley okayed it this afternoon." He sat down, knees touching Bodie's shoulders.

"So everything's all right now, is it?" asked Bodie quietly.

"Nearly everything," Doyle whispered.

"What's left?"

The question hung between them, the air crackling with expectancy, the party in the lounge suddenly in another world.

Time stopped.

Doyle bent down, touched his lips to Bodie's, his tongue flicking out to trace lower lip before darting into the dark warmth. In the lounge, a huge cheer went up, causing the lovers to jump nervously.

Reluctantly, Bodie pushed Doyle away and sat up. "You've got a party to go to, Cinderella."

"If they're not gone by midnight, they'll all get a surprise," Doyle said, backing away.

"What's going to happen at midnight?" Bodie asked, teasing him as they straightened their clothes.

"First stroke of midnight and all me clothes'll fall off," and with that the door was opened and they joined the party.

At first, Bodie found it difficult to relax; he had never met Peter Ellis before and only barely knew his friend, Fergie. Turner he had worked with only once before and had found the man to be stroppy and inconsiderate. Kelly spent most of the evening careful to keep some distance between them, but it was Macklin and Crane that were the biggest shock. Usually frosty and sour tempered, Jack Crane treated all his team as if they were harmless juveniles, scolding, teasing, and cuffing their ears when he thought it necessary. As for Macklin, Bodie had never realised the man had such a wickedly dry sense of humour and found his sides tender from laughing so much at the instructor's jokes and incredibly accurate, hilarious impersonations of George Cowley.

At one point during the evening, Bodie found himself sitting next to Doyle on the sofa. They were in the middle with Macklin on Bodie's left and Kelly on Doyle's right. It was about the time Bodie realised how little it took Ray to get drunk.

"Nice party, isn't it, Bodie?" Doyle had said, leaning on a well-padded shoulder.

Bodie agreed and hoped no-one would see how Doyle was snuggling up to him.

"Welcome...hic...home, Bodie."

"Go to sleep, Ray," Bodie whispered.

"Can't," Doyle said mournfully. "Me trousers are too tight...and I need a pee...."

Bodie sighed and tried to elbow Doyle away. Doyle sat up straight for a moment and then slid sideways to lean on his other friend.

"Bony shoulders," he complained and pulled Kelly's arm up, draping it around his neck and settling it on the man's chest. "Not 'alf as comfortable as him," Doyle told Kelly. "Have you met Bodie before," he asked, suddenly waking up to his responsibilities as host. "He's my...my partner."

Smiling weakly from relief, Bodie suffered the introductions.

"We have met," Kelly told Doyle.

"Really?" Doyle asked, wide awake and curious. "Where?"

"Have another drink, Ray," Kelly said, lifting the bottle to the empty glass.

"Watch it, Pat," Macklin warned from the other end of the sofa. "Much more and we'll have to carry him to bed again."

Bodie looked at Macklin in surprise, then back at Kelly, who was prising the glass out of Doyle's fingers.

"I'd forgotten," he said. "Christ, Doyle, two sniffs of booze and you're anybody's aren't you."

"No," Doyle said, outraged. "Not anybody's...only Bo--"

"Why don't you turn in, Ray," Bodie said quickly.

"He looks fucked," Turner observed from his spot on the carpet.

"I am not!" Doyle said angrily, struggling to get up. "Who said that?"

Jack Crane cuffed Turner hard and pushed Doyle back onto the sofa. "He's right though, Ray, a good night's sleep'll do you good."

"Can't sleep," Doyle told them all. "Me trousers are too tight...need to 'ave a piss, but...every time I get to the loo--someone's in there...," he complained.

Jack tugged Doyle upright.

"Come on, Sunshine," he said gruffly. "Beddie-byes."

"Need to...piss," Doyle said, stumbling over everybody's legs and feet, "and me legs 'ave gone...all numb."

"How much has he drunk?" Fergie asked as Bodie hovered uncertainly behind Crane and Doyle.

"Not much," Turner reported.

"You sure he wasn't teetotal before joining the squad?" asked Kelly. Doyle's capacity for drink had amazed them all the first night they had got together, Doyle ending up under the table before the evening was half over, and all the team felt it was their responsibility to increase his alcohol threshold to a point where he wouldn't be an embarrassment in the bar after a tournament.

Bodie was forced to watch Crane and Macklin take Doyle in hand, steer him into the bathroom, strip him and tumble him into bed.

Throwing the duvet over him, Macklin looked up and saw Bodie. "Look after him, 3.7, he's had a rough ride," he said quietly, all traces of drunken merriment gone. "It's about time we remembered to look after our own."

Leaving Bodie standing just inside the bedroom, Crane and Macklin walked out, calling for someone to start organising taxis.

Stepping over to the bed, Bodie picked up the discarded clothes and tugged the duvet over the sleeper's shoulders before backing quietly out of the room.

The party wound up pretty quickly after that, Lake and Macklin helping to clear up before the taxis arrived. One of the last to leave, Kelly, only slightly inebriated but feeling a little braver for it, offered to share his taxi with Bodie. The offer was politely declined, and Bodie finally closed the front door, locked and bolted it, turned the lights off and climbed into the bed beside the gently snoring Doyle.

Home, was Bodie's last thought as he fell asleep.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

An annoying shaft of sunlight was what woke Bodie up. It was so bright it was painful, and he was forced to slide out from under Doyle's easy sprawl to close the curtains. The strong light forced its way through the dark brown fabric, turning everything in the room different tones of gold.

Still sleepy, Bodie crept back into bed and reached out to pull Ray closer. He sensed, rather than felt, the relaxed body tense up and gripped Doyle's arms hard, holding him down as he tried to back away violently.

"It's only me...Ray. It's only me...'s okay."

Opening wild eyes and focusing on Bodie, Doyle relaxed immediately, allowing the strong grip to pull him close.

"Mornin'," he mumbled sleepily, eyes drooping shut again, still only half awake.

"Morning," Bodie responded, planting a light kiss on Doyle's forehead.

Doyle sighed and eased himself closer, sliding one leg in between Bodie's and rubbing his rising erection against muscled thigh.

Not wanting him to fall back to sleep, Bodie tugged on a thick curl that threatened to tickle his face.

"Your hair's really grown," he said conversationally. "You need a haircut."

Doyle grunted, whether in agreement or rejection Bodie wasn't sure.

"And you're brown, so brown. What have you been up to to get a tan like this? Had a quick holiday in Spain while I was away, did you?" Bodie ran his white hands across the tanned back.

"In the park," Doyle mumbled, shivering under the sweeping caresses.

"Stripped off in the park?" Bodie asked, faintly scandalised.

"No," Doyle snorted, wriggling up a few inches in the bed so he could touch his mouth to the strong throat. "Swimming in the Serpentine in Hyde Park. I've got a lovely white bum."

Peering over the tanned shoulder and smooth back, Bodie pushed the covers down further to check, his hands following his eyes. "So you have."

He saw Doyle's eyes open wide as his hands closed over the white cheeks, he felt them tense under his fingers and continued to make gentle stroking motions. The effort to relax was visible, but Bodie was pleased that he made no move to brush the hands away.

Sliding his hands up to cup Doyle's face, Bodie drew him into a long, searching kiss, pulling away only when breathing became necessary.

"How's your head?" asked Bodie.

Doyle smiled. "Fine, never seem to get headaches, usually just get an upset stomach if anything."

"Lucky sod," Bodie complained without heat.

In the peace and quiet of the flat, there was no urgency and they were content to lie, cuddled together, exchanging kisses and soft, undemanding touches. But it couldn't last for ever, and Bodie still had a lot of questions.

"Why haven't you moved into your new flat?"

Doyle pulled away a little, resting his head on the pillow next to Bodie's. "Do you want me to?"

"I want to know why you haven't," corrected Bodie.

Doyle shrugged and refused to look him straight in the eye. "I'd rather stay here."

"I'd rather have you here, but you should have moved in--what have you told Control?"

"It hasn't been a problem so far. I've been working day shifts, and I've not been on call. I've not told anyone--I won't live there!"

Bodie saw the unhappy expression in the lowered eyes and wondered at its cause. "What's wrong with the place?"

"Nothing," Doyle answered quickly. "I just...I don't want to live there. I don't want to live on my own, I really don't like living alone."

"It never bothered you before."

"Yes, it did," admitted Doyle quietly. "I just never said anything. It was okay at first...but then I didn't like it--that's one of the reasons why I stayed over at Ann's place, or here."

"You were happy enough to move out of here last time," Bodie said, puzzled. "Couldn't wait, if I remember right."

"Only because it was something new," Doyle said, still refusing to look at Bodie properly, and clearly embarrassed. "Never said anything before, but that flat was the first time I'd ever lived on my own--really on my own." Feeling Bodie's astonishment, he explained, "When I lived at home I had to share a room with my brother, then at training school it was six to a dormitory; after that it was a Police section house. I had my own room but about thirty of us lived there. Then I moved in with Ann; there was a bed-sit for a few months before the trial, but even then there were other people in the house. After that it was...prison, and then you. See, I've never had to live alone before, and I don't want to start now!" he finished, angry and defensive at the same time.

"And that's why you won't move in?" Bodie asked, guessing there was more to come.

"Mostly...and I'd rather be with you...and...."

"And what?" prompted Bodie gently. "What?" he asked again, unable to hear the muffled mumble. "It's got what?"

"Bars on the bedroom window!" Doyle shouted out and pulled himself out of the encircling arms.

"Bars?"

"Burglar bars," Doyle said coldly. "I can't live in a place with bars on the window, Bodie. Go on, laugh...don't you think it's funny?" he said viciously, face twisting.

Bodie didn't feel in the least like laughing and said so. "You don't have to take the flat. Turn it down."

"And give what reason--besides, it's too late now," Doyle said in disgust. "If I'd said anything at the time it would have gone straight to those...nerds at Repton and then to Ross."

"You're not going to get rid of claustrophobia after a few sessions with a doctor, Ray," said Bodie patiently. "No one is expecting you to suddenly recover from something like that."

"Why not?" Doyle demanded to know, tugging a towelling robe on and knotting it fiercely around his waist. "I do!"

"As long as they know you can control it, you're okay. It's something that will probably be with you for the rest of your life--the only thing that's likely to change is how you react to it. Ray!" Bodie followed him as he strode through to the kitchen.

"The accommodation people ballsed up offering up a place like that. Turn it down--it's not too late."

"You want me to move out?" Doyle stopped throwing things into the washing up bowl and turned round.

"No!"

"Well...why keep on about it, then?"

"Because...," Bodie floundered, wondering why himself, "...you can't stay here."

"Why can't we share? Susie Fisher and Karen Livesley do, why can't we?"

"They aren't sleeping together are they!" Bodie blurted out.

"I've been sleeping in your bed almost from the beginning of our teaming--it's never bothered you before."

"But then it was different," Bodie said weakly. "That was before...."

"Bodie," Doyle said softly, crossing the space between them and touching him gently. "Susie and Karen share a house in West Kensington, it's a huge place, there's two bedrooms and a massive lounge. Everyone knows they share, and there's no gossip, no-one sniggers about them; if anything happens in that house it's private between the two of them.

"Everyone knows I've stayed at your place for a while, would it make it so awkward if I lived here permanently?"

"Well," said Bodie, considering it. "I had thought about us sharing ages ago, well before..."

"Before what?"

"Before I realised how much I loved you," Bodie finished, smiling at the rosy flush that swept over the downbent face. "I suppose we could always tell accommodation to put you here."

