---

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

It didn't prove too difficult to escape from the team's celebrations; feigning a headache and the prospect of a heavy day at work in the morning, Doyle managed to escape the party fairly early. But the tension caused by the argument had not vanished completely and both men still felt they were right in some aspects if wrong in others and neither was willing to concede totally to the other.

Once home, though, they began to relax but by unspoken consent chose not to talk about Friday night; the argument was ignored if not forgotten. It wasn't until he saw Ray struggling to put the extra blankets away that Bodie decided to tell him exactly where Pat Kelly had spent the night.

"What!" Doyle asked, mouth agape and his arms fill of bedding as he fought with the cupboard door. "But it was you--wasn't it?"

"Nope," replied Bodie, enjoying the shock and dawning outrage on his partner's expressive face.

"All night!"

"I expect so," laughed Bodie. "He certainly looked cosy enough all snuggled up to you when I looked in on you both." He leant forward and helped push the final blanket onto the shelf and shut the door before pulling Doyle into his arms.

"I thought he slept on the sofa--when I woke up I thought it was you going out of the door!" Doyle shivered and turned around to return the strong embrace. "You mean you came into the room and saw him...saw him and me in bed together--why the hell didn't you say something? Bodie?" he asked sharply, suddenly realising that the discovery must have been a terrible shock to his lover.

"Didn't trust myself," Bodie confessed, his voice thick with remembered shame. "Didn't dare go near you--either of you--in case I...in case I did something--hurt you. I didn't dare do anything!"

"Hurt me?" Pushing himself free of the embrace Doyle looked up, his eyes suddenly hard. "You really thought I knew it wasn't you. That I--that I'd deliberately gone to bed with Pat--that me and him--that we'd had sex in our bed!" Bodie nodded. "You thought I'd brought him home to our flat, to our bed just to spite you!" Doyle's voice caught Bodie by surprise, the icy scorn and anger not what he had been expecting. "It's so nice to know how little faith you have in me--let go of me!"

"No, listen, please listen to me--it wasn't like that!" Bodie said quickly.

"Then how was it, Bodie?" Doyle asked as he twisted out of the tight grasp and sent a chair crashing to the floor as he backed away.

"It was only for a few minutes--until you came out of the bedroom and I realised you thought Pat had been me."

Doyle just looked at him, a hard unrelenting stare that burned through Bodie then, eyes glittering brightly and with an ugly smile growing on his lips he said, "And how do you know for sure that I wasn't lying?"

For a moment, for one terrible, awful moment the possibility flared in Bodie's mind but then he knew Doyle was not and never could be that calculating--but already it was too late, his momentary doubt revealed itself on his face. "Ray! Ray wait--come back a minute...Ray!"

"Go fuck yourself," Doyle hissed at him. "If you have so little trust in me, it's not worth trying, is it?"

Bodie let him go to the bedroom and flinched as the door slammed shut in his face as he tried to follow. Christ, what a mess, he thought as he sank down onto a chair back in the quiet lounge. It was all his fault. If only he knew for sure that Ray was as content in their relationship as he was; if only he didn't feel that as soon as Ray was fully recovered mentally as well as physically, he would leave. When it came down to it he found it hard to accept that Ray Doyle would want to continue their affair once he found his feet again. What, Bodie asked himself grimly, could he offer his lover? Less than six months ago Ray had been looking forward to becoming a husband and a father--even though he denied still holding those dreams and said he was content to be with him, Bodie couldn't accept that. There were still parts of Ray Doyle he had no access to; Ray kept holding him off, refusing to let him get too close and each failure, each rejection was like a slap in the face, another reminder that he wasn't quite what Doyle was searching for.

Returning to the firmly closed door, Bodie knew that if he wanted to keep Doyle he was going to have to reveal the depth of his feelings. Remembering his own angry words of Friday night, he knocked on the door and waited patiently until he was finally answered.

"Come in," Doyle called out quietly: he didn't look up from the magazine that was spread out on the bed in front of him. "What do you want?" he asked without enthusiasm when Bodie made no move to come closer to the bed or to speak.

"I--I want to tell you something," he began hesitantly.

"Such as?" enquire Doyle archly, licking his thumb and turning a page.

"Do you..." Bodie coughed and cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea how long I've--I've loved you?"

Doyle looked up then, his expression softening as he saw the extent of his partner's unhappiness. "No," he replied in a softer voice.

Encouraged, Bodie cleared his throat, focussed on one shabby trainer that was lying under the small chest of drawers and began to open his heart. "At first, in the beginning when Cowley first teamed us I thought you wouldn't last more than a week. But I was wrong, and I soon realised that you had guts. From then it wasn't too long before I began to realise--before I let myself realise how much I cared about you. I hated seeing you hurting or unhappy--and then when you told me about Kingsley--Christ, but I wanted to go out, find the bastard and kill him.

"Once you were officially on the squad, as soon as we started working together I trusted you...with my life. Did you know that you are my first partner? Cowley knows I prefer working solo--I thought he'd flipped when he assigned me to you but he was right, we're a good team." He coughed and cleared his throat and risked a quick glance towards Doyle. He found a pair of disconcerting green eyes regarding him intently, one page of the magazine still held between thumb and forefinger. "Caring about you--keeping you safe...it became important to me that you were happy as well. Then Ann came along and I was scared that I was going to lose you. It was then I realised that I loved you--but I couldn't say anything. You loved Ann--I was just someone you worked with--" he broke off as Doyle gave a small gasp. "But like I said, by then it was too late and I already loved you. I only wanted you to be happy and after hearing what you'd gone through in prison--I knew you'd never want me--not in the way I want you to--and so I was pleased for you. After all that happened it was only right that you should have some happiness with Ann.

"I'm sorry--sorry that it didn't work out how you wanted it--but...that's life," Bodie shrugged. "Then, once Ann was...gone...you needed me more than before and I--god help me, I'm sorry but I liked that, I liked having you need me, depending on me. It made me feel...good. Wanted.

"But even then I never believed you would want the same things I did...do. Until that night you let me kiss you and we ended up in bed together--I thought I'd died and gone to heaven," he said, not noticing his voice had broken and he was crying. "Since then...every time we make love I still think it's...unreal. I can't believe you're going to keep on wanting me...I know I was taking advantage of you, you were depending on me to keep you safe. And I--I abused that...I used you when you were vulnerable. The last month or so, since we moved here and since you came back to work with me...you've changed. Everyone's noticed--you're much stronger--you don't need me anymore...and I'm scared of losing you--I don't want that to happen--I don't want to lose you!"

During the halting monologue Doyle had remained motionless, at first not really listening but then listening to each word, seeing the way Bodie meant everything he said and beginning to understand why he'd behaved as he had. But, the words were nothing when he saw the strain speaking them was having on Bodie; he had never seen him cry before and the stream of big, fat tears rolling unnoticed down his face were all the proof Doyle needed of his sincerity.

"Ah...Bodie," he sighed, rose from the bed and crossed the room to the door, pulling his lover into a hard, crushing embrace. "You...you bloody great idiot, Bodie," he said, burying his face in the warm throat and shoulder. "How many times do I have to tell you I love you, I bloody love you, you great fool you!"

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"Shh," soothed Doyle, rubbing his hands over the tense back. "I do love you, Bodie, and I'm going nowhere. Of course I still need you--what the hell would I do without you?"

"Don't know," Bodie said, sniffing loudly.

"Just because it took me a bit longer to realise how fucking loveable you are doesn't mean I love you any less, you stupid great--cretin!"

"I love you too," Bodie said, sniffing again and trying to wriggle free.

"Where are you going?"

"To get a bloody hankie!" retorted Bodie as he cuffed the revealing tears away on the back of his sleeve and hoping that whatever god was listening that Doyle hadn't seen them.

Doyle pulled the sleeve away and dabbed at the damp cheeks with the edge of his own sleeve. "That's okay then. Have you really loved me since...since I met up with Ann again?" Bodie looked straight at him and nodded. "What if things had been different," he asked quietly. "What then?"

"I'd have made a bloody good best man and a terrific godfather," Bodie replied, a weak smile on his face.

Doyle didn't say anything, he just looked at him, his face serious and his own eyes suspiciously bright. "For what it's worth I'm pleased to have you as my lover; you'd 'ave been a great best man but...that's probably because you are the best man, and I'm glad you're mine," he ended fiercely, his hands gripping Bodie's arms tightly as if he would never let him go again.

Later that night they held each other in bed like children seeking comfort; arms wrapped around each other, both held and holding the other securely, holding, touching and loving, needing to know that the other was there; safe and sound and there.

---

In the morning it was Doyle who woke up first, twisting in the loose grasp to check on the time and subsiding gratefully next to Bodie when he saw they had hours to spare before reporting to George Cowley.

Usually it was Bodie who woke first and so Doyle was able to indulge in a rare pleasure and watch his lover sleep. He found it strange to see the familiar face, normally guarded, so open and relaxed and decided it made Bodie look impossibly young, the dark blue shadow on his cheeks and around his slightly open mouth doing little to detract from the illusion.

In the quiet bedroom he remembered every word that passed between them yesterday and felt his heart twist painfully at the pressure his partner must have been under to have spoken so frankly. Of the two of them Doyle knew he was the lucky one; all he'd had to do was wait to be loved while Bodie had been forced to watch him almost throw himself away into an affair doomed to fail even without Charles Holly's assistance.

Bodie had given him everything; time, patience, love and himself totally and without reservation. So far Doyle knew all he had done was take what had been offered. Maybe, he thought pressing his mouth to Bodie's, it was time to change all that.

Waking up to the feel of hands roaming over his body was enough of a shock without having his mouth taken in a deep searching kiss. Pulling away from the warm body pressed so hard against him, Bodie opened his eyes and found Doyle wide awake and staring at him with a new intensity and purpose. "Ray?" he asked, his voice husky with sleep and confusion.

"Didn't think you were ever going to wake up," a sultry voice replied.

"Ray--"

"What do you want?" breathed Ray.

"Ray? Get off for a sec...let me wake up!" He protested weakly as hands burrowed under the covers and sought him out.

"You're already up, sweetheart," said Doyle, a giggle bubbling up in his throat.

"Ray! Give over!" admonished Bodie. "Let me wake up first--christ, I'm hot!"

"So am I," purred Doyle and he bent his head to lick the spot where soft skin became bristly with whiskers.

"What?" Bodie did a double take as he finally surfaced enough to see the state his partner was in. "What's got into you?"

"Nothing--yet," smiled Doyle. "How about it?"

"What--you mean..." Bodie gasped as he understood the breathy invitation. "Now?"

"No time like the present."

"Oh my god," groaned Bodie. "Ray, I can't--not right now!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Give us a chance, love--I need to be wide awake for that and...and besides--I need to pee," he ended plaintively.

Subsiding onto the bed, all guile and seductive manner gone, Doyle groaned. "God preserve us from insistent bladders!"

"I'm sorry," Bodie apologised. "Just...keep it going 'til I get back."

"Forget it mate, me pot's just gone off the boil," Doyle said in a resigned voice. "Bloody typical, this is," he called out as Bodie headed for the bathroom. "I finally decide to surrender my virginity and you're desperate for a bleedin' piss!"