"Not here," Doyle said quickly. "There's an empty flat in Susie's block--I've already seen it. It's huge and it's already secure because they live upstairs."

"What?"

"Peter Ellis is going out with Karen and I called in there with him a few weeks back after a training session...."

"Ray," Bodie held a hand up to quiet him down. "Slow down; you mean you've already found us somewhere to live?"

"As long as the accommodation office will agree to four operatives living in one building."

"You were rather sure of yourself, weren't you. I mean, we didn't exactly part company the best of friends, did we?"

"No," Doyle agreed solemnly, "but once I figured out what I'd done wrong I knew...I hoped it would still be okay between us."

Bodie stared at his partner for so long without speaking that Doyle began to feel uncomfortable.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Have you got any appointments today," Bodie enquired. "Got to go in to work?"

"No," replied Doyle, worried at the quiet question. "Why, what did you want?"

Bodie smiled. "Breakfast," he said abruptly, "and then we've got the rest of the day to ourselves."

---

The outcome of the day was inevitable. Knowing that though, each man enjoyed playing a game that delayed it. Breakfast, a visit to the shops, lunch in a pub full of business men and secretaries, a walk through the park before going home.

Spreading butter over the toasted tea-cakes, Bodie watched through hooded eyes as Doyle finished straightening the living room after last night's visitors. Eating the food it was impossible not to notice the silences between them growing longer and longer. When they did speak, neither finished a sentence, the other guessing what was about to be said and each knowing it.

It was late afternoon before they allowed each other the luxury of touch. Knowing that once they started, it was going to be different. They were both nervous, Doyle perhaps a little more than Bodie--but both were eager.

In their bedroom, the afternoon sun, tinged red, cast an eerie light on them. Making them, the room, and even the feelings they shared seem faintly unreal as if not of the normal world.

A gentle push sent Doyle down onto the bed, his back arching and eyes closing as Bodie swept both hands over the tense torso before cupping his face, following him down and claiming his mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, Bodie easily opened the front of the cream shirt, pushing it aside to reveal the dark-downed chest and eager, erect nipples. Licking one with his tongue, Doyle's hands holding his head in place, Bodie heard himself groaning softly, deep in his throat. Lifting up, Bodie pulled the hands away and pressed them to the mattress above Doyle's head.

"Don't move," he whispered, pressing his weight on the lax hands to emphasise his order.

Eyes closed, Doyle remained as Bodie positioned him, his body shivering as he sensed where the cool lips would touch next, the fabric of Bodie's T-shirt feeling coarse against his sensitive skin.

As the shocking, silky wetness of a tongue laved a path to his belly button, Doyle cried out, hands moving to still the teasing touch.

Bodie caught his hands and kissed them, then turned his attention to the snap and zip of Doyle's jeans. The unyielding fabric defeated him, though, and with an impatient snort, Doyle pushed him aside, undid the waistband and pushed the cloth down over his hips. Jeans and briefs slipping off together, leaving him bare, open to Bodie's eyes.

Suddenly impatient, Doyle tugged at Bodie's T-shirt, almost tearing its seams, eager for them both to be naked.

Running his hands over Bodie's bare back, Doyle smiled as he felt his partner arch into the caress and lift his hips--inviting him to touch the rounded arse.

Twisting so they both lay on their sides, Bodie returned the touch, careful to keep his fingers light and non-threatening as he cupped the white buttocks in his hands.

Their erections brushed together, making them twitch and pulse. Bodie felt something grow tight inside himself when he felt the first silky wetness from Doyle's cock against his belly.

For a while, they simply rubbed against each other, but Bodie knew it wasn't going to be enough. He pushed Doyle to lie on his back, repositioning himself with care so as not squash him and beginning a stronger rhythm.

As the need to thrust grew greater, Bodie tore his mouth away from Doyle's, arching his back and tensing all his muscles. Nearing his own climax, Doyle's head tossed from side to side. His mouth open in a soundless scream as he dragged Bodie's hips down and ground their bodies together.

Doyle came first. His fingers clamping painfully over Bodie's arse, semen spreading between their bodies, and becoming rigid just when Bodie most wanted him to move and keep moving. Desire threatening to knot in his balls, Bodie growled when Doyle finally went limp and then thrust forcefully against the slippery skin, the strength of his movements shaking Doyle out of his stupor.

Afterwards, when Bodie made as if to move away, Doyle held him in place. "Stay," he said breathlessly. "I like it--feels nice. You're nice and warm...."

"I'm too heavy," Bodie breathed into a head full of tickling, irritating, beautiful curls.

"You're just right," insisted Doyle, stroking the broad back. He traced the lines of muscle, prominent shoulder blades and knobby spine that continued down past the triangle of soft hair in the small of Bodie's back. They both felt the throb of arousal that hit Bodie's prick when searching fingers brushed the division of his buttocks.

"Can't keep a good man down," Bodie joked. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Doyle, and he wriggled a little, allowing Bodie to slip off him. "Must mean I was doing something right."

Bodie snorted. "He doesn't need much encouragement!"

"Are you telling me you're easy?" asked Doyle, eyes alight, twinkling with mischief and something else--Bodie wasn't sure what exactly.

---

Turning his back to the shower jets, Doyle ran his soapy hands across Bodie's chest; diving unexpectedly into the thick thatch at his groin and soaping the soft genitals; making Bodie gasp and sag at the knees.

Almost slipping on the shower floor, Bodie retaliated by grabbing hold of Doyle's waist and pulling the two soapy, wet bodies crashing together.

"Turn around, Ray," Bodie said, pushing him into position.

"What are you doing?"

Hearing the note of uncertainty, Bodie kissed the back of Doyle's neck in reassurance. "It's okay, just lean your arms on the wall," he instructed.

"Bodie?"

Already pressing against the taut buttocks, Bodie didn't recognise the extent of Doyle's unease. Closing his eyes and undulating gently, he felt his erection grow and groaned his pleasure into Doyle's throat.

"Bodie?"

Seeking only to share his private fantasy come true, Bodie snaked his hand around the narrow hips but in doing so lost his grip, and Doyle twisted around.

"Like this, Bodie," he said urgently, scared without knowing why and wanting only to make Bodie feel good. Taking hold of the thick organ, Doyle squeezed it firmly, causing Bodie to swear and throw his head back.

Before long, they both wanted more than was possible in the shower. They continued in the bedroom, towels being dropped by the bed.

Seeing the little flat tin of Vaseline, Doyle knew what he wanted to do and eased Bodie over onto his stomach.

"I'll do it right this time," he promised quietly as Bodie watched him take the lid off.

"No," Bodie stopped him. "Not just one finger--these ones as well."

Doyle gulped as he looked at the three fingers. "I won't hurt you, Bodie," he said.

"You won't," came the soft reply. "Just go slowly, one at a time. I'll tell you when if you can't guess."

Lying flat on his stomach, Bodie opened his legs and wriggled his arse, encouraging his partner to get on with it. "Just like last time--only slowly," he urged, breathless with excitement. The small towel was positioned under his hips, its rough texture stimulating his erection.

Still not entirely convinced, Doyle took a deep breath and stroked the exposed arse with his dry hand, rubbing hard when Bodie arched up off the bed to meet him.

"Ray?" Bodie called out, wondering when--if--the touch he was waiting for was ever going to come. "Just touch me there; gently. You'll feel it relax...that's it...just press gently."

Heart hammering inside his chest, Doyle followed the instructions, rimming the tiny pink anus with one finger and spreading the shiny jelly into the puckered hole. Concentrating as fiercely as he was on Bodie's pleasure, he barely noticed his own rising hardness.

"Now...push in a bit more...that's fine...."

"I can feel you relaxing," Doyle said in wonder. "Shall I use another finger?"

"Yeah...slowly...that's it...push a bit more."

Doyle slid his fingers in and out, marvelling at the way the slightest movement of his hand caused Bodie to moan and shiver. Gaining in confidence, he thrust forward a little harder, twisting his fingers and rubbing against the silky interior wall.

Bodie gave a cry and shuddered violently, causing Doyle to freeze. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...did that hurt?" he asked, terrified to move in case he did even more damage.

"No...," Bodie managed to say, "feels...great...do it again...."

"What?" Doyle asked frantically.

"Like...you just did...move like that again."

Doyle flexed his fingers but withdrew them hurriedly when Bodie cried out once more. "What is it? What did I do? I'm sorry." Pulling Bodie over onto his back, Doyle begged for forgiveness.

His body still quivering from the sensations and shock of withdrawal, it was a moment or two before Bodie was able to talk and convince Doyle he hadn't been in pain.

"It was my prostate, that's what you touched. It felt...wonderful, I thought I was going to come."

"Your what?" Doyle asked blankly.

"Inside me, you touched it and it's very sensitive."

"Touched what? I thought I'd hurt you," Doyle said.

Seeing the blank expression, Bodie suddenly had an incredible thought. "Ray, have you heard of a prostate gland?"

"Yes," Doyle said, his surprise evident, "but I don't understand...."

"What do you know about it?"

"Prostate glands? Well," Doyle shrugged. "My dad had one--gave him a lot of bother--and finally they gave 'im some operations. I think it's something to do with your waterworks, but I don't see...."

"Do you know where it is?" Despite the sexual tension, Bodie found Doyle's puzzled naiveté curiously endearing.

"Bodie?"

"It's just where you touched me a few moments ago. That's what made me jump."

"I'm sorry...."

"Don't be," Bodie laughed. "Don't you have any idea what you just did? Touching a bloke's prostate is the most sure way of getting him to climax, Ray," Bodie explained to the baffled man. "It has to be the most erotic thing you can do to a bloke. I can't describe how good it feels."

"I didn't hurt you," Doyle said, relieved. "When you jumped like that I thought...."

"Believe--it doesn't hurt!"

Doyle looked at him with curious eyes. "Just touching it like that can make you...you know--without anything else? Really?"

Bodie laughed and rolled back onto his stomach. "Have another go and find out--just work up to it slowly, though," he warned.

Alight with curiosity, Doyle carefully rimmed the puckered anus once more, his fingers slipping inside easier this time. A second finger joined the first, and he twisted them slightly, pushing in and searching. Bodie's first shudder caught him by surprise, and he concentrated fiercely on his fingers--on what they could feel.

He slid over the bulge again and felt the shudder run through Bodie.

"Is that it?" he asked excitedly.

"Yeah...," Bodie groaned and lifted his hips.

"It feels...."

"Wonderful!" said Bodie, sliding a hand under his belly to grasp his urgent sex.

"It's a little lump," Doyle announced.

Was it, thought Bodie, not really caring at that moment how big it was.

"I can feel it. Every time I press it...you do that."

Bodie chewed on the corner of the pillow to stop himself screaming.

"It's not really hard--more...spongy, and it moves," Doyle informed Bodie. "If I do this...it's like a sort of ball. Bodie...do women have them?"

Bodie exploded. Every muscle in his body froze, locking Doyle's fingers deep inside him, before he shook with each spasm that burst along the length of his cock.

As he watched Bodie collapse onto the bed, Doyle withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the corner of the towel. He really couldn't believe that he had caused that simply by touching some unseen spot deep inside his partner's body. Withdrawing into himself, he curled up, hugging his knees into his chest, and waited for Bodie to recover. For the first time since adolescence, he wondered about the mysteries of his own body.

---

Struggling through the front door with the last of the tea-chests, Bodie called out, "Here's the last one. Hope you've finished with the others!"

Emerging from the bedroom, barefoot and looking incredibly scruffy and grubby, Doyle grinned cheerfully. "Shove it in your room for now and then you can start unpacking in the kitchen. I've already sorted the food and the fridge out."

"Yes, sir, right away, sir." Bodie touched a hand to his forehead and moved to obey. "Anything else you'd like me to do for you, sir?"

"Yes," Doyle answered, laughing. "When you find the kettle and some mugs, make some coffee. I'm dying of thirst."

The flat wasn't the one they had wanted, the security officer refusing to permit two teams to live in the same building. It would, however, suit them just as well. The building was modern, the individual flats spacious and well lit. It had huge picture windows--not that the view was worth bothering about, just another faceless, modern development and some clinical, regimented flower beds.

Once their request had been filed and the accommodation officer stopped complaining about them, the move had not taken too long. They each had a bedroom with their own bed. Bodie's was a normal double, but Doyle ended up with the king sized and en suite bathroom. Bodie consoled himself with the fact that the shower stall, large enough for two at a time, was next to his room.

"Can't see why we need a room each," Doyle had grumbled until Bodie had explained that it was stupid to take unnecessary risks.

"I'm fed up with getting a shirt half-on before discovering it's one of yours," Bodie had complained. "Besides, just because we put our stuff in different rooms, it doesn't mean we'll sleep in different beds. Except when you have a cold," Bodie added, meaning every word, "then you can cough and splutter in isolation and keep your germs to yourself."

They only had one day to settle in, Cowley generously telling them not to bother reporting in until seven-thirty the next morning. Shifting Doyle's stuff had been easy. All they had to do was collect the boxes and chests from the little mews, but Bodie's had been shoved into packing cases at every spare moment they had during the days before the move. Now all they had to do was squeeze the contents of two flats into one.

Shoving all the things they seemed to have two of into an empty chest, Bodie emptied the last box and put the contents into a cupboard. He didn't even notice Doyle had entered the room until a pair of filthy hands sneaked around his waist.

"All finished?" Doyle asked, pressing up against his partner's back and nuzzling the back of his neck.

"Except for this lot--what are we going to do with it all?"

Peering round the solid bulk, Doyle glanced over the box. "Susie said to let her know what we don't want any more. Apparently, her sister's just left her husband and is starting up on her own. I don't expect she's got much."

"Puddle wants the vacuum cleaner. His one's just about died. Yours is the best one so I'll give him mine. It's got a bit of life left in it. Have you finished the bedrooms?"

"Yep," Doyle said, tugging Bodie's hips backward. "Made the beds up, too."

"Really," Bodie said, enjoying the feel of the hard erection against his arse. "Did you remember to turn the water heater on?"

"Damn!" swore Doyle.

"I'll do it. You can finish the lounge. There's still that box of books to go up on the shelf."

"In a minute," purred Doyle. "Which room do we christen first?"

Bodie only thought for a moment. "Both--we can start in mine, when we get out of the shower. Then, when you've got your second wind, we can move into your room. Besides, there's more room in your bed."

"More room for what?" asked Doyle suggestively.

"Sleeping," Bodie said, firmly disengaging himself from Doyle's grip. "Now go and finish unpacking, or we'll be reporting to Cowley without celebrating anything!"

"Spoilsport," Doyle sighed, but went to put away his books.

---

Bodie found him kneeling in front of the bookcase an hour later, the box still untouched, staring out of the window with miserable, unseeing eyes. Not knowing what was causing such obvious distress, Bodie crouched beside him and tapped him lightly on his cheek. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked quietly.

Slowly, Doyle turned to look at him, his eyes suddenly brimming with tears before hurriedly looking away. "Not worth a penny," he said harshly, "not worth anything."

Seeing the crumpled piece of paper in Doyle's hand, Bodie reached out to take it. At first Doyle was reluctant to let it go but then released it and, sniffing loudly, turned to start putting the books on the shelves.

Opening the printed sheet, Bodie saw the explanatory notes that went with home pregnancy-test kits.

"I'd forgotten it was there," Doyle said in a subdued voice. "It was tucked inside the book."

Bodie was lost for words.

"Life's strange, isn't it?" Doyle continued. "If things had been different, I could have been a father about now. If there had been a baby, she wouldn't have gone shopping that morning...we'd be married and...there would be a baby. I would still be moving into a new house...but with my wife and my baby...our baby...mine and Ann's...."

"Ray...." For some strange reason Bodie had never expected this to happen, but now it had he wasn't surprised. "I'm sorry...."

"Why did it have to be like that, Bodie?" asked Doyle, his downbent head and shaking shoulders revealing his grief. "Why did it have to happen this way, why did she have to die?"

Bodie pulled him into his arms and held him close. "I don't know, Ray," he admitted, not realising there were tears on his face as well. "And I'm sorry...I'm so sorry...."

"When we first thought there was a baby...oh god, I was so scared, and so happy at the same time." Doyle spoke slowly, needing to let Bodie know his feelings. "Then, as I realised what a baby would mean...to us, you and me...I felt...I don't know, more angry than scared. Everything would have been so different...nothing would be the same anymore.

"That's when I first realised I didn't really love her...I did in a way...my way--but with a baby coming it all changed. It wasn't until after her doctor said the test was negative I realised she felt the same as me. I would have married her, Bodie, but once I didn't have to...you should have seen us. We were both crying and laughing from relief. She didn't want to get married...it would have spoilt everything for her. We were going to have one last night together--something special to say goodbye...and then I was going to come and find you and tell you...and so she went shopping. I went back to bed--if I'd gone with her...," Doyle ended abruptly, unable to continue.

"Ray...you can't change what happened," Bodie said helplessly.

"I know...I know...."

Their first night in their new home started differently to how they had both imagined it would. Emotional and overwrought, they had curled up on the huge bed to comfort each other. Comfort soon turned to loving and, with soft words and gentle touches, they calmed, soothed and aroused each other.

Letting Doyle set the pace because he seemed to need to, Bodie became quiescent; compliant beneath hands that stroked and probed him, setting his nerves alight and his body screaming for release.

When Doyle pulled away, Bodie looked over his shoulder, saw the despairing need and agreed instantly. "Yes," he breathed, lifting his hips in invitation. "Oh, yes," and groaning as he was filled, stretched wide by a burning hardness that pierced him.

It hurt, more than Bodie remembered, but beneath the pain he knew there was pleasure for Doyle and would soon be for him. It was so unlike anything that had happened to him before he wondered why it had taken him so long--but then he heard the harsh, tight groan Doyle always made as he climaxed and knew why--Doyle had never been there before.

---

At work, things were different and it was weeks before Bodie discovered the reason. At first, oversensitive of their new relationship, he thought everyone could see the change in him, see the way he loved Ray Doyle and how his eyes followed him everywhere.

But, slowly, he realised he had not changed at all. No-one on the squad treated him differently or looked twice at him. Doyle was the one who had changed.

Relaxed, friendly and approachable, Doyle no longer retreated when conversations became social exchanges. He joined in, listening to and sharing the outrageous, scandalous and often untrue gossip, enjoying it as much as the next person.

Even though Bodie had never been as reserved as Doyle, the informal, casual friendships his partner was making had the effect of drawing them both--linked as they were--into the social stream of CI5. But Doyle was only human, he had not been transformed overnight into the department mascot to be petted, loved and liked by all. There were those who kept their distance; either because they still couldn't trust Doyle completely or those Doyle himself made quite clear he had no wish to--Day the most obvious among the admittedly small group.

Having had Doyle's almost exclusive company for the past two years, Bodie found himself resenting the demands on their time by these new friendships, just when he wanted Doyle to him--as often as possible.

---

Hearing the key turning in the lock, Doyle hurriedly glanced around the kitchen, checking that everything was ready.

"Ray?"

"I'm through here. What kept you?"

Throwing his jacket onto the small rack, Bodie picked up his armful of packages and went through into the lounge, just as Doyle entered from the kitchen. "Had to call in somewhere on my way," he said, tossing everything down onto the couch. "Come here and give me my birthday kiss," he demanded arrogantly.

"Too late, sunshine, your birthday was yesterday," protested Doyle but he allowed himself to be soundly kissed and groped.

"Well, I could hardly ask for it yesterday surrounded by that lot!" moaned Bodie, remembering the small, musty room crowded with men. "Bloody security scare--I've not had you to myself for weeks!"

"Bloody short memory you've got--what about last Tuesday?"

"All night--one week. Be glad when things calm down a bit," Bodie said before delving into the open mouth, exploring it. "Mmm...what have you been eating...tastes very sweet."

Breaking away, Doyle grinned. "It's a special treat for your birthday. You should have had it last night but seeing as neither of us got home you'd better have it now."

"You've made me a cake!" Bodie exclaimed in delight.

"No!" Doyle said forcefully. "When have I had time to make you a bloody birthday cake?" Disengaging himself from the other man's hands, he tugged Bodie through to the kitchen.

Bodie stared at the small table decorated with a Mr Men paper tablecloth and plates covered with fairy cakes, buns and sandwiches.

"There's a jelly in the fridge," Doyle told him, "but it won't be set for hours yet."

"What's that?" Bodie asked, gaping at the lopsided offering in the centre of the table with its single candle tilting at a precarious angle. Doyle bent forward, struck a match, lit a candle and began an off-key rendition of "Happy Birthday to You."

Watching the unlikely birthday cake being showered with melting wax, Bodie asked what on earth it really was.

"Lemon meringue pie," replied Doyle, his voice implying he had thought it obvious. Seeing the puzzled expression on his partner's face, he explained, "I was going to make you a cake but when the new duties were posted I didn't have time. So I thought I'd buy one from the shop on the corner. Only trouble was I got there so late all they had left was a lemon tart." He shrugged. "It was that or nothing. So, I bought it and shoved a meringue on top. Looks okay, doesn't it," he said, proud of his ingenuity.

"Best birthday cake ever," Bodie agreed, rescuing the candle before it sank through the burned meringue crust.

"We can always have the jelly tomorrow," Doyle added as they sat down to the tea party.

---

As they cleaned up the evening's dishes before going to bed, Doyle saw the discarded packages on the couch. Addressed to Bodie care of a post office box number, they drew his attention. Among the official looking letters, there were envelopes obviously containing birthday cards. Propped against the stereo unit was the joky Mr Man card Doyle had given him, all the flowery, poetic, slush shop offerings rejected in favour of a plain simple wish to "Have a nice day" with love from Ray.

Curious, and also unreservedly nosy, Doyle pulled the cards out and read them. The first was a flashy, gilt, colourful thing for a 'loving son', with fondest wishes to William, from your loving mother. Doyle's eyebrows shot even further into his hair when he saw the second card, a rural scene that merely wished Bodie a happy birthday, love and kisses from Mum. A five pound Marks and Spencer voucher was tucked inside it.

The postmarks on both cards were unfortunately too faint to read, but it was obvious they were from two different women. Putting the envelopes together with the rest, Doyle left them on the couch.

Entering his bedroom, he found Bodie already towelling dry his hair and combing it. Somehow, they always seemed to end up in the king-sized bed and, as yet, Doyle had not realised it was because the sun rarely managed to enter the room, huge shadows from the opposite block shielding that side of the building for most of the morning; whereas Bodie's room, the kitchen and the small dining room were usually like greenhouses. The slatted blinds on Doyle's windows hid them from their neighbours, but let in sufficient light from the street to enable the occupants to see throughout the night.