The shouted complaint did little to alleviate the problem Bodie was having in the bathroom; it was very difficult, no matter how near to bursting your bladder felt, to wee with a full-size morning erection. Even the cold floor tiles failed to help and in desperation Bodie was forced to turn the basin tap on and concentrate on pure thoughts. Relief was slow to arrive.

"Need any help?" Doyle asked sweetly, appearing at his elbow as he moved to flush the loo.

"No thank you," he replied politely.

"Thought you'd vanished down the S-bend."

Bodie smiled affectionately and ruffled the tangled, unkempt curls.

"I do hope you've already washed your hands," Doyle said, enjoying the feel of Bodie touching him.

"I can still smell the ranges on you," Bodie said, breathing in the scent of the man in his arms. "Sweat, cordite...and Ray Doyle, heady stuff."

"Is that a polite way of telling me I stink?" asked an aggrieved voice. Last night a shower had been the last thing on either man's mind.

"No. No more than usual--ouch!" Bodie doubled over as a sharp jab caught him in his middle.

"And you can stop looking for the sympathy vote--I didn't hit you that hard. We've got time for a shower now, haven't we?" Doyle was already pulling Bodie down the hall towards the shower room.

"Oh--but I thought we were going to--" Bodie began, his disappointment all too clear.

"We will," promised Doyle. "And then we can have another shower."

Unable to believe what he thought Doyle was offering him, Bodie allowed himself to be pushed under the shower where he stood passive under hands that soaped his body, touching, cleansing and arousing him at the same time.

The aggressor from the beginning, Doyle set the pace, teasing and exciting Bodie but refusing to take it through to its conclusion, hands and mouth backing away at the last minute over and over again until, desperate for it to end, Bodie knocked the teasing hands away.

Still waiting for Doyle to stop him at any moment, Bodie became more demanding, his excitement growing even more as he felt Doyle become pliant and accepting of his needs. Turning him slowly under the shower jet, Bodie pressed him hard against the wall as he took possession of his mouth in a kiss that left them both dizzy and gasping for air. Hands fondling the upthrust sex and heavy sensitive sacs, Bodie sank to his knees to take Doyle's cock into his mouth, his elbows pushing the strong legs further apart as his fingers sought and found the entrance to Doyle's body.

Helplessly aroused by his own submission and the expert mouth, Doyle almost screamed as first one, then two fingers entered him and he opened his legs further, inviting them to discover and touch even more of him.

Feeling the trembling body shudder violently, Bodie pressed against the inner gland again, prepared this time when Doyle's knees gave out and he slid down the wall.

"Ray?" Bodie asked breathlessly. "Ray?"

Opening his eyes, Doyle knew that the moment had come and felt his heart beat a little faster. "Here?"

"Can't wait... Please?"

Seeing the desperate heat in the blue eyes, Doyle knew he had made him wait too long already and so gave a tight nod. As he was kissed again and probing fingers slid across his buttocks delving into him, he flinched but tried to relax.

Reaching up to cut the shower off, Bodie grabbed at the tube of jelly he'd been keeping for this occasion and squeezed some onto his fingers, claiming the hot mouth and tight arse at the same time.

Losing himself in the rhythm of the fingers inside him, Doyle felt their sudden loss keenly and was about to voice his complaint when Bodie turned him around, strong deft hands spinning him to face the wall.

"Kneel down, Ray." Bodie tugged on his hips, dragging him down and pulling him into position. Doyle did as he was told but tried to turn around to face the man who was manipulating him so precisely. "Turn back," Bodie ordered, one hand pushing on the twisting shoulders as slick fingers pierced his centre again. A second finger joined the first and then, for the first time a third, pressing in and opening him up; he tried again to turn round to see Bodie, to share the new sensations with him but an impatient voice told him to keep still.

"Bodie," he whispered, his face only inches from the stark white-tiled wall. "Let me turn round, please Bodie. I want to turn round..." The need to face him, to watch as these new things were done to his body grew stronger until it overwhelmed the pleasure rising in him. He hardly felt the fingers disappear, feeling only that now there was another anchor on his hip holding him down. The pressure against his anus became painful and he cried out.

"Okay...okay sunshine," Bodie rasped, moving as slowly as he could, then remaining motionless a while to allow Doyle to adjust to the invader. "Stay still--don't move," he said, holding him tightly. "You'll only...hurt yourself...don't move," and then he pushed in a little further, rocking his hips slightly, retreating before going on, pressing in.

Doyle felt as if he were suffocating, his heart thudding so hard and so loud in his chest he felt sure Bodie would hear it and feel it and stop--but the pressure inside him grew harder and hotter and the grip holding him down became tighter and tighter and, all at once he knew he had to see Bodie, he had to watch as his lover did this to him.

"Keep still!" Bodie hissed, pushing the squirming body back round. "You'll hurt yourself!" he said, feeling the struggling body impale itself, sinking almost to the hilt in Doyle's body, and he collapsed heavily onto the twisting, heaving body, his arms locking around his lover as he braced to begin the final slow thrusts that would take him to the edge and over.

The sudden unexpected weight settling on his back sent Doyle crashing, face first, onto the bathroom floor, his right cheek catching the raised lip of the shower stall, the flare of pain, the sudden weight of the faceless invader sending him spiralling back through time to another cold tile floor, the grunts of arousal, the painful grip of bruising fingers and the terrifying knowledge of what was happening to him.

Lost in the haze that still engulfed him, Bodie did not notice that the bucking, squirming body beneath him was fighting to get away from him and not closer, each movement only adding to his own pleasure and growing excitement.

"Don't--no, please don't...don't... No, stop--stop! Please..."

The harsh words barely penetrated Bodie's consciousness as he swept headlong toward a shattering climax, only on the final, forceful thrust before he froze, feeling his balls tighten the second before they erupted did he actually hear the words.

"No... No--don't! Please...don't!"

As climax ripped through him Bodie was sickeningly aware of the scream of denial that burst from Doyle's throat. "Ray? Ray!" Withdrawing even before the final spasm drained his cock, sending a burst of semen across the exposed buttocks, Bodie tried to turn Doyle over and discovered that even now he was still fighting.

"No! No! Don't do it...please don't...no...no..."

"Ray! It's over--it's all over-- Oh christ! Ray, I'm sorry," he cried out, fighting against the flailing arms to pull Doyle towards him.

"Don't touch me! Don't--don't touch me!" Doyle screamed in his face. "Someone's coming--they'll hear--they'll stop you--you can't do this to me...can't...mustn't...please don't.."

Puzzled, Bodie sat back and watched as Doyle tried to crawl away from him. "Ray--there's no one else here--just you and me," he said slowly. "Let me help you--" but Doyle backed away into the corner, crying and hitting the outstretched hands away.

"Screw's coming...you can't do this...screw'll stop it--he'll stop you...can't...can't..." Doyle gasped between huge gulping great breaths.

It was like a light going on inside Bodie's head. Hearing the garbled words and seeing the unfocussed eyes he understood--Doyle was trapped in a waking nightmare and thought he was back in Maidstone at the mercy of his would-be rapists. "Ray--"

"No!" Doyle screamed furiously, huddling into a ball in the corner of the shower.

Confused and frightened himself, Bodie didn't know what to do for the best. Backing away, he ran to the bedroom and grabbed his dressing gown, thinking that perhaps his nudity was only adding to the problem. On his way back to the shower room he grabbed a huge bathsheet out of the airing cupboard. Doyle was still pressed hard into the corner of the cold, tiled wall, trembling violently, and he flinched away from the offered towel and turned his face into the wall.

"Sweetheart...it's...it's me, Bodie...it's only me, love," Bodie said softly and he tried to wrap the towel around the naked man but Doyle seemed intent on burrowing through the wall. Realising Doyle was no longer aware of his surroundings and was still lost in his terror, Bodie closed the gap between them, ignoring the whimpering wounded animal Ray had become and tried to break down the barriers between him and reality.

Once his nakedness was covered Doyle seemed more conscious of his actions but the petrified fear remained on his face and in his eyes, the image burning through Bodie's self control and forcing him to accept that he had brought Doyle to this. Everything he had done for his partner since their very first meeting had been ruined by his impatience, his need to possess all Doyle had. He had seen the same desperate fear in Ray's eyes once before--and that had been his fault as well--when he had pinned him to the wall, held him down to be forcibly sedated, tranquillised and imprisoned.

Half carrying, half dragging him, Bodie struggled to get his precious burden out of the shower room, steering him into the nearest bedroom and settling him on the double bed. Not trusting himself to speak, not possessing the words that could make everything right again, Bodie patted the damp, shaking body with a corner of the enveloping towel--Doyle passive under his hands but still flinching if he moved too fast.

Shock, Bodie thought numbly when he saw the wide open eyes that watched his every move, the grey face and continuous shudders that racked the lean frame--not aware that he was exhibiting the same symptoms himself. Shock, it was only to be expected, he thought, a distant and far removed part of his mind continuing to function normally; rape would cause shock.

Rape.

For over two years he had fooled himself into thinking he was Doyle's protector and now he knew the truth; even Albert Kingsley, for all his evil games, had never managed to rape Doyle.

But he had. He could remember feeling the wriggling, squirming body trying to get free of him; trying to get away. He remembered holding the bony hips even tighter and thrusting into the gloriously tight channel as he forced himself into Doyle.

He could remember raping him. Very clearly.

Backing away from the curled figure on the bed Bodie knew that he had destroyed everything with his selfishness. Unable to bear the evidence of his crime, he fled from the room.

---

For a long time he just felt cold. Cold to his bones and then even deeper. Impossibly cold. And then he began to wonder where Bodie was. After a while the cold lessened but he felt no warmer and still he wondered about Bodie. Looking around, blinking at the morning sunshine that crept into the room warming his face, he wondered why everything looked so unfamiliar. Then he realised--he was in Bodie's room, on the spare bed. He lifted his head and looked around. "Bodie? Where are you? Bodie?"

But there was no answer. Puzzled, he sat up, wincing at the dull ache and sharp twinge of pain low in his back and then the reason why flooded back. But what had happened? The thought ran around inside his head. He recalled everything, every touch as the slick fingers manipulated him so cleverly, the heat burning his senses, the memory--even now--still warming him. But then Bodie had left him, he hadn't been there and all of a sudden the cold threatened to engulf him again but he slammed a door on the memory--Bodie had been there, of course he had been there--Bodie would make it all right--Bodie would explain everything and make it right. But where was he, Doyle thought, and how the hell did he wind up in Bodie's room? Pulling the big towel around himself and holding it closed he rose to his feet and walked stiffly toward the door. "Bodie--where are you?" On legs that were decidedly shaky he walked unsteadily into the hall. A soft noise caught his attention and he listened. He followed the direction of the soft repeated sounds to the bathroom where he found Bodie sitting on the floor, knees hugged to his chest and his face buried in his arms crying, his whole body shaking as he wept.

"Bodie?" Hearing the quiet voice Bodie looked up and Doyle gasped when he saw the red swollen eyes and blotch stained face. "What's wrong, love?" he asked, too stunned by the unexpected sight to move.

"Just--go away," Bodie said brokenly. "Go away."

"What?" Really concerned now, Doyle stepped into the bathroom but froze when Bodie's attitude suddenly changed.

"Didn't you hear me," Bodie shouted at him, his face contorted into a twisted parody of its usual good looks. "Don't you understand plain English? Go away. Get out and leave me alone. Just leave me alone!"