Bodie looked over at him as he entered. "All locked up?"

Nodding, Doyle yawned widely then stretched. "God, I'm tired," he said.

"Me, too," agreed Bodie quietly as he slid into bed and watched as Doyle undid his robe, slipped it off and joined him between the sheets. "Are you really tired?"

Laughing at the disappointed voice, Doyle rolled onto his side and slipped an arm across his partner. "Not that tired," he said, closing his eyes and touching his mouth to Bodie's. He gasped when a wet tip darted out, tracing his lower lip.

"Good."

Opening his eyes at the forceful tone, Doyle was shocked to see a fierce heat in the smouldering blue eyes. He felt a shiver run through him that owed more to trepidation than exhilaration.

Seeing the nervousness, Bodie suppressed his disappointment and reached out to reassure his skittish mate. Since that night he had been fucked, he had encouraged Doyle to explore his body as much as he wanted to. The tentative fingers, learning fast, soon manipulated him expertly; leaving him writhing, gasping and willing to let him do anything and everything.

He hoped that discovering how much pleasure his hands and body could give might allow Doyle to let him reciprocate, but so far it had not happened that way. Although eager for Bodie's hands and mouth or just his weight pressing against him, Doyle still deflected any touches to his arse, allowing only the briefest of caresses before he shied away or distracted his partner.

Sensing that waiting patiently for Doyle to realise he was in no danger was likely to become a lifelong occupation, Bodied decided to try and bring it out in the open. Deliberately letting his hands settle over the rounded cheeks, he pulled Ray over and up to lie, full length, on top of him, the hands cupping the taut arse pulling their groins together.

"What's wrong?" Bodie asked softly once Doyle realised his wriggles were not dislodging the hot hands.

Wide-eyed, Doyle looked down at the solemn face. "Nothing," he said, his heart hammering out its own truth against Bodie's chest.

"Do you still think it has to hurt? Do you think I'm pretending to enjoy it when you touch me there?" Bodie's fingers dipped into the crevice, stopping immediately the cheeks clamped tight against them, barring his progress.

"No," Doyle said in a hushed whisper.

"Then why do you freeze up every time I touch you?"

"I know you won't hurt...but," Doyle broke off but made no further move to retreat or relax.

"But?" prompted Bodie.

"In my head I know you won't hurt...but my body seems to have different ideas. I can't help it, Bodie. I'm sorry." Ashamed of his lack of trust, Doyle lowered his eyes.

"Let me prove it, Ray?" Bodie asked softly, one hand coming up to tilt up the downbent face so he could see it. "Just let me try--you trust me, don't you?"

Doyle nodded tightly.

Taking the tight nod as a sign of consent, Bodie allowed the tense body to slide down onto his side as he twisted to reach the Vaseline tin. Removing the lid, he put the tin down on the table and pulled Ray closer. "Relax," he urged, softly nibbling the full lower lip. "Anyone would think I'm going to torture you, not love you."

Using hands and mouth, he worked hard to distract Doyle from what was to follow by arousing him, stroking trembling flanks and licking and sucking his way down the furry body. Bodie watched until the bright eyes were squeezed shut and the dark head tossing from side to side in excitement and frustration before dipping one finger in the cold jelly. Inching down the bed, he laid one arm across the flat belly and nudged the upraised knees apart. He positioned himself carefully so he could both lean on Doyle and take the straining sex in his mouth.

The thick crown in his mouth and Doyle's hands twisting, trying to gain purchase in his sleek hair, Bodie judged the time right and slid the hand teasing the heavy testicles down and back.

Doyle froze, not even breathing, but made no attempt to pull away. Bodie continued, his fingertip spreading the cool salve around the tightly clenched anus. Skimming along the insides of the cheeks, pressing lightly over the muscle before gliding smoothly on, Bodie played with the entrance to Doyle's body, willing it to relax and accept him.

In his mouth, he felt the taut erection subside. He began sucking strongly, laving the cockhead with saliva and pressing his tongue tip into the dark hole as his finger pressed against the strong muscle. As the erection throbbed under his tongue, Bodie began to believe it might work and redoubled his efforts.

The dual stimulation worked, overloading his senses, and Doyle thrust up to meet the delving tongue; not realising for a moment or two that his movement had allowed the finger rimming him access. Feeling the pressure against his muscle he froze, fear stilling the desire to move and, again, he felt his climax retreat, leaving him half erect and aching.

"Relax, Ray," Bodie urged as he turned the slick finger in the tight channel, rubbing against the walls but not pressing in further than the second knuckle. "Is it hurting you?"

Unable to speak, Doyle managed to shake his head.

"Tighten your muscles against my finger," ordered Bodie quietly. "You can do it, tense your muscles."

Doyle obeyed, and Bodie smiled encouragingly. "Now, relax them...that's it. Now tighten them again...and now relax. See, doesn't hurt, does it?"

Doyle shook his head mutely.

"Can you feel my finger?" asked Bodie, and as Doyle nodded, asked what it felt like.

"Hard!" was the short, harsh answer.

"But not hurting?"

"No...doesn't hurt."

"Needn't sound so surprised," Bodie snorted, carefully withdrew his fingers, and then cupped the trim buttocks in his hands. "I keep on telling you it feels nice--if only you could believe me."

"I do believe you," Doyle said quietly, not liking the unhappy note in the rich voice. "It's just hard...I keep expecting it to...it's difficult to forget."

Lying down beside him once more, Bodie pulled him close, Doyle snuggling eagerly into his arms. "It's going to take a long time to forget what that bastard did to you, but you'll do it, Ray. We've just got to take it slow, that's all."

It had been a start, and at least he hadn't been kicked out of the bed, Bodie consoled himself. If he managed to get Doyle to accept his touch gradually, he knew he would be able to teach him to relax enough to enjoy it. Part of his strategy was easy and already Doyle participated fully on that score; showing his own pleasure at being loved so intimately. Bodie found submitting and being passive under his partner's loving all too easy.

Eager to make up for his reticence, Doyle was easily seduced into sixty-nining, his mouth and hands mirroring whatever Bodie did to him.

Deliberately guiding their lovemaking, Bodie rested his head on one well muscled thigh. He sighed out loud as Doyle invented a few touches of his own, then pushed the heavy sacs presented to him to one side with his nose and tongued the moist, rosy skin.

Doyle felt the fingers travelling up the inside of his leg and knew their target. To distract himself, he drew one of Bodie's sacs into his mouth, sucking on it and rolling his tongue over it. Delighting in the tremor that shook Bodie, he scarcely noticed the fingers reaching their target and pressing against his exposed anus.

Feeling the moment the hot body rocked back onto his finger, Bodie doubled his attentions on the straining cock, only just sensing the sudden tightness in Doyle seconds later. At first, he thought Ray was trying to reject the probing finger; but, as the man gave a husky cry and his own cock was released from the hot suction, he realised what was happening. The cock ripped and burst into his mouth, almost scalding the roof of his mouth with its intensity. It was with difficulty he managed to swallow most of the seminal fluid down, some escaping from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down onto the bed.

Twisting around to rejoin Doyle, Bodie wiped his chin on his hand and ran one finger along the heaving rib cage.

Doyle didn't even shudder, his climax having totally wiped him out. He could only just open his eyes and look at his tormentor. "Bastard!" he breathed.

Smiling, Bodie plundered the offered mouth. Moulding himself against the relaxed body, he rubbed hard to provide the necessary friction to bring himself off.

---

Life settled down into an easy rhythm that Bodie knew wouldn't last. On the surface, Doyle seemed happy and more than content with their relationship. At work, in bed or just spending time together, he appeared settled; but there were times when he tried to hide his restlessness. It was during those times when Bodie wondered what was going to happen to them.

As they entered the third month of their relationship, Bodie began to believe he would never hear Doyle say the words he needed to hear. Doyle's anguish at the death of his hopes for a family the afternoon they moved into their new home haunted Bodie and made him wonder if he wasn't taking advantage of Doyle's need for someone to care for him.

Happy and more than willing to accept what Doyle could offer, Bodie knew he needed more. He wanted Ray to love him--not just need him as a buffer against the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, a conversation with Lake only served to confirm Bodie's fears for the true reason behind Doyle's acceptance of their new roles.

"Psychological castration," Lake said bitterly. "It's a good job Holly is dead because if he wasn't I'd have a fucking go at him myself."

Lake's reaction to the carefully worded observation on his partner's behaviour surprised Bodie.

"That's a bit strong. I only meant he doesn't seem interested in getting involved with girls."

"I don't blame the poor sod," Lake replied forcefully. "What Holly did to him was evil--let alone what he did to his own daughter. Not satisfied with destroying everything Ray believed in once, he had to go and do it a second time. I should think it'll be years before he gets the nerve to get serious about a girl again. He'll be forever looking over his shoulder, waiting for Daddy to crawl out of the woodwork!"

"So you don't think I should encourage him to--"

"Bloody hell, no," Lake exclaimed. "Look, I'm no expert, maybe he should see someone about it if it's a problem...."

I'm not saying it's a problem," cut in Bodie anxiously. "I just thought it was a bit...odd."

Lake considered that for a moment before reaching out to pour himself another beer. "No...even before Ann he wasn't what I'd call promiscuous. Sure he had a few girlfriends, but none of them seemed to last very long.

"We can't all be tom-cats!" Puddle joked, flashing a cheeky, knowing grin at Bodie.

"Don't look at me--my tom-cat days are over," Bodie snorted. "No, I'm getting too old for the dating game."

"Give over, you're a year younger than me!" Lake exclaimed.

Moving carefully through his rehearsed script, Bodie spoke slowly, watching his companion all the time. "Seriously...when did I last have a relationship with a woman that really meant something? Years ago, that's when. What do I get now if I go out? Either some old dog that drinks like a fish, a cosy mum with three kids and no husband looking for a meal ticket, or something so gorgeous she's bound to be illegal!"

Lake nodded in sympathy. "I know just what you mean."

"And just supposing you do find someone halfway decent, you explain about the lousy hours and shifts. Everything's wonderful until the first time you miss Sunday dinner or send her home in a taxi just as they serve the soup!"

Lake laughed. "I thought it was only me who felt like that!"

"And I thought it was just me," Bodie said, relieved at the reaction. "Maybe half of Ray's problem is the same sort of thing?"

Lake thought about it for a minute before answering. "It's probably got something to do with it. Let's face it, on the marriage front none of us are good prospects. Who'd have us? There's probably a very good reason why so few of us get married--and stay married.

"We're all doomed to be eternal bachelors, Bodie," he said glumly. "It's just as well you and Doyle have shacked up together--'cos no-one else will have you."

Looking up sharply, Bodie realised Lake's comment had been a general one and not implying anything else.

"I hear Murphy and Hetherington have put in for joint tenancy. I must admit it makes more sense--saves on one lot of housework, especially if you can con your partner into doing it all," Lake joked, remembering Bodie's complaints about Doyle's standard of housekeeping.

"When's the next tournament, then?" Lake asked.

"God knows," grumbled Bodie. "He never tells me--just always manages to have a training session or event to prepare for when it's his turn to do anything."

"Ken was just the same," Lake consoled his friend. "Used to drive me nuts. What time will he be home?"

"I expect they'll pour him through the door sometime after eleven."

Lake laughed and the conversation changed track, Bodie satisfied that no-one thought it strange he and Doyle shared a flat and puzzled about Lake's comment on castration; he'd think about that more later, he decided.

---

Bodie was surprised to find Doyle home and sober well before Lake went home. Looking up and preparing for bed, he asked why he'd left the rest of the shooting team at the pub.

"Didn't fancy getting smashed. You know as well as they do I only have to have a few drinks and I'm under the table. They all drink more than me and enjoy it--I don't particularly. Besides, there were a bunch of women having a hen-night there and it was all getting a bit complicated."

Bodie looked up sharply at the last comment, a fresh twinge of guilt hitting hard.

"I didn't know Puddle was coming over--what did he want?" Doyle asked.

"Nothing--a chat, that's all," replied Bodie from his position propped up against the bedroom door where he was watching Doyle with dark, hooded eyes. "We had quite an interesting chat; seems our flat-sharing has sparked off a new trend. Murphy and Hetherington have applied to share."

"That'll please Cowley," Doyle agreed as he continued to undress, dropping clothes on the bed, chair and carpet before padding, comfortably naked, past Bodie towards the shower room.

"You should have stayed out later, enjoyed yourself," Bodie said, a hollow pit yawning in his stomach. "Had some fun with the girls."

"What?" In the process of setting out towels and turning the water on, Doyle spun round. "What are you on about?" he asked, all colour draining from his face.

Bodie looked down at the floor. "I thought you might want some female company...."

"Is that what you really think?" There was no anger in Doyle's voice, only a raw, painful hurt that brought Bodie's head up to see the pale face.

"I thought that's what you might want," Bodie confessed softly. "I know that this isn't what you'd imagined for yourself." He waved a hand around, encompassing all and nothing. "Not exactly a typical family, are we? I know I can't give you what you really want and...and when you...when you want to--"

"Bodie!" Doyle said sharply. "What the hell are you on about? What's wrong--tell me, damn you?" he said angrily, shaking the larger man; but suddenly Bodie's words made sense to him, and his anger died as quickly as it had been born, leaving him shaken. "Is this because of what I said the day we moved in?" he demanded to know. When Bodie nodded, he sighed and wrapped his arms around him. Numb, Bodie returned the embrace.

"I don't want to change anything, Bodie. Not what we have. If I could change anything it would be the way it all happened." He tried to explain his feelings. "I've known how important you were to me for ages...don't ask me how long--I think you sort of grew on me. One minute I hated you and the next I knew I was depending on you for almost everything.

"When...Ann and I got together, I thought things between us would change--but they didn't. I kept telling myself I shouldn't rely on you so much, but...I couldn't keep away.

"I should never have become involved with Ann again. Looking back I can see it was a mistake--it never felt right, but somehow...I don't know, I kept telling myself things would change. Then we thought there was a baby." Doyle's voice became hushed and he pulled away from Bodie to look at him as he spoke. "I can't explain how I felt then. Ten feet tall...and proud as if I'd achieved something really wonderful. But it didn't last. It didn't take me long to realise that a baby would change my whole life and I finally accepted that I quite liked life as it was. I had CI5 and...you. I wanted to be with you.

"Yes, I'd like to be a father, but I wouldn't mind being a millionaire and I don't see that as very likely." Doyle laughed, breaking the serious mood.

"Don't ever think I don't want this, or you. I don't have any regrets about us," he continued, almost pleading with Bodie to believe him. "If I have any regrets about anything, it's...."

"It's what?" pushed Bodie gently, knowing there was more that needed to be said.

"The morning it...she died had been so...different, Bodie. It was almost like the first time before everything went wrong. As soon as we heard there was no baby, we just knew we wouldn't get married and then everything was so...easy."

Bodie began tugging his shirt off and pushed Doyle into the shower before all the hot water was wasted.

"We talked about the future," Doyle said as Bodie soaped his back and shoulders. "She was going to America, and I talked about you...nothing specific. I don't think I had even realised what I really wanted then--but she seemed to understand.

"It was going to be our last night together, a really passionate farewell before going in different directions. Then, she decided to go shopping, and I went back to bed to catch up on my sleep...I didn't even say goodbye, Bodie," Doyle whispered, his voice barely audible over the noise of the shower. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

Turning the shower off, Bodie wrapped them both in towels and then put Doyle to bed.

Cradling the restless sleeper protectively in his arms, Bodie felt helpless and scared that even now he might still lose Ray Doyle; as he had feared that day he attended her funeral, as a ghost, Ann Holly might prove unbeatable.

Six months after her death, she was still between them, her presence seeming to grow stronger rather than weaker, stunting the relationship blossoming between the two men.

Feeling suddenly frightened, Bodie held his lover tighter, too tight, causing Doyle to protest and squirm uneasily under his hands. Releasing his grip and soothing him, Bodie's fear was replaced by a burning resentment. Ann Holly had had her chance and lost him; if things had been different, the would-be couple would have had their final night of love and gone in different directions, Ann in search of her career and Ray--Bodie tightened his hold again--Ray would have come looking for him. The relationship between the couple had been over--bar the final goodbye--only her death had prevented that from taking place, and now Ray was suffering the consequences.

How long was her ghost going to lie between them, Bodie wondered, hating her even more in death than in life. You're dead and buried--you're history--leave him alone! The thoughts reverberated round and round his head, making sleep impossible.

Inching away from Doyle's sleeping form, Bodie crept out of bed and quietly took himself into the lounge, wrapping a warm robe around him as protection against he cold. Pouring himself a drink, he sat by the window and looked down at the neatly trimmed lawn, with its covering of autumn leaves. The ground looked frosty, the lights reflecting off shiny stonework, making the area glow in the peculiar combination of electric light and moonlight.

Almost six months, Bodie thought tiredly. A period of mourning was only to be expected, but surely, he asked himself, Doyle should be able to put the past behind him.

"I didn't even say goodbye." Doyle's broken whisper hit Bodie like a blow, and he wondered if that wasn't the cause of the problem.

By the time Ray had discovered Ann's fate, she had been dead for some time, her funeral taking place as he had fought for his own life in the sterile isolation of hospital. After the shock of the news, there had been The Beeches, followed by the terrible, almost complete, mental breakdown, and then Repton and the slow return to normal.

There had been no time for Doyle to mourn; no time for anything except fight to preserve his sanity and recover his health.

Sitting in the dark lounge, whisky glass halfway to his lips, Bodie suddenly remembered the priest delivering his words to the congregation. "Funerals," the nasal monotone said, "are not only for the dead--they are for the living. We are here today to join with each other to share our distress, to lessen our own pain, and to say farewell to someone we loved."

But Doyle, wired up to various lifesaving devices in hospital, had not been at the funeral to add his farewell.

Knocking back the last of the alcohol, he found himself wondering if Ray even knew where her grave was.

Returning to their bedroom, cold and unhappy, he knew what he had to do. Forcing Doyle to confront the reality of Ann's death could help him put the past where it belonged, putting him further along the road to a complete recovery.

And what then? Whole once more, would he still need the protective love of his partner? By helping Ray would he destroy the relationship that had grown between them?

Carefully sliding into bed, Bodie took the sleeping man in his arms, his voice and hands calming the instinctive withdrawal and lulling him back to sleep before he properly woke up. Feeling the frantic racing of Doyle's heart slowing to a more gentle rhythm, Bodie kissed the warm throat and settled himself to sleep.

He'd take the risk and sort out the consequences later.

---

Not telling Doyle where they were going until they drove through the cemetery gates, Bodie parked beside the gardener's hut and said quietly, "I'll just take you over to the grave and then I'll wait here for you."

Doyle had nodded and followed his partner through the rows of beautifully kept graves.

Walking back to the car, Bodie looked up at the grey sky and hoped the rain would keep off until they got home. Before turning the last corner in the path, he looked back and watched Doyle as he stood motionless, head bowed, beside Ann's grave.

He had a long wait for Doyle to return to the car, and he made no comment about the red-rimmed eyes before driving them both home.

---

Quiet all evening, Doyle made no reference to the unexpected visit to the cemetery, but in bed he pulled Bodie into a fierce hug, burrowing his face into the warm throat and shoulder before initiating a demanding rhythm that swept them both to a shattering climax.

In the moments of quiet that followed, Bodie thought he was hearing things when a wet face rubbed against his own and a soft voice quietly said, "Love you so much, Bodie," and his mouth was covered, forestalling any comment.

And Bodie knew that Ann Holly had finally been laid to rest.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

His heart racing and body screaming for release, Bodie held the rigid man until, with one final convulsive tremor, he relaxed and slumped bonelessly back onto the bed, the movement pushing the probing fingers deeper into his body causing him to moan aloud as stimulated nerves were overloaded with even more sensation.

Feeling the muscles clamped around his two fingers relax, Bodie withdrew them, then pulled Doyle's hand down and wrapped it tightly around his own straining cock. Doyle revived enough to squeeze his hand and take over the steady beat helping him to completion.

It was quiet as they regained scrambled senses; Bodie glowing with pleasure as he had finally been able to prove to his sceptical lover that a prostate had more uses than merely making grouchy old men grouchier. "Well?" he asked, voice full of smugness and contentment as they rearranged their positions and used tissues to clean themselves. "Was I right?"

"You were right," agreed Doyle, still a little overwhelmed by the feelings the thick fingers had produced inside his own body. "I just hadn't expected it to be so...so--"

"Wonderful, terrific, great, bloody marvellous?" prompted Bodie, grinning stupidly but not caring that much. That Ray had allowed him to touch him so intimately was such a new thing he could still hardly believe it. Ever since Doyle had discovered the pleasures of Bodie's prostate gland he had been keen to play and explore--but had remained reluctant to experience the same touches, the painful memory of Albert Kingsley's ugly games too vivid to forget. But, even when his reluctance was obvious, Bodie's willingness to be touched there, and even to be fucked, had aroused his curiosity. And, as Bodie had gambled, Ray Doyle was rarely slow in investigating anything that made him curious. "Well?" Bodie asked, impatient to hear the obvious. "Did you like it?"

"Yeah." Drawn out, the single word spoke volumes.

"Ray." Like a child eager to know what his best friend thought of his newest toy, Bodie shook his partner out of the doze he was slipping into. "Ray!"

"Wha'?"

"Told you you'd like it."

Opening eyes that felt weighed down, Doyle focussed on the hazy shadow lying beside him in bed. "You told me," he agreed, then closed his eyes and fell asleep.

---

Through out the next day Doyle was conscious of a strange feeling in one particular part of his body; though not in any pain, he was aware of every movement he made. It must have shown in his face because when they had five minutes to themselves Bodie was quick to ask what was wrong.

"I feel sort of--strange," Doyle said in a low voice. "You know--there!"

The sudden flush on Dole's face told Bodie were 'there' was and he grinned. "Does it hurt?" he asked solicitously.

"No," replied Doyle, giving a little wriggle as if to check. "It's not sore--I can just feel it...like...like your fingers are still there."

Bodie looked down at the highly polished floor under his feet and grinned.

"Do you feel like this," Doyle wanted to know a while later as the man they were protecting and shepherding around London disappeared behind yet another set of huge, government-built doors.

"Only when you fuck me," Bodie said in a low voice even the most sophisticated bugging device would not have picked up. Doyle closed his eyes and swallowed as the words reached his ears, Bodie enjoyed the helpless shudder that ran through his mate. "I can usually feel that for most of the next day," he added wickedly, perfectly aware of what his words were doing. "The first time I was a bit sore but now it just feels...it feels," he ended, not quite knowing how to describe the sensation. "Like I've been fucked!" Doyle merely groaned and turned away to face a wall, his tense body revealing clearer than words his state.