"But why?" asked Doyle, bewildered by his partner's behaviour. "What's wrong, tell me what's wrong."

"I said get out!" Bodie yelled and struggled to his feet. "Just...get the fuck out of here--get away from me!"

Doyle was unable to miss the loathing and hatred in the harsh voice and knew that Bodie meant every word. But what on earth had he done to hurt him so badly--and the realisation came crashing down. "Oh Bodie, I'm so sorry," he started, knowing that mere words could never repair the damage he'd done. "I don't know why I did that--I couldn't help it. It just...happened. I know I should have trusted you--but I couldn't--I'm sorry--"

"You're sorry!" Bodie repeated harshly, his voice thick with shame. "Oh god, you're sorry!" Fresh tears welled up in the already swollen eyes and he turned away to face the wall.

Seeing that Bodie was shutting him out Doyle panicked and crossed the few feet separating him to grab the broad shoulders and pull him around to face him. "I couldn't see you, Bodie--I knew it was you--but I couldn't see you," he shouted, he didn't even hear what he was saying, fear of losing Bodie and anger at himself for being so weak forcing the words out of him.

"What did you want to see, for christ's sake?" asked Bodie, his voice cracking again as huge sobs rose up from his chest. "You really wanted to see me fucking you--oh really! Well you didn't miss much. It wasn't very pretty...pretty ugly in fact. I'm sorry--I'm so sorry--"

Doyle refused to be shut out and pulled him into his arms, wrapping them both in the large towel. "Come on, let's get out of here," he said, steering them back towards his own room. Their room.

Pushing Bodie to sit down on the bed, Doyle dropped the towel and grabbed at his robe quickly, tugging it on before sitting down beside him, seating himself carefully and remembering again why he felt so sore; he smiled and wished he had been able to enjoy it. Next time, he thought, once I've sorted Bodie out.

But, as he tried to slip his arms around Bodie to offer whatever comfort he could, he suddenly stood up; Bodie seemed calmer and more in control but clearly tense and very agitated.

"It won't happen again," Bodie said, the words sounding like a very solemn promise. "I'll not touch you again, it'll never happen again--"

"Why?"

The question surprised Bodie and he seemed lost for words. Doyle had to repeat his question. "I'm not like...like him," Bodie said, his face twisting at the thought of the man.

"Like who?" asked Doyle, now even more puzzled.

"Kingsley! I'm not like him--I won't...I can't treat you like that...didn't mean to hurt--oh christ, go away, Doyle, just get away from me," he tried to push Doyle away but his arms were caught and held in a firm grip.

"Bert? Bert Kingsley?" repeated Doyle. "I know you're not like Bert--I don't understand what's wrong--"

"I'm not like him!" Bodie shouted. "And I won't treat you like he did--I won't--I can't treat you like some...animal!"

"Fine," Doyle said softly. "I never thought you would. Slowly, things were making sense; he now recognised the hatred and loathing in Bodie's face for what it was--Bodie didn't hate him, he hated himself. He glanced over at the clock and wondered how the hell he was going to sort the mess out before reporting to Cowley's office. Bodie saw him look at the time and thought he knew what Doyle was thinking.

"I'll ring in and tell them you're sick," he said in a hollow voice. "Do you--are you...you should see the doctor--"

"What for?" asked Doyle.

"You can't go in--I'll say you're sick."

"There's nothing wrong with me and I don't need a doctor."

"You must," Bodie insisted. "You could be--I hurt you--"

"I am not seeing a doctor," Doyle said flatly. "Bodie--will you please just calm down for a minute and listen to me--"

"But you must-- We can work out some story--he shouldn't make any report to Cowley--"

Doyle listened in amazement as Bodie began concocting an elaborate tale to tell the doctor that wouldn't reveal the true nature of their relationship. Bodie was insistent about the doctor but it was more than him just feeling protective and Doyle was at a loss as to why he felt a visit to the doctor was necessary. "Because you...fucked me?" he asked, the coarse word ugly and out of place in the quiet bedroom. When Bodie nodded he relaxed slightly. "I didn't notice you running off to see the doc the times I've done it to you. Hell, if every bloke who got himself screwed ran to the doctor the queue would go from--Lands End to John O'Groats!"

"Rape's different," Bodie said softly, so softly in fact that Doyle almost missed the words.

"Rape!" He felt his heart miss a beat. Was that what Bodie had thought? "Love, you didn't rape me."

"No?" Bodie's head snapped up, his eyes suddenly blazing. "Don't give me that--I know what I did."

"But it wasn't rape," Doyle repeated helplessly.

"Oh no--do you often get your jollies whimpering and cowering in the corner when someone tries to fuck you?" Bodie asked scornfully, furious with Doyle for trying to pretend he'd no objections to what had happened.

"But I wanted it--I wanted you, Bodie--you can't rape someone who's willing--"

"You like it like that?" Bodie snorted in disgust, it was impossible to believe and he wouldn't--couldn't--believe it, but he took in the assurances, twisted them around in his angry, hate-filled mind and threw them back out. "You must have been really disappointed then when that screw broke up your little party--or maybe you hoped he'd want a piece of your arse too--" Doyle's hand connected hard with Bodie's cheek, the slap loud in the stunned silence.

For a few minutes neither man moved nor spoke, the room silent save the sound of their rapid, hard breathing as they each fought for control. Eventually it was Doyle who broke the silence.

"I know you don't really believe that," he said quietly. "I'm not exactly sure what went wrong just now but one thing I do know--you did not rape me. I knew exactly what I wanted you to do to me this morning. I wanted you--all of you--to make love to me properly. To fuck me, screw me, bugger me--choose which ever words you want--but I wanted you to love me. Okay, I'll be the first to admit that I didn't...enjoy everything that happened in there--but whatever went wrong, whatever the reason, it was me; something inside me. I wanted you--but suddenly--oh, I don't know...I only remember feeling scared. Maybe I did freak out--I can't remember too clearly, but it wasn't you, Bodie." Doyle head his breath, willing his partner to believe him and sagging, his knees suddenly turning to jelly when he saw Bodie give a heavy sigh and turn to him, all the anger drained away leaving him looking tired and pale.

"Ray?" Bodie opened his arms, inviting but not expecting, and then holding on to him tightly.

---

Fully aware of the outcome of the shooting tournament, Cowley was not surprised to see a pale, drawn face sitting opposite him at the briefing; he had, however, expected the face to belong to Ray Doyle--it was rare to see Bodie looking so subdued. "Are you ill, 3.7?" he asked abruptly when it became obvious the man was barely paying attention.

"He's got a touch of something, sir," Doyle volunteered.

"Laryngitis I presume," replied Cowley and he glared at Doyle.

"I'm fine sir--just...had a rough night," Bodie offered, hoping to deflect Cowley's wrath.

"If this is what happens when the squad comes second--"

"I'll keep my eye on him when we win, sir, don't worry about that," Doyle interrupted, earning another baleful glare. "You were saying something about the Home Secretary, sir," he prompted his boss.

With a stare that would have had most men squirming in their seats, Cowley picked up his report and scanned it once more before resuming the briefing. It wasn't until he caught sight of the two men hours later in the small area that served as a canteen that Cowley realised he was seeing something different about the pair--but he was hard pressed to identify the difference.

Bodie still looked subdued, although the grey tinge had left his face and he moved easily, following Doyle, who was carrying a small tray with both their late dinners on it. As Cowley watched they settled at a table and Doyle leant across to whisper something to his partner; too far away to hear, he only knew that Doyle's words had the effect of making Bodie smile. He knew he was watching something unusual happening but still could not say what and not knowing annoyed him. Doyle leant forward and whispered something else which made Bodie laugh a little, the smile making his face light up from the inside.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Cowley felt as if he were spying on something intensely personal and private; unbidden, the pushed away memory of his discovery of the two men curled up together, sleeping on the old stained mattress in the warehouse, came back to him. Those two were close--but how close he didn't know. He thought he knew Doyle's history well enough to know that the Albert Kingsleys of the world had ensured he would never voluntarily adopt the role forced on him in prison--but seeing the two men as they ate and talked unaware they were being observed, George Cowley began to wonder.

---

Accepting the plate and mug, Bodie grinned at his partner. "Ta, me stomach thinks me throat's been cut."

"Your own fault, sunshine, should have eaten something this morning," responded Doyle with a told-you-so expression on his face. The reminder of the morning wiped the smile off Bodie's face. "Don't look like that. It'll be all right, you'll see," Doyle promised.

"Oh yeah--sure it will," Bodie replied, clearly unimpressed.

"Be fun working at it," Doyle said as he took a bite of his cheese roll.

"You think so?"

"Well, let's face it," Doyle said, fighting with a bit of tomato that was trying to escape onto his lap. "After this morning's fiasco you've got to admit that things can only get better."

"Be a bit hard to get any worse!" Bodie said glumly.

"Fuckin' impossible," agreed Doyle cheerfully and choosing his words with care.

Bodie grinned, his spirits lifting in the face of such persistent optimism. "Okay--but if it's all right with you I'd rather we didn't try again just yet--let's leave it for a while, shall we?"

Thinking about how very tender he was in one particular area, Doyle was forced to agree.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Macklin tied the final lace on his trainers and checked the time once more. They were cutting it a bit fine, he thought irritably. He viewed his allotted task for that day with a jaundiced eye; despite what the men thought otherwise, he enjoyed the inevitable refresher courses as little as his 'victims'. If they were operating at peak efficiency, they wouldn't need to come to him; therefore, their very names appearing on his work schedule meant they were lacking the fine cutting edge and it was his job to sharpen the blades once more. Failure to do any less could mean another unnecessary accident or death.

Macklin knew he could deal with Bodie; it was only Doyle who might now prove to be problem. A certain level of antagonism was necessary--crucial even--if he was to force the right response from the agents. Sometimes it was easy to provoke them into a serious attack or defence; at other times it was less so. It was never easy with Doyle, who remained a determinedly defensive fighter and, following their recent social contact, Macklin was seriously worried that the man might refuse, both consciously and subconsciously, to fight with any real aggression.

Sounds from the far end of the warehouse drew his attention and he watched them enter. The sight of Doyle ambling in relaxed and loose-limbed through the huge doors slightly ahead of his partner caused Macklin to suck in a breath and he knew he had been right to worry.

The session began with the partners being forced to fight each other on the mats; immediately Macklin saw the reason why George Cowley had sent them for re-training. "Go for it, Bodie--he's not made of china!"

Hearing the order shouted across the floor, Bodie braced himself to release even more power against the slighter man; Doyle, already tiring and no longer fresh, could only continue to defend himself and prepare to attack if his opponent made a mistake.

The end was inevitable.

"Break!" At the command Bodie levered himself off Doyle and collapsed onto the mat. "Right then," Macklin said briskly. "Doyle, it's my turn now. Sit on the bench, Bodie," he ordered.

Exchanging wry glances, the two agents re-positioned themselves, Bodie watching carefully as Macklin wiped the floor with his partner. Then it was his turn.

During the afternoon as he continued to evaluate their performance, the burly instructor found himself watching Bodie carefully and was pleased to see the punishing attack he dealt out to the other instructor who was fresher by several hours. Doyle's efforts were less spectacular but still impressive. Shorter and lighter than his opponent, it was obvious he was going to lose the battle eventually--but he was still managing to hit and hurt and was capable of taking advantage of a mistake.