When their charge emerged from his meeting he was met by his escort. If he noticed one of the men seemed ill at ease he put it down to the nervous strain felt by security personnel detailed to protect important personages as himself.

---

Typing out the last section of his report and setting the machine to store and print it, Bodie sat back pleased with himself for a job well done. Ever since he had been forced to sit through the three day computer course on the new system he had appreciated how simple it was to produce a report that previously would have taken hours, sore fingers and two bottles of tippex. All they had to do now, he thought cheerfully as he collected the printout and dropped it in Cowley's tray, was to invent a machine that typed as you dictated.

Eager to escape from the office and begin his weekend, Bodie swore as the duty officer saw him and called out after him.

"Bodie! I've just set out the rosters for Christmas--you and 4.5 are on the duty desk--just thought I'd let you know before you make any plans."

Less than delighted with the news, Bodie was relieved to discover he was still free to go home. Being stuck with the duty desk at Christmas was no joke, he thought sourly. Unlike standby, operatives were not meant to leave the building unless to deal with an emergency situation. It usually meant a boring few days without even the comforts or pleasures usually associated with Christmas--even the kitchens would be closed.

When Doyle heard the news he was neither surprised nor dismayed. "I've been expecting it," he said when Bodie asked. "One Christmas in three isn't bad going. My first year we were off all Christmas, last year we were off on Christmas day but on standby for the rest of it--and we didn't get called in. It must be our turn--I'm surprised you thought we'd get it off," he added as he sorted out the few items of shopping Bodie had brought home with him.

Finding no ally in his partner, Bodie left him in the kitchen preparing dinner and wandered into the lounge.

"Oh well, Christmas is still a couple of months away--at least we've got this weekend to ourselves," Bodie shouted through to his partner. "I reckon the duty officer has slipped a nut--we're not due another weekend for a while yet."

In the kitchen Doyle heard the amused observation and with a twinge of conscience realised that he had forgotten to tell Bodie what was happening over the next two days. He decided to wait until they had a good meal inside them before breaking the less than welcome news. But, as the evening progressed and it became clear that Bodie had some very definite ideas on what he felt they could do over the weekend, Doyle began to realise he was in a very difficult situation.

A full stomach inside him, Ray Doyle lying along the sofa curled against him and the whole weekend stretched out in front of them Bodie wondered if heaven could be any different. It was a while before he noticed that Ray was not as excited about his plans as he ought to be. "Don't look so worried," he said, rubbing away the faint lines around the green eyes. "We don't have to stay in bed all the time--I'll let you get up to cook me meals!"

Doyle smiled but didn't laugh and Bodie began to wonder what was wrong. Pushing himself up, Doyle withdrew from the encircling arms and moved away. "I'd forgotten to tell you about the new date," he started. "You remember when the tournament was cancelled last month?"

Bodie nodded, he remembered because it had been there first full weekend together in the new flat.

"Well, it was postponed until Sunday. This Sunday."

Bodie blinked. "This Sunday?" Doyle nodded. "That's how come we've got the weekend off. Just so's you can shoot in the tournament?" Again Doyle nodded. "And that last weekend--that was because of the tournament?"

"Yes--it wasn't called off until the Friday before--and by then Harry had altered the rosters."

The simple explanation of their apparent good fortune rocked Bodie. "You mean--every time you shoot in a tournament we get the weekend off?"

"Well," Doyle hedged. "The tournament is fixed for when the most competitors can make it. All the duty officers of the various Departments agree a date between them and then fix the schedules to fit."

"You mean they fiddle them!" Bodie exclaimed. "Does Cowley know this?"

"Of course--he wants as many of us to make it as possible."

"And all the departments, MI5, MI6, CI4--they all fiddle the rosters?"

"It's not fiddling," Doyle defended the system. "It's just ensuring as many as possible make it on the day. It's why it was cancelled last month--because of the election flap everyone was too busy to make the day."

"So why wait until now to tell me?" Bodie asked angrily.

"I forgot," Doyle said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I meant to say something and then--"

"You forgot!" sneered Bodie, hurt by Doyle's inconsiderate behaviour. "So what am I supposed to do while you're off winning gold medals for the department. I'm damned if I'm going to follow you around like--like--" All of a sudden Lake's bitter words returned to him, the meaning and the sentiment behind them now abundantly clear. "Like some shooting team groupie!"

"Bodie--"

"So you've got this weekend all planned out have you? And where, may I ask, do I fit into your plans? Was this supposed to be my share of the weekend?" he demanded harshly pushing Doyle away from him and standing upright. "Friday night is Bodie's night--give him a good meal, bottle or two of nice wine and then take him to bed and fuck him! Is that my share of this weekend?"

"You're being stupid--" Doyle started, embarrassed that his thoughtlessness had been so cruelly exposed. "It's not like that."

"Too right it's not," said Bodie. "Well, it was a great meal and I hope you bet the pants off them at the tournament, but if you don't mind I'll skip the fuck. Good night."

"Bodie? Bodie wait!" Running after him, Doyle was in time to see him disappear into his own room and to have the door slammed in his face. Undeterred, he opened it and stepped inside.

"I didn't hear you knock," Bodie said coldly. "Didn't anyone ever teach you any manners--it's considered polite to knock on a door before entering."

"Bodie--"

"I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Good night." Deliberately turning his back on him, Bodie closed the curtains and moved to turn the cover down on the bed.

"You're going to sleep in here?" asked Doyle quietly.

"It is my bedroom," Bodie reminded him.

"But we--we usually sleep in the other bed...in our bed."

"That's your bed, this is my bed. Good night." Bodie stared back at Doyle with feigned ease.

"This is stupid. I'm sorry I forgot to tell you about the tournament--"

"You didn't forget anything!" Bodie hissed, his face red with anger. "You just assumed that I would fall in with your plans. You could have told me about the time off last month but you didn't. Did it ever occur to you that I might have plans of my own?" he asked. "Christ, Doyle--I work with you, I live with you, I even sleep with you--aren't I allowed any time to myself? Do you really think I want to spend every fucking minute of every day with you!" Seeing the stricken look on Doyle's face, Bodie relented a little, retracting some of his harsh words. "Look, I don't mind being with you--hell, I want to be. All the time, but--couldn't you have asked? Why couldn't you ask me to join you at this stupid tournament instead of assuming I'd want to waste my weekend there?"

Acknowledging his mistake, Doyle had no answer--at least none he thought Bodie would accept. Quite simply it had never occurred to him that Bodie wouldn't want to be with him. The fault was his entirely. "I'm sorry. Good night," he said and he turned away, closing the door to Bodie's room behind him.

---

Separated by two closed doors and several yards of carpeted floor, neither man slept long or well. Waking from a shallow sleep to the sound of a door slamming, Doyle got out of bed and quickly moved to his own door. Clad only in T-shirt and pants, he padded uncertainly towards the other bedroom pausing, his heart plummeting and mouth drying, as he saw it was empty, the bed neatly made.

"Bodie?" he called out not expecting an answer. In the kitchen he found a note scribbled on the back of a discarded envelope. 'Gone out. Be back late tonight so don't wait up. Bodie.'

Crumpling the envelope in one hand, Doyle tossed it into the bin. The message was clear enough. By the time Pat Kelly called round later that morning Doyle was in no mood to notice the relaxation of the man once he realised Bodie was not home. "Is he going to come tomorrow?"

"I doubt it," Doyle replied as he collected his gear together.

"Oh good," Kelly said and then saw the sharp look Doyle threw his way and reminded himself to be more careful. The two-man teaming Cowley put together were known to be fiercely protective of each other. "How about using just one car today," Kelly suggested, eager to change the subject. "Jack wants us to try out the new team groups on the ranges--it's pointless taking out both cars."

"I thought we were hiring the minibus again?" Doyle answered, shouldering his bag and locking the street door behind him.

"That's tomorrow. Today we're on our own. Macklin and Ellis can't make today's session and Fergie's on duty until this afternoon. Use my car, shall we?"

"If you like."

"I hope you show a bit more enthusiasm when we get to the ranges," Kelly said, his Captain's hat firmly on his head. "That CI4 lot are bloody good and we'll have our work cut out to beat them."

"Had a rough night," admitted Doyle. "But I'll be okay--do you seriously think we'll beat CI4?" he asked as they reached the street level and walked along towards Kelly's rather aged and battered Ford Escort.

"Stand a better chance than we did three months ago--but it'll still be tough. That's why me and Jack want this training session today. Individual scores are improving but as a team...we've still got a lot of work to put in to get back to where we were two years ago." And on that note they climbed into the car and left for the ranges.

---

After a morning of doing little of any importance, Bodie was relieved to find his friend home and pleased to have some company. "Cheers Puddle," he said, taking the cup of coffee and helping himself to another biscuit.

"Leave some for me," complained Lake and he grabbed the packet back out of Bodie's grasp. "Where's Doyle this afternoon then, I thought you two had the weekend off?"

"How the bloody hell should I know, not his keeper am I!" was the unexpectedly belligerent answer.

Raising one surprised eyebrow, Lake made no further comment. "At a loose end, are we?" he enquired mildly.

Agreeing that he was, Bodie smiled apologetically at his friend. "Ray's off at some training session for some tournament he's in tomorrow."

"Which one?"

"Pardon?" Bodie asked around a mouthful of too hot coffee and crumbling biscuit.

"Which tournament? Security Services or mixed?"

"Dunno," Bodie replied vaguely. "He's not said."

Lake drank some of his coffee, thinking hard. This time of year I expect it's Security Services. MI5, MI6 and CI4--but then I suppose it could be the one against the armed forces--I expect the General Election mucked all the schedules up," Lake said thoughtfully.

"What on earth are you prattling on about?"

"Ken used to be the Team Captain," Lake said, a fond smile on his lips, and Bodie was pleased to see there was no evidence of grief in the grey eyes. "The biggest event of the year is the Security Services Cup. The team that takes the trophy gets a lot of kudos for the department. I swear Cowley even smiled the years we won--three years on the trot."

"Hadn't realised you were so keen on tournament shooting," Bodie commented in a sour voice.

"I'm not--well, not as a competitor, but I used to go and watch Ken and the team. They were bloody good," Lake said proudly. "Bloody good, I hear Pat Kelly's doing a great job as team captain now."

"So flamin' well what!" muttered Bodie.

Recognising the petulant tone and frown on his friend's brow of old, Lake decided a change of topic might be a good idea. "So--what do you want to do this afternoon. And before you get carried away, I'm on standby so forget anything that includes loose women, physical exertion or alcohol," he said.

Bodie sighed and reached for the newspaper. "What's on telly?"

---

Lying in bed listening to the rain that had continued to pour all afternoon, Bodie checked his watch once more. It was well after midnight and he had expected Doyle home hours ago. Patience gave way to worry at about one o'clock and he was about to telephone Control to see if they could track him down when he heard a key turn in the front door lock. The sound of Doyle talking to someone halted his intention to open his bedroom door and demand to know why he was home so late.

"Take your wet things off and I'll shove them in the airing cupboard. There are some towels in the bathroom, help yourself," Doyle was saying almost right outside the closed bedroom door.

"Ta mate, christ, but I'm soaked to the skin!"

Hearing Kelly's voice, Bodie's temper threatened to flare up again.

"Do you want a drink? Something alcoholic or something hot?" Doyle was asking, his voice moving away up the corridor and then coming back again as he obviously collected dry towels from the bathroom.