When a halt was finally called, Macklin eyed the four panting men with a detached, frosty glare. "Colin, Towser--you've finished for today. You two," he nodded at Bodie and Doyle who glanced at the departing men with envy, "you've got five minutes to get your second wind and then you've got me. All to yourselves. And, unless you show me a reason why you don't need it I'm going to tell George to send you back here tomorrow. You're slack. You're both too slow and too sure of yourselves. Five minutes--and then you've got me."

Watching Macklin leave the vast room, vanishing into the small box-room that served as his office/rest room, Bodie turned to Doyle. "Do you remember," he said when he had the breath to spare. "Do you remember a time in the not-so-distant past when you actually thought that Macklin was a nice bloke?"

"He's okay," Doyle said, lying back on the cold, hard mat, eyes closed and chest heaving. "It's his job. That's all."

"To kill us?" Bodie asked, his voice pitched higher than usual.

"He won't kill us--not intentionally, anyway," Doyle amended truthfully. "Mack's all right."

"Just because he's on the shooting team doesn't mean he isn't a sadist!" said Bodie emphatically.

"Give over, Bodie. Save your breath because I think you're going to need it."

"If he thinks he's coming over to our place again to drink my bloody booze after treating me--us--like this, he's got another thought coming!"

"Maybe that's why he's coming so heavy," Doyle said in a thoughtful voice.

"Eh?"

"Well...think about it. This must be as difficult for him as it is for us. One minute we're the best of friends whooping it up together and then the next it's his job to whip us into shape to make sure we're not killed next time we go out on a job."

"Balls!" Bodie replied in a sour voice. "The man's a sadist."

"It's a job--that's all. Nothing personal." Doyle calm tone was almost blocked out by a harsh bark from the doorway to Macklin's office.

"On your feet, 4.5. And you, 3.7. Time's up. Now the real work is going to begin." Macklin's whole stance was one of the controlled menace and he was pleased to see the wariness return to the two men's eyes as they got to their feet and stood, legs braced, ready for his move. He had overheard the whispered conversation and Doyle's words had confirmed his suspicions. "You don't seem to be taking me seriously, 4.5," he said coolly, deliberately allowing the light to play on the blade of the knife. He didn't pull back when he aimed at Doyle's belly and was pleased at the speedy withdrawal; keeping one eye on Bodie, he forced Doyle to dance around the mat just ahead of the lethal blade.

Watching every movement, Bodie's eyes followed the two men as they feinted and attacked, saw Doyle discover a knife of his own embedded in a wall form an earlier session. There was blood oozing from tiny cuts on both men by the time they finished, Macklin's knee on Doyle's chest and a blade resting on his exposed throat.

Curling onto his side once he was released, Doyle drew great gulps of air into his lungs and tried to ease the ache in his back.

"Okay, sunshine?" whispered Bodie.

"No," panted Doyle. "He's a fucking sadist!"

"Told-you-so," Bodie replied smugly. "An' look out 'cos it's my turn now."

"Go get the bastard, Bodie!" Rolling over until he managed to get his knees under him, Doyle pushed himself upright to watch Bodie and Macklin fight, his eyes widening in shock as he saw the vicious black rods and chain the instructor had picked up.

Macklin saw the widening eyes and knew he was on the right track. It had taken a threat to his partner during the last session to get a serious attack from the smaller man. Primarily a defensive fighter, Doyle had to be forced to use the deadly skills he learnt on the mats and it was important that he get the techniques right before employing them in a life-threatening situation on the streets. Antiseptic, emotionless, technical perfection was acceptable for the gymnasium; adrenalin surges and controlled rage coupled with the same technical perfection was what Macklin tried to force into his sometimes unwilling pupils. Some, like Bodie, found the lessons easier than others. Doyle always struggled.

Moving closer to Bodie, Macklin remained aware of Doyle sitting to one side of the mat; a few attacks on Bodie to convince him he meant business and then he'd set about convincing 4.5 of the same thing.

Rising slowly to his feet, Doyle watched anxiously as Bodie dodged the flailing sticks, the warehouse reverberating with bangs and crashes as they smashed against stone walls and floor--if they touched fragile flesh and bone the damage would be too terrible to even think about.

Colin and Towser, dressed in fresh tracksuits, returned to stand on the opposite side of the mat to Doyle. Intent on the fight already in progress, Doyle didn't notice Towser step onto the mat until the knife in his hand flashed in the light. Without hesitation Doyle stepped towards him, his own knife gripped tightly, dodging and attacking, weaving in and out; Doyle and Bodie found their attackers would change over without warning, the knife useless against the extended reach of the flailing sticks.

Suddenly, with a choked groan, Towser sank to the mat clutching his balls in obvious agony and Bodie moved to assist his partner.

Watching the way the two agents communicated with their eyes and minute changes of expression on their faces, Macklin began to get a glimpse of how they operated and survived on the street. Together they were good--and yet he still found it hard to believe that Doyle did not rely on his partner's strength and skill to watch his back. Doyle, Macklin decided, needed to harness some of his partner's aggression.

Judging the distance to a hair's breadth, Macklin cracked the flail towards Bodie's rib cage, his shout, triumphant and vicious, aimed solely at Doyle.

Crouched low to avoid the swing of bone-smashing wood Doyle saw the swing that only just missed Bodie's ribs. The attack had been deliberate and he retaliated, knowing only that he had to prevent another blow.

Rocking on his heels where he had leant back to miss the flail, Bodie only just looked up in time to see the blur of movement and see Macklin crash backwards to lie flat, arms outstretched and unmoving.

The warehouse was suddenly silent as three pairs of shocked eyes watched Doyle stand over the fallen man.

"Jesus!" whispered Towser, his voice still husky as he recovered from the blow to his groin.

"Mack?" Standing over the instructor ready to retreat if he should be faking it, Doyle looked down at the relaxed face. "Mack...are you all right?" Unwilling to show too much concern in case the other man was still faking, Doyle was unable to mask his concern.

"He's out cold!" Bodie whispered.

Colin pushed Doyle asked and felt for a pulse, one hand resting on the throat and lifting the closed eyelids with the other. They watched in silence as he checked the body over and all saw the reddening burst of colour on the white throat that was already turning blue.

"Towser, call an ambulance," Colin said after he'd completed his examination. "His heart and respiration are okay but he's really out. Look at his throat--he's lucky not to have a crushed windpipe!"

"He didn't move." Doyle finally moved from his statue-like position. "I was so sure he'd move, but he didn't--I had to pull back at the last second. Why the hell didn't he move?"

Colin's fingers touched the bruised throat carefully. "It feels okay. His colour is good and he's breathing fine--but if you hadn't pulled that blow...." his voice trailed off.

"I could have killed him. Christ...why the hell didn't he move? He was watching me--why didn't he move?" Doyle asked the silent men.

Laying a blanket over Macklin after Colin had turned him onto his side into the recovery position, Bodie put a hand on Doyle's shoulder. "He'll be okay, it'll take more than you to put Macklin down." But Doyle refused to be comforted or reassured.

---

Within minutes the ambulance was there and Macklin, still unconscious, was loaded into it and rushed away to hospital. The session clearly over, Bodie and Doyle quickly freshened up and then took off for the hospital to check on Macklin's progress.

Conscious, Macklin saw Doyle's worried face and managed a wry grin. "My own stupid fault," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "And don't worry about Cowley. Colin will give him my report stating...you're not to blame--I got what I asked for, exactly what I asked for."

His own throat feeling sore in sympathy, Bodie stood back as his partner approached the bed; even during their drive to the hospital Doyle had still been furious with the burly instructor for taking what he considered to be dangerous risks. Sorry Doyle might be--but apologetic he certainly was not.

"Why the hell didn't you move?" he demanded, his voice belligerent and face set in a grim mask. "You should have moved--I expected you to move!"

"Wanted...to push your buttons," croaked Macklin. "And they're working...just fine. And that's what I'll tell Cowley--my fault...I under-estimated you...wasn't expecting you...so fast...or so bloody hard..."

With Macklin's voice no more than a thready whisper by this point, Bodie stepped in and told him to shut up. "We'll catch you tomorrow when they send you home," offered Bodie generously. "Buy you a drink to ease your throat."

Even the thought of swallowing was sufficient to make the patient go grey and Bodie tugged on his partner's shoulder drawing him out of the room. But, hanging back at the door Doyle stopped dead, unwilling to leave before he could have his say. "Look," he began awkwardly. "I am sorry you're laid up and hurt but...but I'm not sorry I went for you--you bloody well asked for it!" he ended, his expression betraying his anger.

"I agree," said Macklin. "And...I promise...you that you'll...never catch me out again!"

Uncertain whether Macklin was seriously threatening or merely stating a fact, Bodie finally managed to extricate his bristling partner out into the corridor--and smack into the patient's next visitor. George Cowley.

"Sir--" began Bodie quickly.

"Not now, 3.7," Cowley cut in. "I do not have time to listen to your version of this afternoon's events. I have enough to do without discovering my senior instructor has been incapacitated by one of his pupils!"

"He asked for it!" snapped Doyle, his bad mood getting steadily worse.

"I don't doubt that, 4.5," rapped Cowley. "It is his job after all!" and he glared at Doyle almost daring him to enter into an argument.

"It was an accident--he provoked an attack and then wasn't prepared for my response--"

"I have seen the preliminary report, 4.5. There is no need to be so defensive."

"I'm sorry he's hurt but he should--"

"4.5, will you stop this now," Cowley cut across Doyle's protests. "According to Colin Mason's report, there is nothing further to be said. Macklin made an error of judgement and is paying the price."

"Too bloody right he is!" said Doyle, who by now was beyond seeing the wary face of his Controller. "It wasn't a wild punch--I aimed at what I hit--he should have seen it coming. I was perfectly in control."

"4.5, that is enough!" Cowley barked, his patience exceeded. "There is no case to answer to. Macklin has already admitted to an error of judgement and Mason agrees that you were in no way at fault. There is no need to concern yourself with this matter."

Deciding to drag his partner forcibly from the hospital if he had to, Bodie said a swift goodbye and then pulled Doyle along with him. "Leave it out, Doyle," he hissed once out of Cowley's earshot.

"Don't tell me to leave it," Doyle jerked free and glared at Bodie. "That stupid idiot lets me half kill him because I'm better than he thinks and they could throw me to the wolves! I could have killed him--don't you understand that. With my bare hands! If I hadn't pulled back at the last...Jesus Christ, Bodie. I could have killed him. Smashed his windpipe and killed him. And then what? They say I'm too dangerous to be let out on the streets! They'd have me under lock and key at the Beeches so fast...Jesus Christ--can't you see what might have happened?"

Bodie was stunned. Shocked by Macklin's sudden and unexpected downfall he had been only mildly surprised by Doyle's anger; he had thought Ray was over-reacting but now understood the reason why. "Come on, sunshine," he said, the inadequate words the best he could manage when he finally realised how upset his partner was. "Let's go home," the warm smile on his face and that very special tone in his letting Doyle know that he did understand and once they were safely home and away from prying eyes he would make everything all right again.

"There is one bright side to all this," Doyle ventured as they arrived outside the block of flats that was home. "This should prove to the disbelievers on the squad that I don't hide in the corner and let you fight my battles."

Locking the car door and walking back into the block Bodie replied in a casual voice. "Nah--they'll just think he slipped on some freshly spilled blood and knocked himself out." Recognising the truth of the observation did little to improve Doyle's mood.

---

Feeling Doyle slip into the bed and move across to wrap one strong arm around his shoulders, Bodie felt himself tense up but managed to roll over to face his lover.

"How's the headache?" Doyle asked softly, his finger tracing a line over Bodie's eyebrows before rubbing in smooth circular motions over one temple.

"Not so bad."

"Good," said Doyle as he settled down beside him, easing his body even closer so that Bodie felt the hot, dry skin against his own. "You smell so good." Doyle inhaled the scent of soap, shampoo and Bodie, the fragrance he had grown to love.

"It's your stuff--I thought it a bit fragrant myself," Bodie joked weakly, knowing Doyle wouldn't fail to notice how he jumped every time the sure hands touched him in a sensitive spot.

"Knew I had good taste," Doyle said arrogantly before taking possession of the open mouth. They kissed for a long time but when they pulled apart Doyle looked into a pair of worried blue eyes. "Tell me what's wrong," he ordered gently.

"Nothing...I'm must tired, that's all. Being chucked around a gym all day is hard work."

"That's all?" asked Doyle, shifting position to be able to look down at his partner. "And last night? And the night before that?" he pushed gently. "Oh, Bodie...you've not touched me since that morning. I keep telling you it wasn't rape, why won't you believe me?" Closing his eyes, Bodie turned his head away. "Bodie? Bodie listen to me," urged Doyle. "I know you won't hurt me; you couldn't. Don't do this to yourself. You can't really believe that you raped me. You just can't!"

"I do know...I know that--in here." Bodie tapped his head but then placed his hand over his heart. "But in here, inside me, I...I could never hurt you like that again. I just can't treat you like that--so don't ask me to try it again."

"Okay," said Doyle quickly realising that words were never going to reassure Bodie--particularly when they didn't seem to reassure him either. "I won't ask you again--just come here and let me hold you. Please. I need to hold you."

Bodie could hear the need in the husky voice and turned his head on the pillow; seeing the expectant look he moved into the open arms but immediately felt himself tense up again. "I can't, Ray. I'm sorry but I don't feel like--"

"Shut up and give us a cuddle, that's all I want. Just a cuddle." He eased Bodie into his arms and settled them down, fully aware of the tension in the strong body that slowly faded as Bodie finally accepted that a cuddle was all he was being asked for.

Later, holding the sleeping man in his arms, Doyle remained awake for most of the night, his mind going back over the past week starting from the fiasco in the shower; from there things had gone from bad to worse. Bodie had been very shocked by what he thought he had done and had been subdued ever since, the looks and comments from various people they knew proving that Cowley had not been the only person to notice something different about them.

At work everything had been business as usual, but once off duty Bodie returned to his strange mood and seemed prepared to follow Doyle's every whim--except when they were in bed. The first night he had been tired; the next it was very late and they had an early start in the morning, then it was tiredness followed by another early night before facing Macklin and now tonight, it had been the standard put-down. A headache.

Glancing up at the darkened ceiling Doyle felt his inside knot. After the attack in Maidstone he had suffered the agony of impotence for almost a year and he could still remember the dreadful fear that he was somehow incomplete. Turning his head slightly he could just make out the dark shadow beside him; he could only hope that whatever Bodie's problem was it didn't take so long to resolve. The only cure, the best cure was already in his grasp. Love and patience in equal measure freely administered as and when necessary. Squeezing his arms tighter around the broad frame, Doyle closed his eyes and tried to sleep...

---

...The stained tiles gleamed under the harsh naked light and the shower heads dripped continuously, the pitter patter splashes loud in the otherwise quiet room. Voices, distant and indistinct, sounded at intervals and heavy footsteps on endless metal staircases came closer and closer, the sound growing louder the closer they came. The sounds changed as the footsteps moved from the stairs to the stone balcony and walked towards the room he was in.

He knew who was there. The deceptively gentle voice with its Welsh lilt called him again. He knew, from the confident tone, that this time was different.

"Come on, Doyle. You know what I want so why not make it easier on yourself? Come over here and be friendly."

He stared hard at the tiled walls, refusing to turn around, hoping and praying they would go away. But they didn't and then they had him; hurting and hitting and touching. Stripping him, one large meaty hand silencing his cries for help and almost suffocating him.

More footsteps and someone else arrived but not to join the others and take his turn. The black boots and trousers belonged to the screw who was pulling the men off, throwing them out of the room.

"Don't fret, sunshine," said a familiar voice. "Everything's going to be all right. It's all over, sunshine."

Bodie. Bodie had made them go away. The relief washed over him and at first he didn't notice that the helping hands finished stripping him until he was pushed back down on the floor.

"Bodie?"

Hands, hard and bruising, pushed his shoulders down and pulled him up onto his knees.

"Don't fight me, sunshine," said Bodie.

The familiar voice pushed his fear away; Bodie wouldn't hurt him. But then the hands held him even tighter and something blunt, hard, and hot pushed at the entrance to his body forcing its way in. "No... No...don't..." he cried and tried to break free.

"Ray--hold still. You'll hurt yourself."

"No. No!" He struggled furiously, kicking and hitting out in an effort to escape and all the time he could hear Bodie, feel him. At last he managed to break free of the restraining hands and started to turn around to face his tormentor.

"Ray--don't--don't fight me please."

Staring in the face of his tormentor Doyle felt the screams building up inside him. The voice belonged to Bodie but the mouth, the face and loathsome, hurting hands and body belonged to Albert Kingsley.

"No! No!" Doyle screamed out. "Don't...don't...no more...please...no more..."

---

"Ray!" Bodie struggled to get a better grip on his terrified partner. "You're dreaming. It's just a dream--just a dream."

"Bastard! You bastard...let me go...let me go."

"Ray! Wake up--for Christ's sake--it's only a dream." Finally managing to pin the struggling man down and cover him with his own body Bodie cupped the tear-streaked face in his hands and forced the wide open eyes to look at him. "You're awake, love. It was just a dream, you're safe. There's no-one here except you and me. You're safe. It's all over now. It's all over." He carried on talking until he saw the eyes focus on him and felt the body beneath him relax.

"A...dream... Just a dream?" His voice shaking and his whole body still trembling, Doyle still looked frightened.

"Just a dream, Sunsine," Bodie said softly. He watched as the green eyes darted around the bedroom seeking reassurance from what he found there.

"A dream-- Oh God! It was so real..." Doyle closed his eyes, covering his face with his arm.

"Was it your usual dream...nightmare?" Bodie asked quietly.

"What usual dream?"

"I don't know. Whatever it is you have nightmares about. Is it always the same one?" Bodie asked, guessing that if only Doyle could be made to talk the dream through it may not be such a problem in the future.

"Don't know," Doyle mumbled. "Never remember that much about them as a rule."

"Can you remember what this one was about? I had a hell of a job waking you up," Bodie said, reluctant to admit how frightening he found Doyle's nightmares. "You kept fighting me."

"I was fighting them...him...you," the words tumbled out as unwanted fragments of the dream returned to him. He opened his eyes and looked at Bodie. "At first it was...can't remember...Ward and his gang, I think. Then," he screwed his eyes shut to catch the dream before it vanished. "A screw was there...but I thought it was--he sounded like you. And then you--he--started...he wanted me...like Ward--but I thought it was you until you hurt me and then," Doyle's eyes remained open but Bodie could tell he wasn't seeing the bedroom or him. "I turned round and it wasn't you. He had your voice but he wasn't you. It was..."

"Who?" pushed Bodie.

"He had your voice but was Kingsley...pretending to be you."

Mentally cursing Albert Kingsley to hell for all eternity, Bodie slid off Doyle and lay beside him, easing him into an embrace and rubbing his hands up and down the sweat-slick body calming and reassuring him. It was the first nightmare since they had begun their relationship and Bodie realised they should both have expected it after the mess in the shower last week.

"What time is it?" asked Doyle.

"Early, we've got another hour or so before we have to get up. Go back to sleep--alarm's set," said Bodie, voice smooth and calm.

"Can't," said Doyle.

"Just lie quietly then," replied Bodie. "Get some rest."

Neither of them slept but they remained unmoving and quiet until the alarm jolted them both from a light doze.

It was fortunate that they were on standby duties that day, for neither had the inclination nor energy for anything else, Doyle even too tired to respond to the grudging congratulations delivered by other squad members who had heard about 4.5's 'spot of bother' with Macklin. Even mild suggestions of foul play and embroidered truth fell on deaf ears.

He felt only slightly fresher than his partner who, Bodie gathered from the heavy eyes and dark rings, had slept very little before the nightmare had gripped him. "Put your head down," he suggested midway through the afternoon. "It's quiet now, you never know when you'll get the chance otherwise."

"I can't sleep in here," replied Doyle, longing to do just that.

"Make yourself comfortable in the armchair. No one'll see you in the corner--and I'll wake you if anything comes up."

"Well," Doyle looked at the armchair. "While it's quiet. You sure you don't mind?" he asked as he made himself cosy, his eyes closing the moment he was seated.

Bodie smiled at the speed that his partner accepted his suggestion. "Go on. Promise I'll wake you if you start getting twitchy," he added with an understanding grin.

The rest room was fairly peaceful for the next hour, little of the noise from the Ops room intruding. For most of the time only the two of them were in there, Bodie taking the opportunity to catch up on some long overdue reading while Doyle slept on in the chair.

Immersed in the final report of on particularly gruelling operation completed during the summer, Bodie didn't notice anyone enter until a cup of tea was thrust under his nose.

"It's like the reading room at the British Library in here!" Lake said quietly. "Rip Van Winkle looks nice and comfy--hectic day?" he asked, one eyebrow climbing into his hairline, eyes twinkling with good humour.

"Seen more excitement at a mortuary," replied Bodie, accepting the tea gratefully. "How about you?"

"Eyeballs at the house belonging to the boyfriend of the Iranian Ambassador's wife--or is it the Iranian Ambassador's boyfriend's wife? Whichever it is no one's doing anything worth watching."

"What--not even an exotic belly dancer or two? Sounds about as exciting as watching Doyle sleep the afternoon away. I could do with some excitement."

"Don't tempt fate," warned Lake. "Personally, I don't mind a quiet spell now and again; you must admit it's been hell all summer."

Grunting reluctant agreement, Bodie returned to his reading, grinning to himself when he saw Lake pick up a spare file to read. The door flew open a short while later, the wood banging hard against the wall as Murphy all but bounced into the room at a gallop.

"Afternoon. Any hot water in the kettle?"

"Yes--and keep the noise down," replied Lake as, he pointed out the sleeper who hadn't stirred.

"Oops. Sorry," whispered Murphy. "Anyone else for tea, coffee?"

Two more agents arrived in time to add their cups to the tray and the place began to buzz with different conversations being struck up around the room, yet everyone keeping their voices down without prompting from Lake or Bodie in consideration of the sleeping man.

When George Cowley entered, he was almost stopped dead in his tracks at the quiet scene before him. The rest room was usually the noisiest in the building with arguments and conversation happening on various levels; the peaceful sanctuary he suddenly found himself in was almost unnerving.