"How about something hot with something alcoholic in it?" suggested Kelly.

"Brilliant idea. Help yourself to a dressing gown, you'll find a spare one on the back of my bedroom door, I'll just switch the heating back on."

Realising it was his dressing gown that was hanging on Doyle's door, Bodie was about to object when Kelly spoke again.

"Is Bodie home yet?"

In the hallway Doyle looked to the bottom of the closed door and saw the faint crack of light suddenly disappear. "Haven't a clue, Pat. Just because I work with him and live with him it doesn't mean I have to spend every fucking minute of the day with him."

Only a few feet away and standing in darkness behind the closed door Bodie winced at the burning scorn in the other man's voice, the words hurting more than he had thought possible; outside the bedroom door the two men continued to chat about their day, oblivious to and unconcerned about his presence.

Drier, warmer and clad in Bodie's dressing gown which fit him nicely, Kelly gratefully accepted a mug of hot coffee liberally laced with whisky. Taking a long appreciative sip he relaxed back into the arm chair and stretched out his toes to warm them on the fire that Doyle had switched full on. "That Tommy Mahone's a weird one, isn't he," Kelly said. "I got the impression he thought you were...." his voice tailed off as he tried to find the right words, ones that wouldn't offend his friend.

"Cuckoo?" asked Doyle, grateful to be warm and dry once more.

"Well, some kind of psycho at the least. I reckon he even had me lined up as the Axe Man of Hackney!"

"Tommy's okay. Most of the regulars at The Brewers are safe enough--I like it there. What did you think of the place?" Doyle asked quietly. Driving home from the ranges they had been close to the pub and, Doyle being reluctant to arrive home too early and end up having another row with Bodie, had asked his friend to visit the place with him. It was his first visit since the business with MI6's turncoat Controller and he had wanted to check his cover was still intact. A few words to Kelly had been enough to brief him on how to act.

"How long have you been going there? They all seemed to know you."

Doyle thought back to that first visit with Bodie. "About eighteen months, maybe a bit longer. I never expected anything to come out of it--just used it as practise to establish a cover. It worked pretty well."

"And Mahone thinks you're a genuine article?" Kelly asked, remembering the way the landlord had questioned Doyle none too subtly almost as soon as he reached the bar.

"Oh yes, he thinks I'm a 24-carat nutter. Just the type he likes--has some surprising contacts does Tommy."

"How often do you go--they were pretty disappointed you couldn't make that darts match?"

"Not often. Depends really on what I'm doing." Or, he added silently, what Bodie's doing; he only went to The Brewers when he wanted some congenial company and Bodie wasn't around.

"Does Bodie go there?"

"No. He doesn't like slumming," answered Doyle abruptly. "More coffee?"

"Wouldn't say no to a drop of whisky--don't bother with a glass, just tip it in the mug." Taking the bottle from Doyle's outstretched hand he poured a generous slug into his coffee cup and then handed it back for Doyle to copy his example. "It's in a bloody awful neighbourhood though," he grumbled and sipped at his new drink.

Doyle just laughed, remembering Kelly's face when they had emerged from The Brewers at closing time to find his car tyres slashed, his aerial ripped off, the radio ripped from its casing and the windscreen scattered over bodywork, upholstery and the surrounding pavement and half a housebrick sitting on one of the front seats. "Look on the bright side--at least they didn't steal the car!"

"Wouldn't have caused half as much damage if they had. There goes my no claims bonus!" Kelly said in a depressed tone.

"I'll log the damage in my report to Cowley--maybe the department will foot the bill," offered Doyle once he realised that the car was Kelly's and not owned by the department.

"No," said Kelly morosely. "It's all right for you lucky sods. Department flat, department car--some of us have to sort out the basics for ourselves!"

"Goes with the rest of the job, Pat," Doyle pointed out.

"Suppose so--and I wouldn't want your job no matter what the perks were--too bloody dangerous by half!" retorted Kelly; he was content with his role in the department even if it did mean the vandalism to his car would be met from his own pocket.

"If Cowley won't fork out," promised Doyle, "I'll make it up--I'll fiddle it back off the Cow on my expenses," he added. "Another drink?"

"Better not, state the car's in the police are bound to pull me up--if I'm breathalysed the Cow will do his nut."

"Oh," Doyle considered the problem. "Stay here the rest of the night. You can't go out in that again. Besides--your clothes are still wet."

Helping himself to another generous slug, Kelly agreed he would be better off staying the night.

When Doyle returned to the lounge with an armful of blankets he found Kelly had topped his drink up as well. "Ta very much--it's a nice drop of stuff, isn't it?" he said.

"It's Bodie's--but he won't mind," Doyle added generously, not really caring whether he would or not. As the two men continued to sit in the lounge, Kelly once more reciting the former glories and feats of the CI5 shooting team, Doyle paid him scant notice. Exhausted after a long tiring day following a virtually sleepless night, he was almost asleep. Throwing Kelly a careful glance, he wondered if the man would notice his slipping into Bodie's bedroom. Probably, eyes like a bloody hawk, he decided unkindly.

Seeing the heavy eyes Kelly had to smother a grin. Doyle's minimal capacity for alcohol still surprised him; barely two half mugs of whisky and he was nearly out for the count. Still, he conceded, it wasn't that important a man had a lead-lined stomach. "Up you get, Sunshine--we've got the tournament tomorrow and you need your beauty sleep."

Hearing the familiar endearment, Doyle thought Bodie had come into the room and he looked around searching for him, blinking like a sleepy owl. A helping hand under his elbow and Kelly's whisky-laden breath in his face revealed the truth.

"I can manage myself!" Ray snapped, brushing the helping hand away.

"Okay," said Kelly, backing off. "If you say so," he viewed the swaying figure with suspicion, "mind the table--and those shoes!" he called out as Doyle tottered unsteadily towards the door.

"Night. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight," returned Kelly as he began sorting the blankets and pillows and arranging them on the sofa. His temporary bed was soon as comfortable as he could get it on the hard narrow couch that was at least eighteen inches too short. He stripped off his borrowed robe and then, at the last minute, decided to pay a final visit to the bathroom.

He found Doyle leaning on the wall outside the closed bedroom door. "Legs given up, have they?" he asked quietly, seeing the sudden start his appearance gave the tired man.

"Thought you'd gone to bed," Doyle said wearily wishing he'd had the courage to open the door in front of him.

"Come on, Sunshine--it's just a bit further," Kelly slipped his arm around the drooping shoulders and began to steer Doyle towards the bedroom at the end of the hall.

"I can manage!" protested Doyle, wishing fervently that Kelly would go away.

"Of course you can, Sunshine," agreed Kelly mildly as he opened the bedroom door.

"Don't call me that!" Doyle snapped waspishly. "Everyone calls me that--Bodie always calls me that--don't like people using that name...every bloody Tom, Dick n' 'arry calls me Sunshine. Me name's Ray, not Sunshine, Ray!!"

"Into bed, Ray," Kelly said smoothly. "That's the lad. Go to sleep mate, see you in the morning." Tugging the covers up over the motionless body he saw that Doyle was already fast asleep. "'Night, Sunshine," he repeated, a laugh in his voice. "Sweet dreams."

About to switch off the light and leave the room, Kelly's searching glance swept over the small huddle lying neatly on one side of the huge bed. Without further ado he returned to the lounge to switch off the lights, paid his visit to the bathroom and then padded back to the room at the end of the hall. Doyle didn't stir as Kelly lifted the corner of the duvet and slid underneath it. In moments the only sounds in the flat was of the regular breathing of three sleeping men.

---

As usual on mornings when he had no reason to get up early Bodie woke just after seven o'clock. As on the previous morning his first conscious thought was to wonder where Doyle had gone. But memory soon returned and he rolled over burying his face in the pillow and tried to go back to sleep. But sleep evaded him and he found it impossible to remain lounging in bed. Listening at the door he found the flat to be quiet and he stepped into the hall.

Through the half open door leading to the lounge, Bodie saw the foot of the sofa draped with blankets and realised Kelly had stayed the night. The knowledge did little to improve his mood.

Helping himself to some coffee, Bodie reconsidered Friday's argument. It had undoubtedly been the worst so far but he was now uncertain exactly why it had started. He was pleased that Ray was making more friends and building a life for himself that consisted of more than simply work and Bodie; but he had to admit that he had not been prepared for the demands the team would make on their newest recruit. Just lately it had felt that every spare evening, afternoon or day they had, Doyle would take off with Pat Kelly or Fergie and vanish to the ranges. Even a quiet drink in the bar of the sports centre would turn into another pre-tournament discussion with Bodie being pushed to the edge as one or more members of the team passed by their table and then joined them.

Bodie knew that he should have enquired why they received such an unexpected weekend off a month ago but, delighted to get Doyle to himself for a full forty-eight hours, the notion to question his good fortune was forgotten. But, hardening his resolve not to give in, Bodie decided that Doyle still should have asked him if he wanted to go along to the tournament--even if he did want to see his partner and lover competing for the first time the man had no right to assume he would follow him blindly.

Checking his watch, he wondered what time Ray would wake up. Moving silently to the lounge door he listened for any sounds indicating Kelly was awake or about to wake up but heard nothing. Once outside Doyle's bedroom door, though, he reconsidered his actions. Doyle, he knew from experience, woke like a sleepy dormouse: fluffy, cuddly, happy and none too bright. The argument had gone on long enough, though; two nights sleeping alone would, Bodie was sure, be enough to make Doyle eager to make up. Smiling a smug little smile, Bodie knew he was willing to accept any apology his lover wanted to make. Making up was the only good part of having an argument, he decided. Looking back over his shoulder once last time to the silent, darkened lounge, Bodie decided it was worth the risk; besides, he could always gag Doyle if he made too much noise.

Pushing the door open, Bodie quickly slipped inside and closed it behind him. Then he turned towards the bed, and his words of greeting froze on his lips. Unable to believe his eyes he took two more steps closer to the bed. Through a red haze he saw two heads resting together on the same pillow; Kelly and Doyle snuggled together cosily like two spoons. Fists clenching, Bodie moved to strip the cover back and expose the sleeping lovers but a saner, practical part of his mind took over, stopping the action. Too angry to move, Bode stared down, taking in every little detail, the way Kelly's body curved so precisely around Doyle's; the way Ray was holding Kelly's arm around his waist--just the way he usually held Bodie.

Knowing that if he took one more step towards the two men he would injure them seriously, his fury too strong to control, he managed to back towards the door. Finding the handle with numb fingers, he managed to lever it open and make his escape into the empty hall. The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

He could barely comprehend what his eyes had seen: Ray sleeping in their bed with another man. How could he, Bodie thought in a sick daze. It had taken him over two years to coax Doyle into his bed and now, after one stupid little argument he was able to take a new lover into the bed they shared. Had the row meant that much to Doyle, he wondered bleakly. Had he underestimated his partner's recovery and developing personality that much?

The sound of movement from inside the bedroom sent Bodie running into the kitchen from where he watched the bedroom door open.

---

Awakening with a sudden jump, Kelly felt disoriented, the bed and unfamiliar room puzzling until he discovered he was wrapped snugly around Ray Doyle. Remembering where he was, he snuggled back down, moving closer to the warm body pressed close along his length, smiling as he felt Doyle react to his movement and wriggle a little as he tugged Kelly's arm more securely over his body. If it hadn't been for one thick curl brushing the end of his nose in a most irritating fashion Kelly knew he could easily fall back to sleep; but then he began to notice other things, he felt hot and sticky where his chest, belly and legs were touching Doyle's bare skin and, not surprisingly his bladder was making itself felt. Once noticed, the desire to pee would not be ignored and so, reluctantly, he withdrew from the snug nest.