"Bodie?" he snapped out, searching the room.

On the far side, sitting near to Doyle, Lake muttered irreverently to Murphy. "Typical, he sits in here all bloody afternoon and the second he nips out for a slash the Old Man yells for 'im."

"Where is Bodie?" Cowley demanded of the whole room.

"Little boys' room, sir," piped up a voice from the back.

"Typical," snorted Cowley unfairly. "And Doyle?"

"Over there, sir." Bill Jamieson politely pointed out the man who was sleeping the sleep of innocence in the tatty armchair.

Clicking his teeth in exasperation at the sight of the relaxed sprawl, Cowley moved further into the room. "Doyle! 4.5!" he barked. When the call had no effect he crossed the room and bent down to shake him awake.

Murphy was on his feet before he even thought of the consequences, his arm reaching out to intercept Cowley's. "Sir, I wouldn't do that if I were--" His words of warning came too late and the whole room watched in shocked silence at what happened next.

As soon as George Cowley's hand touched his shoulder Doyle erupted out of the chair, shook the hand off and swung out with a closed fist catching the older man right in the face--sending him flying backwards. By the time Ray Doyle woke up, Cowley was already flat on his back on the floor.

"Wha'? Who the hell... Jesus! What did you go and do that for?" Shaking the sleep off Doyle regarded his audience with wide eyes. Then he looked--really looked--at the man lying at his feet and his mouth dropped open. "Sir?"

No one moved and in the stunned silence Cowley climbed rather unsteadily to his feet.

"Sir?" Horrified at the implications of what he had done, Doyle could barely speak.

One hand held to his face, Cowley struggled to regain composure and dignity and it was Murphy who finally came to the rescue.

"You should get that seen to, sir," he said respectfully. "Have a seat and get your breath back." The mention of a chair got all the men moving and Cowley had a choice of half a dozen thrust towards him for his use.

"I'm...fine," he managed to say, his face muscles already stiffening in protest.

"Sit down, sir--and you," Murphy pushed a hand against Doyle's chest topping him back into the armchair.

"What happened?" came the loud query from the doorway as Bodie returned.

"Mr Cowley," said Lake in a properly respectful tone that bore only the slightest hint of suppressed laughter, "Mr Cowley woke Ray up."

His eyes darting from Ray's dazed expression to Cowley who was sitting on one of the chairs and holding his face, the swelling and glowing redness already visible, Bodie guessed what had been left unsaid.

"What the hell did you think you were playing at?"

Hearing the vicious tone and undisguised sarcasm Cowley lifted his head to defend Doyle--only to find himself the recipient of Bodie's anger. For the second time in as many minutes Cowley was clearly speechless, the remarkable fact did not go unnoticed by the men gathered in the room. The initial shock gone, the men exchanged broad grins and began to really enjoy the spectacle.

Oblivious to the by-play between his colleagues, Doyle stood up and moved towards Cowley, the enormity of his actions all too clear, shame, embarrassment and cold dread warring for first place inside him. "Mr Cowley... Sir... I'm really sorry."

Murphy took another look at Doyle's stricken face, saw the way Bodie was glowering at Cowley as if prepared to hit him as well and decided that for the three men the incident was no laughing matter. "I think a cold compress is what you need, sir," he said smoothly, one hand tucking under Cowley's armpit and pulling him upright. "That was one hell of a risk you took sir, trying to wake 4.5 up like that. I thought everyone knew better than to touch him when he's asleep." Murphy allowed a touch of surprise to colour his tone, clearly implying that the fault lay with the older man.

Halfway to the door they passed by Lake, who was purple in the face from lack of oxygen, just as he let out a breathless snort. Cowley stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at him and then the others; he saw the barely restrained hysteria present in all of them with the exception of 4.5 and 3.7. Unfortunately, his usual icy glare failed to have its normal impact; his left eye was already closed, the swelling taking on a wonderful rosy-blue tone which made the baleful glare from the normal ice-blue eye all the more ridiculous.

"Is something amusing you?" Cowley enquired stiffly.

"Er... No...sir!" A high pitched, strangulated squeak all the unfortunate agent Cowley had picked on could muster.

"I'm pleased to hear it," Cowley said and turned his head to glare again at the rest of the men--but his action revealed the left side of his face even more clearly to the struggling Lake.

It was the last straw and Lake gave in to the inevitable, his collapse setting the others off, and snorts of muffled, choked laughter erupted behind hands, newspapers and carefully turned backs throughout the room.

Pulling his shattered dignity around himself Cowley lifted his bruised face, squared his shoulders and left the room smartly--not so much a retreat as an orderly withdrawal. Following closely behind him, Murphy thoughtfully closed the door as they left.

For thirty seconds the noise in the rest room remained subdued giving Cowley time to move away--when it came the eruption was loud and prolonged, Bodie and Doyle the only ones oblivious to it.

"What the hell happened, Ray?" he asked under the roars of laughter.

"I don't know," replied a very worried Doyle. "I was asleep and I think he tried to wake me up--I don't even remember hitting him."

His eyes still watering but his breathing more or less under control, Lake draped a companionable arm around Doyle's shoulders. "Don't look so worried, sunshine," he hiccuped. "Serves the old bastard right--everyone knows not to touch you when you're sleeping."

"They do?" Bodie and Doyle both asked at once.

"Course we do," Lake told them. "We've seen how he does it." He pointed at Bodie. "He practically sits on you, holds you down until you're properly awake. If Bodie had been in the room Cowley wouldn't have had the chance to touch you!"

Doyle looked at his partner in amazement. "Bodie?" He could hardly believe what Lake was saying; he had never realised that his unconscious dislike of being touched was known to the squad.

Bodie responded with a shrug of his shoulders, he had no idea how the others managed to notice something which even they had rarely spoken about.

"3.7. Why are you still hanging around up here?" The loud voice cut through the noise and confusion in the room and Bodie turned to see Don Henry, the day's Duty Officer, standing in the doorway, hands on hips and a disgruntled expression on his face. "You've had your orders so get moving," he rapped out.

"What orders?" Bodie enquired, only mildly interested.

"Didn't Cowley tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"You're to relieve McCafferty in the Box. His wife's gone into labour and he's waiting to join her at the hospital."

"The Box! But that's down to Henderson's lot to deal with," protested Bodie.

"They're short-staffed right now," said the Duty Officer irritably. And McCafferty is waiting for you to get down there before he can leave--so move it!"

"How long am I there for?"

"Until you're relieved!" Henry said, his voice implying it could be until Hell froze over.

"My shift ends in half an hour," Bodie pointed out in a plaintive voice.

"Until you are relieved, 3.7," Henry repeated. "You are on stand-by duty--that means you go where you are needed."

"But the Box!"

"If McCafferty Junior arrives without McCafferty Senior present you are not going to be very popular--move it, 3.7!" At times it was fairly obvious to everyone that Don Henry had joined CI5 via the army parade ground. The soldier that remained in Bodie stood to attention and moved smartly out of the room.

"What about me?" Doyle asked, calling out as Henry and Bodie moved away.

Henry paused to look through the sheets on the clipboard he habitually carried. "You may as well sign off and go home. Cowley doesn't seem to want you for anything."

The Duty Officer's word echoing around in his head, Doyle followed his partner blindly down the staircase leading to the second-level basement.

McCafferty was waiting for them, his impatience to be gone obvious. "Thought you'd never get here! It's all yours. Keep your eye on thirty-seven, it keeps coming up but it's usually a false alarm. Forty-two's got builders on the premises so the alarms are out but the cameras are working."

"When's your relief due?" Bodie called out as the man began to run off up the corridor.

"2 am--I've only just come on--stupid cow waits until I leave home before she starts the bloody contractions!" the prospective father grumbled.

"Two o'clock!"

"Oh, just one thing before I go," McCafferty stopped at the door to the stairs and called back. "The armoury system has been playing up. Jack Crane will want to test it before he locks up so don't panic when the bells go off--just ring him and he'll clear it. Right--I'm gone."

It was as quiet as the grave down in the basement, all the hustle and bustle of CI5 taking place several floors above them. It was the first time Doyle had even realised there was a second basement level and he looked around curiously. This level was clearly much smaller than the basement he was familiar with upstairs; behind locked doors equipment could be heard humming away, keeping CI5 in operation night and day.

"What is this place?" he asked when he'd finished checking the locked doors and dark corridors, and peered into the small room Bodie had entered. "Can see why they call it The Box."

"It's the main security terminal for all CI5 premises outside of this building. All the alarms are wired up to this lot," Bodie waved a hand over the impressive display of screens lights, and switches. "When you open your window without dealing with the alarm first this place goes nuts--lights and bells go off all over the place."

Doyle flicked an uninterested eye over the electronic equipment; he had too much on his mind to listen to the explanation. "Bodie--why has Cowley ordered you down here and me to sign off?"

"'Cos he bloody well hates me," Bodie complained, throwing himself into the only chair in the pokey room.

"What do you think he'll do about me hitting him?"

"Duck next time he tries to wake you up!" Bodie said, too angry to notice how worried Doyle really was.

"I think I really hurt him."

"He deserves it," Bodie said sourly. "Deserved everything he got. Sticking me down here, I shouldn't have to waste my time vegetating in this hole--"

"What do you think Ross will do when she hears?"

"Cheer!" Bodie guessed. "She's getting right pissed off with the way he mucks her about. Next time you hit him, Ray, try a bit more power; maybe you'll get lucky and knock his head off. Sending me...me, down here! Who the bloody hell does he think he is?" A light on one of the boards flashed on and a bell above their heads rang loudly, making Doyle jump and Bodie swear. Checking the clipboard hanging on a hook beside the console Bodie picked up the telephone and dialled out. The person who picked it up at the other end gave an explanation that did not amuse Bodie. "Yeah, well next time open the fucking window after you deal with the alarm.... So, is that my problem? Well go and buy yourself a can of air freshener and stop eating Indian takeaways!" Bodie slammed the handset down and re-set the alarm.

Doyle ignored the by-play and continued his depressing train of thoughts. "First Macklin, now Cowley--Ross'll start wondering who I'm going to lay out next!"

"Well if she's got half as much intelligence as she pretends to have she'll have the sense to keep out of your way, won't she."

"But Cowley--"

"You didn't hit the Old Man hard enough--if I'd known he put me down for Box duty I would have landed one on him as well. Christ, I can't believe this, seven hours sitting on my backside counting flies and watching you snore the afternoon away and then he sticks me down here for another seven hours! Fourteen bloody hours of non-stop, unrelieved, tedious, mind-boggling boredom!"

Bodie continued to bemoan his lot, complaining at length about the Box, George Cowley, CI5 and the unfairness of life in general without pausing for breath. In fact it was some time before he even noticed that Ray was no longer there at all.

---

Lost in thought, Doyle wandered back towards the day room which was now empty. Absentmindedly pouring himself a cup of coffee and then putting it to one side and instantly forgetting all about it, he wondered how long it would be before they got around to looking for him.

The sudden clatter of feet passing the door made him spin on his heels, eyes wide and tensed in readiness; but the steps passed on by without even pausing. Slowly he relaxed; not just yet then, he thought. It would, he reasoned calmly, take Cowley a while to call Ross and discuss the situation. He already knew the conclusion that would come, too; first Macklin and now George Cowley, he would have to be put where he couldn't cause harm to anyone.

Or harm to himself.

The thought of returning to The Beeches or another place like it filled Doyle with dread. The security fences, ever vigilant cameras and placid, persuasive doctors with their tranquillisers and needles...already he could feel the doors bolting shut behind him.

But it wasn't his fault! The thought, in his mind from the very beginning surged forward and demanded recognition. It wasn't his fault. Macklin had been inattentive and Cowley had failed to notice what apparently was common knowledge amongst the rest of the squad. Even Macklin knew better than to touch him when he was asleep.

The knowledge that he was not in the wrong fuelled a slow burning anger that pushed his fear aside. He wouldn't let them put him away again--and he wasn't going to hang around headquarters waiting for them to come and get him either.

He was halfway across the car park when his anger faltered at the unexpected sight of Kate Ross running towards him, he stopped, held immobile as his fear returned in full force. She was coming to stop him from getting away.

"Ooff--" Kate staggered off balance as she ran headlong to the man standing in the shadows. "Oh--I'm sorry, didn't see you there. Good night, Ray." Stopping only long enough to apologise, she neatly side-stepped him and moved towards the car behind him. She already had the car door open and her briefcase stashed inside before noticing he hadn't moved.

"Ray, is something wrong?" Flustered and aware that she was going to be late for her evening appointment she did not pick up on the way he jumped at her question.

"Er...no...nothing's wrong." Doyle managed to return her good night greeting and gathered his scattered wits together before moving over to his own vehicle.

Pausing at the red light a few hundred yards away from the CI5 building, Doyle sagged against the wheel, weak and dizzy from relief. Calmer now he laughed at his attack of paranoia, finding it easier to ridicule his fears than accept the reasons behind them. The driver of the car behind him honked his horn furiously and Doyle put the car in gear and got going again. Were CI5 agents allowed to be paranoid? he wondered. No-one seemed to object to his being claustrophobic--maybe one more mental hiccup would go unnoticed. By the time he arrived home he was laughing, giggling to himself every time he recalled the wave of sheer terror he'd experienced when he'd seen Ross running towards him.

Anyone seeing him humming to himself as he punched the buttons on the lift might have thought he was slightly drunk.

---

Just before midnight Bodie had an unexpected visitor. Even in the soft light of the desk lamp the bruising on the older man's face was spectacular. Unable to contain it, Bodie's comment shattered the expectant silence. "Very nice, sir. Best I've seen in a long time--be even better when the colour comes out tomorrow."

"Thank you 3.7," said Cowley, his tone resigned, a trace of amusement poorly hidden in the sarcasm. "If one has to have a black eye, I suppose the least one can do is have a really decent one."

"When do you see the Minister next?"

"Tomorrow morning--or should I say, later on this morning. No doubt it will give us a starting point for our talk. The issue of the new gymnasium is on the agenda--I keep telling the Minister that you men need the training, exercise and recreation space, perhaps now he will believe me." Cowley touched the side of his face with gentle fingers. "And of course, the matter of dormitory accommodation has been swept aside long enough. It is time stand-by agents had a bed to rest in."

"Even in a bed he would still have landed you one," Bodie said, his voice amused even as he tried to puzzle out why he was being honoured with the late night visit.

"I daresay," Cowley agreed. "Your relief will be here in another hour or so. Doyle went home, I presume?"

"Yes." Bodie answered cautiously, he was beginning to get worried; George Cowley never indulged in idle chat and he was taking an uncommonly long time to get to the point.

"How is the flat sharing working out?" Cowley enquired.

"No problems, apart from Doyle pinching my socks and leaving the lid off the toothpaste," Bodie responded.

"It would appear to be a new trend, I have received three more requests for similar arrangements. The accommodation office is hoping the trend continues as it saves them work and the department a lot of money. Pausing, Cowley looked across at the young man, turning his head to see him better with his one, open eye. "Whose idea was it for you and 4.5 to share?"

The diminutive Cyclops still managed to be as powerful and intimidating as a regular two-eyed Cowley and Bodie fought the impulse to squirm in his seat. "It was a mutual decision sir," he said, then knew he had to explain further. "The flat accommodation gave him a few months back was hopeless. Just when he felt he was ready to go it alone they dumped him in a place that had burglar bars at the bedroom window." Cowley's start of surprise told Bodie that he had not been aware of the mistake. "There was no way Ray was going to move in there--but he was reluctant to turn it down giving his...claustrophobia as a reason."

"He continued to live at your flat when you were undercover. We did wonder why he chose not to move out." Cowley's observation enforced Bodie's long-held suspicion that his partner's movements and behaviour was still closely monitored.

"It was big enough for both of us, then it was time for me to move and we decided to go in together," Bodie said casually, wondering how much they had got away with. He knew from experience that very little escaped George Cowley; Ray was convinced that providing they didn't do anything daft no-one would ever discover their true relationship. Bodie wasn't so sure.

"I would have thought that working together the hours that you do, you would welcome a break from each other's company."

Bodie was sure that he knew. "We get on okay," he said, choosing his words with care. If Cowley wanted to know something he asked. Beating around the bush simply wasn't his style--it was as if he wanted to reassure himself of the facts without actually being told anything. "We don't exactly live in each other's pockets, he goes off with the shooting team every chance he gets and I've got my friends. The flat's big enough for us to give each other space if we need it."

"I'm sure it is," Cowley said nodding his head and then wincing as the movement set up the painful throbbing once more. "Doyle appears..." he hunted for the right word. "Happy. Is he happy?"

Bodie was taken aback by the real concern in Cowley's voice and manner and replied honestly. "Most of the time he's happy enough. Every now and then he remembers something...gets a bit blue, but not for too long. I don't think he'll ever forget everything."

"He certainly seems more settled--apart from the last day or so; I feel that Macklin and I are both guilty of not paying sufficient attention--"

"You can say that again," said Bodie emphatically. "You both asked for it."

Cowley blinked with one eye, the fervour of the young man surprising him a second time. Bodie was as fiercely protective of Ray Doyle as that young man was of him. "I daresay we did--and we have both learnt our lessons. Also," Cowley gave a conspiratorial grin. "I seem to recall you sporting an equally colourful eye during the first few months of your teaming."

Bodie grinned, remembering the painful whack his new partner had delivered to his poor nose.

"Why does he react so violently? It was observed at The Beeches but he refused to discuss it--or if he did it was, of course, in medical confidence," Cowley's voice trailed off and he looked at Bodie obviously wanting to understand but unwilling to pry where he was not welcome.

Guessing the man's reasons Bodie knew he could trust him, knew it would go no further.

"You know about Albert Kingsley and the rumours about the relationship they supposedly shared?" Bodie's face twisted as he spoke. "It was partly true, not that Ray was ever willing. The bastard would wait until he was asleep and then he'd try to tie him down. Sometimes he succeeded and then...I don't think he ever managed to rape Ray--not properly anyway--but even so the bastard managed to hurt him." Bodie's memories of how he had hurt Ray, how he had succeeded where Kingsley had failed caused him to dry up, the words sticking in his throat.

Neither man spoke for a while, their own thoughts of Doyle's ordeal wrapped around them. Later, once Cowley had left and Bodie's replacement finally arrived he realised that he had never found out why Cowley had sought him out.

Driving home, eyes dry and gritty with fatigue, he went over the conversation again; surely the Cow hadn't found him just to ask him if Ray was happy? He was still puzzling over the problem when he opened the front door to the flat. A noise from the bedroom at the end of the hall drew his attention. At first he thought Ray had heard him arrive and was calling out to him, but then the noise came again, a cry wordless but full of fear, which sent Bodie running into the darkened bedroom. The light from the uncurtained windows spilled over the man lying in a huddled ball in the centre of the rumpled bed.

Trapped in a nightmare, the noise of Bodie's arrival twisted itself into the fabric of his dream, causing Doyle to curl even tighter into a foetal ball.

"Ray?" Bodie spoke softly, his voice full of concern and tenderness. "Wake up, sunshine--it's only a dream." He wanted desperately to touch him but knew that it would be stupid; as soon as his weight disturbed the mattress Doyle would lash out. "Ray--wake up, love. You're safe. You're safe now."

Doyle became motionless, his body went rigid and he seemed to stop breathing. Bodie repeated the words again, willing Doyle to hear him and wake up.

Eventually Doyle's eyes opened, and focussing quickly, he scanned the room, settling finally on Bodie's worried face.

"Bodie," he said thickly and then released the breath he had been holding. "You're home." Not a question, more of a statement, he seemed to accept Bodie's presence. Wiping the beads of perspiration off his face with one hand, he uncurled and pushed himself upright, reaching over to turn the bedside light on.

"Ray," Bodie began, puzzled by the abrupt change. Doyle usually seemed upset by his nightmares, this calmness was unnerving. "You didn't hear me come in, you were having a dream...another nightmare?"

Rolling away from the light Doyle turned his back on Bodie. "How long have you been home? What time is ?"

"Nearly three o'clock--"

"What!" Doyle grabbed his wristwatch from the bedside table and checked the time. "What on earth did you wake me up for?" he said waspishly and hunched back down under the covers.

Unaware until now how much he had enjoyed having Doyle turn to him for comfort after a bad dream, Bodie felt rather disgruntled. Stripping efficiently, Bodie rolled back over and cuddled up to him. "Sorry that I woke you--but you were dreaming, looked like another bad one."

Doyle wriggled around a little, scratching at an irritation on his leg and then rubbing his nose on Bodie's shoulder and giving Bodie a noseful of thick, tickly curls. Smoothing the curls away, and settling himself more comfortably, pulling Doyle's arms more securely across his stomach so that the bony elbow didn't stick into him the way it usually did. "Do you remember what you were dreaming about?"

For a long time he didn't think Ray was going to answer and when he finally did, his voice was hushed. "I remember...sort of."

"Want to talk about it?" Bodie whispered, his lips brushing the slightly damp forehead.

"Just a stupid dream--all mixed up," Ray said, reluctant or unable to put the images into words.

"Talking about it might help. Was it your usual one?"

"Yes...no...yes and no. Like I said, it was all mixed up. I can't really remember it all now, just bits and pieces. People and places and things happening...all mixed up."

"What sort of things?" Bodie prompted gently.

Beside him, Doyle shifted to lie on his back, the sudden rush of cool air making Bodie shiver.

"It was strange, it wasn't real, none of it. All the people were mixed up as well, Bert, my mum, you, George Cowley, the doctors out at The Beeches, the staff from Repton, screws from Maidstone. All mixed up. Like something out of Colditz; I was trying to get away from this place I was in and my mum was helping me--but the people I thought were on my side weren't, only Mum didn't know that. People were chasing me with syringes as big as rifles."

"What was I doing in your dream?" Bodie asked when Doyle became quiet.

"Can't remember now...it's all gone." Doyle shifted again, cuddling up close to Bodie once more. "It was odd dreaming about my mum," his voice sounded sad. "I can hardly remember what she looked like any more."

"Were you close to her, to your parents?" Bodie asked.

"Mum, yes, not really close to Dad, though. All we ever did was ever did was argue. He favoured John and I suppose Mum always backed me against them. Dad and John got on really well, two of a kind I suppose," Doyle told him easily, the tension leaving his voice. "But I suppose it must have been hard for Dad to suddenly have another kid when I came along. He was used to John who always did what he was told."