Upright beside the bed, Pat Kelly yawned and scratched belly and bum before stretching to relieve his cramped limbs. He could, he decided, do with a nice shower and wondered whether Doyle would mind if he just helped himself to a few things. Turning to look once more at the sleeping man, he opened the chest of drawers and helped himself to some clean pants and socks, guessing that as he wasn't that much bigger than his host they were bound to fit. More awake now, he realised that the waistband of his briefs felt damp and uncomfortable. Deciding to invite Doyle round for the night the next time his central heating and electric blanket died on him, Kelly slipped the damp cotton down his legs and tossed them onto the end of the bed before stepping naked into the hallway to find the shower. Stumbling bleary-eyed into the hall he saw Bodie standing, framed against the bright morning sunlight in the kitchen doorway. "Morning, Bodie," he mumbled around a huge yawn and then disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

---

Opening his eyes in time to see the door being pulled shut, Doyle heard the mumbled greeting. At first he thought he was dreaming as he could still feel the solid bulk of Bodie along his back and the weight of an arm draped protectively over him. Rolling over, eyes opening fully, he felt the warmth in the vacant space beside him and saw the dent another head had made in the pillow.

Relieved that Bodie had seen sense and come to join him, Doyle couldn't help but think of the risk he'd taken with Kelly sleeping in the other room. Awake now, he knew that the sound that roused him had been Bodie going to meet Kelly. Satisfied that there was no danger, he snuggled sleepily back under the duvet and wondered whether Bodie would reappear with a large breakfast tray as he usually did when they had lazy mornings.

As the minutes ticked by he grudgingly acknowledge that with Kelly wandering about it had been pretty daft to expect breakfast--or anything else--in bed. He got up and went to find Bodie.

---

The sight of Pat Kelly emerging, naked and tousled from Ray's bedroom, rooted Bodie to the spot, his instinct to grab the man and throw him through the nearest wall held back only because he had no wish to get put away for murder. The fact that Kelly locked the bathroom door probably saved his life.

By degrees, though, the red hot blazing rage consuming Bodie calmed until he was still furious but now cold and detached, his anger directed towards Ray as he wondered over and over again how the man had the gall to deliberately flaunt his affair. A worm of jealousy crawled through Bodie making him question whether this really was the first time Doyle had deceived him. How long had he and Kelly been sleeping together?

Numb, Bodie turned back into the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. He should have known, he told himself. He had seen Doyle's growing self-confidence over the past two years, why should he be so surprised to discover he was also developing sexual confidence--hadn't that been what he had been working so hard to achieve, Bodie asked himself. He should have known Doyle would want to move on to newer more exciting relationships once his sexuality had been awakened.

A noise from behind him sent him spinning around to discover Doyle entering the room.

"Mornin' lover," whispered Doyle huskily as he bent down to kiss the open mouth.

Reeling under the impact of Doyle's closeness and the tender kiss, Bodie couldn't formulate an answer.

"Is Pat in the shower?"

Bodie managed a tight nod.

"You took one hell of a risk last night," Doyle said, not noticing the blank expression. "But I'm so pleased you did. I'm sorry about Friday--you're right. It's wrong of me to assume you're going to follow me around everywhere. I won't do it again, I promise." Looking away briefly to check the bathroom door was still closed, Doyle risked another swift kiss. "I hate sleeping alone. Thanks, for coming in last night--I wanted to get in with you only Pat came out and found me at your door just as I was plucking up the courage to go in," he confessed cheerfully.

The bathroom door opened just then and Bodie was unable to answer. Pat Kelly, dressed only in borrowed pants and socks, padded unselfconsciously into the kitchen.

"Morning everyone," he said. "Anything to drink--I'm dying of thirst--hungry too, anything to eat? Oh Ray, I've checked the airing cupboard, my shirt's dry but my jeans are still wet--got anything I can borrow?"

"Not that would fit you--you're nearer to Bodie's size," replied Doyle as he sized up the nearly naked man before him. "Bodie?"

"What?" Startled out of his bewilderment, Bodie just looked askance at his partner.

"Can Pat borrow a pair of your cords?" Doyle repeated patiently.

Looking at the man helping himself to milk from the fridge, Bodie wondered why the hell not--Kelly was already wearing his underpants and socks. "Sure," he agreed sullenly.

"Ta, Bodie mate. Tea or coffee anyone?" Kelly asked politely.

Frostily declining, Bodie returned to his bedroom on the pretext of getting some clothes for their guest. Alone he sank down onto the bed as the shock and relief hit him; if Ray ever found out how quick he had been to believe the worst he would go mad. His suspicions returned to haunt him though as he thought of how cosily Kelly had snuggled up to his partner; even if Ray had truly believed he was sleeping with his lover--and he didn't doubt the guileless, open expression on Doyle's face--what had Kelly done to make him believe he was Bodie!

The sound of laughter from the kitchen drew his attention, grating on his nerves. He had never liked Pat Kelly and couldn't for the life of him see what Ray found so interesting in the man. Sorting through his wardrobe he pulled an old pair of cords out and decided they would do; he re-entered the kitchen in time to see the two men--both clad in underpants and socks--standing shoulder to shoulder and peering out of the window.

"See, I said it wouldn't look so bad in the morning," Ray was saying.

"I'd better not hang about too long--if I leave it there the local vandals will think it's been dumped!" Kelly said miserably aware of the sorry looking condition of his car.

"Leave it to me, Pat," Doyle consoled. "I'll tell Cowley about it when I give him my report. I'll claim for the damages, you shouldn't be out of pocket on my account."

"Bloody right I shouldn't. Next time you visit The Brewers you can bloody well take your own car there!"

"I don't bother taking the car, usually go by tube--I've got more sense than to park in that area!"

Hearing the pub's name Bodie's ears pricked up. He'd heard something about The Brewers before.

Seeing Bodie arrive, Doyle changed the subject abruptly, asking if he wanted any breakfast; puzzled but not unduly worried by the sharp 'no' he received, he returned to the table and finished off the toast he'd made for himself and Pat. Confident a little while later that Kelly's attention was elsewhere, he smiled encouragingly in Bodie's direction, but when that met with no response decided that whilst his lover had given up sleeping in lonely comfort, he hadn't been forgiven completely. Sighing heavily, Doyle munched through the last piece of toast. In a way it was a pity Kelly was there, for he would have liked to get the row patched up properly before he left to go to the tournament--but there was no time and, as Doyle noticed, Bodie seemed determined to give him no opportunity to speak privately.

As they dressed and tidied the place up, Doyle's resentment at Bodie's distant detachment grew to the point where, even if they had found five minutes to be alone together he was damned if he was going to make the first move.

It wasn't until the two men left the flat, Doyle only just bothering to call out a vague, "Goodbye, see you tonight sometime," that Bodie knew he was going to go and watch them shoot. It wasn't that he didn't trust Doyle, he told himself, because he did. It was Kelly he wanted to keep an eye on; Doyle was just far too trusting, he thought--and then realised he had forgotten to ask either man where the damn tournament was taking place!

---

Keeping himself out of sight in the observation deck, Bodie peered through the crowd of figures milling about for his partner. He actually saw Kelly first and then the slighter figure standing alongside him. From the scoreboard Bodie could understand why the men looked so glum; the tournament was half over and CI5 was trailing a weak third with CI4 limping twenty points behind keeping them out of last place. MI6 was way out in front with MI5 fifty points behind the leaders but thirty points ahead of CI5. Pride in his own department surfaced and Bodie found himself quietly cheering the team on--if they were beaten by MI5 or MI6 they would never hear the last of it.

Then the scores of the individual participants were chalked up, the new results sending a ripple of excitement through the small audience and competitors. The gap between MI5 and CI5 had closed and, with only the doubles left to go, there was now only ten points between second and third place.

Watching Doyle approach his mark, don ear defenders and take aim was a new experience for Bodie. He was familiar with indoor ranges and practised a fair amount himself but not, he knew, to the same standard as the men shooting here today. The precision and careful aim of these marksmen had no place in the world he worked in; targets that were inclined to shoot back gave you little time for pinpoint accuracy. Stopping a living target before it could kill you was all that was required.

Doyle and Kelly shot alternately at three distances; to Bodie's eye Doyle appearing to be more confident but Kelly firing faster. When the scores for the CI5 men were totalled another buzz ran round the enclose area and two grim-faced MI5 men took their places on their marks.

The appalled expression on one of the MI5 men's face and the way Macklin grabbed Doyle and Kelly into a bearhug told Bodie as much as he needed to know about the score. As the final two pairs stood to their marks it seemed as if the whole range was holding its collective breath.

When the last of the shots rang out no-one moved or spoke, everyone waiting for the CI4 and MI6 scores to be totalled. Pandemonium broke out as the adjudicator started speaking and Bodie strained to see the final scores being chalked up. MI6 was in first place with CI5, boosted by the almost perfect doubles score, in a good second, CI4 who also scored well in the doubles coming third and MI5 bringing up the rear, missing even a face-saving third position by a mere five points.

Leaving the observation deck, Bodie walked down to the CI5 team, who were too busy hugging and slapping each other in congratulations to notice him at first.

"Next year," Kelly was yelling above all the noise. "We'll get 'em next year!"

It was Peter Ellis, flushed with his own excitement at scoring a personal best at his first tournament, who saw Bodie and pointed him out to Ray.

Disentangling himself from his team mates, Doyle crossed over to the barrier separating the audience and competitors.

"Well done," Bodie said.

"Didn't win," Doyle replied, pulling a face.

"What's wrong with second place--didn't really expect to beat MI6 did you? Those buggers are bloody good." Bodie had been quietly impressed by the team's efforts.

"Maybe next year, we'll have had more chance to work as a team then," Doyle was saying, eyes sparking and alive with excitement. "This was just a trial run--you wait and see."

"You did okay this year," Bodie said, his voice becoming quieter as they found they could speak underneath all the other noises.

"How long were you watching, when did you arrive?" asked Doyle, his face softening to reveal his pleasure at Bodie's presence.

"I got here just as the singles were finishing. I saw you and Pat shoot. You were good, both of you," he added, pride forcing him to be honest.

Doyle flushed at the praise. "Thanks to Pat. I'm still a bit rusty at tournament shooting. It's been nearly six years since my last competition. That's a long time," he added, his expression darkening at the memory of those wasted years.

"Have you..." Bodie floundered, suddenly uncertain of his welcome. He knew now that he had no reason to be jealous of Kelly, and that his ugly suspicions were totally without foundation, but he did wonder if he had lost the right to expect Doyle's company.

"Have I what?" Doyle asked hopefully.

"Do you want to--I mean, are you going celebrating with your friends...or would you like to come home with me," he finished then quickly added, "I'd like to go home. Just us...."

"Well," Doyle hesitated, looking from Bodie's downbent head and back to his team mates before deciding. "I can't just vanish. How about one quick drink with the rabble and then you can take me home?"

Looking up and smiling at the intimate tone, Bodie agreed immediately. "Just one drink," he added, knowing how that lot could drink when they set their minds to it.

Understanding what Bodie meant, Doyle grinned and agreed, just one.


...Continued in Chapter 34...

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