"Big age gap between you and your brother, is there?"

"He's thirteen years older than me. We've the same dad but different mothers," he explained. "My mum was Dad's second wife. John's mum died during the war."

Bodie almost groaned as he took in the quiet words. He knew from bitter experience what the trauma of a second marriage could do to a child. "It must have been hard for your brother to accept a new mum and baby."

"No. John loved my mum--it was just me he hated. We've never really seen eye to eye on anything. But he always complained that Mum took my side in any arguments. He wasn't that wrong either, because she mostly did.

"Dad was a real tyrant sometimes, laying the law down about what we could or couldn't do. When it came time for me to leave school, she helped me to stand up to him. If it hadn't been for her I would never have got away."

"Away from what?"

"I've told you before, Dad wanted me to join him and John in the business. But I wasn't having any of that and so I left home as quick as I could." Doyle managed to get the words out around a jaw-breaking yawn.

"Ray--"

"For crying out loud, Bodie, go to sleep. I've got to be up in three hours."

"I only wanted to know what business--"

"Go to sleep!" Doyle silenced him with a wet kiss. "Good night, lover."

"'Night sunshine," Bodie gave in. "Sweet dreams."

---

As soon as he saw his partner enter the room Bodie poured him an extra coffee and called him over. "Where did you vanish to?" he asked. Doyle had arrived at headquarters with him and then mysteriously disappeared a few hours ago.

"Thought I'd better go and find Kate Ross before she came looking for me," Doyle said, sipping at the coffee.

Concerned as to why his partner had felt the need to seek out the psychologist, Bodie took in the relaxed attitude of his partner and told himself there was nothing to worry about. "What did she have to say for herself?"

"She reminded me that I've got an open option to visit the clinic at Repton any time I want and that I don't have to talk things out with her any more," Doyle smiled as he recalled the tactful way she had told him that he was officially off the 'dangerous' list. "But I'd rather talk to her than to that nerd at Repton. I told her that I've been having some bad dreams again, went through what I can remember with her. We had a good talk." He leant forward to rest his arms on the grimy table top. "Then I told her how I felt about walloping Macklin and George Cowley. How I had just about managed to convince myself that the men in white coats were going to leap out and cart me off to The Beeches!" Doyle smiled at Bodie. "Yes, over-reacting I know, but it's what I thought at the time. For a while I was really scared, thought I'd blown it."

Bodie was aghast. He hadn't realised that Doyle had been so frightened by what had happened, and berated himself for his thoughtlessness. He should have known. "And what did she say?"

"Kate said that I've nothing to worry about. Macklin and Cowley were at fault and no-one--except me--expects me to be able to change my reactions overnight."

"So she's not going to pack you off back to the shrinks or have you stood down."

"No. As far as she's concerned they both got what they deserved. Said I needed a holiday, that I ought to get away from London for a while but you know what the duty situation is like. We're not due any leave for a few months at least.

"Obviously I can't go around slugging everyone but in these two instances my responses were justified. Macklin has admitted he overstepped the mark and Cowley was...just unlucky. Speaking of Cowley, have you seen him today?"

"Not yet, why?"

"I bumped into Puddle on my way in, he says the Cow's eye is pretty spectacular."

"Serves him bloody well right," Bodie said, still angry at being sent down into the Box for a seven-hour shift. "The mood he's been in lately I'm surprised no-one's hit him before."

"I think I know what's been bugging him," Doyle said conspiratorially, leaning forward to share his news. "You know how much fuss he makes about accepting Kate Ross's recommendations; how he's always saying how little he needs someone like her?" Intrigued, Bodie leant forward. "Seems like he's got his wish. She's leaving the department. Moving to that new Ministry of Defence place out in Essex."

"Well what's he so bloody miserable about--he's got rid of her, hasn't he?"

"He doesn't want her to go. Not because he wants her but because he'd rather have her than someone else."

Bodie laughed. "So now he's going to have to break in a new one. Any ideas who it is?"

"She wouldn't say; just said that she had made her recommendations. I think she only told me because she's obviously going to pass all my papers over to her successor." He pulled a face. "Don't much fancy that--took me long enough to convince her that I'm not likely to crack up when I find myself in a spot. Mind you--" he gave an embarrassed twitch. "After this little session of dream analysis she's probably not so sure about that now!"

"You told her about your dreams?"

"Why not--what I do remember is pretty vague, just the feelings I'm left with really. She said it was mostly just anxiety; me worrying myself about the consequences of blacking Cowley's eye and half killing Macklin." A movement over by the door caught Doyle's attention and he saw his friend Pat Kelly enter the room. Cowley wouldn't be the only person in CI5 to miss Kate Ross when she left the department.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Twisting round carefully, Doyle faced his still sleeping partner and smiled affectionately at the gormless, dead-to-the-world expression on the usually controlled features. His face squashed on one side by a pillow and his mouth slightly open, Bodie's image as a hard man was difficult to credit. As he watched, though, Bodie began to stir; a tongue tip, all pink and glistening slid out from between dry lips to moisten them and Bodie made a small noise in his throat.

Waiting until the second heavy eyelid rose to reveal two unfocussed blue eyes, Doyle leant forward and claimed the open mouth, his tongue slipping past lips and teeth, muffling the surprised sounds, "Morning," he said softly, his fingers smoothing one wayward short curl back into place behind Bodie's ear.

"Mornin'," was the husky response.

"Sleep well?"

Bodie prised one eye open again before shutting it quickly--it didn't feel like time to get up yet. "Wassa time?"

"Seven. Haven't got to be in until nine'ish," Doyle announced brightly.

"What you bin' eatin'?" Bodie asked, his voice as peeved as he could manage this close to waking up.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," replied Doyle, his concentration shifting from the wayward curl to the smooth skin covering Bodie's shoulders and chest.

"You feelin' fruity?" Bodie asked, his sleepy reluctance obvious but unable to prevent a shiver as warm hands touched him. Doyle withdrew his fingers and pulled away slightly, his disappointment making Bodie feel guilty. "Don't look like that, it's just--give me a few minutes to wake up, that's all."

"Don't look now, love," chortled Doyle evilly his hands burrowing under he covers once more, "but I think you're already up!"

As a familiar hand curled around an erection he hadn't realised he had, Bodie groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow and closing his eyes as Doyle squeezed and pumped him expertly. "Yes--but that's not...me, is it? That's just...just nature-oh-my-god! Not so fast-please-I-don't-want-to...oh yeah...that's lovely...just like...oh...mmmm."

Slowing the rhythm, Doyle bent his head to reclaim the parted mouth, pressing his own erect sex against Bodie, a circular motion of his hips ensuring the pressure and friction he needed.

"You awake yet?" asked Doyle a while later, his voice husky and breathless and he had to tap Bodie's face twice before gaining his attention.

"'M awake! Don't stop!"

Smiling at the urgency he had created, Doyle pushed the covers further down the bed; the room nice and warm thanks to the central heating, comfortable enough not to distract either of them.

"Ouch!" protested Bodie as teeth grazed over the sensitive head of his penis. "Watch it!" he cautioned.

"Sorry," apologised Doyle, "How's this?" Teasing the eye in the glistening head with his tongue, Doyle took the groan coming from somewhere above his head to be permission to continue.

Wide awake now, Bodie was helpless to do anything other than respond to the skilful, pleasure-giving hands and mouth--Doyle out of reach of more than desperate fingers tangled in his hair. As other fingers pierced him, soothing him with a cool slipperiness, he opened his body even wider, draping one leg over Ray's shoulders to give more access. Boneless with pleasure, he barely had the energy to roll over onto his stomach, and it was his lover's strength that lifted him to his knees.

For the first time there was no pain at all, only the sense of being stretched and filled, his muscles accepting the welcome invader. Pushing himself up off the mattress, Bodie straightened up, leaning backwards until he met Doyle's chest. Awkward at first, it took a few moments to get their weight balanced on their knees.

"Careful," Doyle warned in a breathless whisper.

"You...worry about your...self," gasped Bodie in return, the pressure and angle of Doyle's cock inside him feeling so different and even more pleasurable. He flexed his hips pulling himself away and then pushing back hard making Doyle gasp and wrap his arms tightly around his waist.

"O-my-god!"

"How does that feel?" Bodie asked.

Doyle's response was to tilt his pelvis back and forth, gently at first and then with a sudden, forceful thrust which caused Bodie to groan and sag in his arms, the dark head falling back to rest on his shoulder. "How does that feel?"

"Think...I've...died and gone to heaven..."

"That good," chuckled Doyle, his tongue licking a path along the corded neck muscle as his hands slid down the taut abdomen into the bush of thick pubic hair. Closing his fingers around the rigid shaft and snapping his hips powerfully, the tempo increased.

Bracing himself with both hands gripping the headboard, Bodie allowed Doyle to do all the work needed to take them both to completion. Afterwards, when time began to have some meaning again, he tugged the covers back up the bed and wriggled across the mattress, taking Doyle's lax, heavy body with him as he tried to get off a patch of cold, wet cotton sheet.

"Whatcha' doin', Bodie?" Doyle grumbled in protest.

"The bed's wet."

"Your bit of wet, isn't it?"

"That is beside the point," Bodie said but stopped wriggling and settled down to doze again.

It was quiet then until Doyle stirred and shifted up onto an elbow and flicked the tip of Bodie's nose with one finger. "You asleep?"

"Yes," came the hopeful response.

"Thought so," replied Doyle. "Guess what."

Wondering how on earth he could have been stupid enough to fix himself up with a partner that on occasions had a nasty habit of waking up bright and breezy, Bodie summoned the strength to respond. "What should I guess?"

"Do you know what I really fancy right now?" Doyle ran one hand lightly over Bodie's chest and belly, skimming over the still sensitive genitals.

"Again!" Bodie was shocked to hear how horrified he sounded.

"Don't you ever think of anything else?" admonished Doyle. "No, what I really fancy is--have we got any bacon?"

"What?" His mind still on sexual lines, the reference to food threw Bodie.

"Any of those mushrooms left? I'm starving hungry--could really enjoy one of your fry-ups; bacon, egg, mushrooms, tomatoes and a couple of fried slices." Doyle's mouth was watering at the thought of his meal. "We've still got time if we're quick. It's only just gone eight. You go and start the cooking while I use the shower first."

Before Bodie had a chance to protest, Doyle was already out of the bed and diving towards the bathroom. It wasn't long before he emerged clean, if still a bit damp around the edges, and took over the frying pan, telling Bodie to hurry up.

Stepping under the shower and letting the water wash over him, Bodie rubbed soapy hands over his body, a dreamy smile returning to his face as he washed away the last traces of their loving. Practise and experience had taught Ray to be a generous lover and he was well satisfied--this morning's loving had, Bodie knew, finally obliterated all his own painful memories associated with being fucked; the gentleness and erotic tenderness Doyle gave was all he needed to forget what had happened in childhood.

Turning under the shower, he knew that his body was undamaged; even the strong thrusts that had taken Doyle over the peak had caused him no discomfort. Touching himself with his fingertips, Bodie discovered he was a little tender but not sore, the ring muscle still relaxed enough to accept his exploring digit. It was a shame that he could never share these feeling with Ray.

The stray thought burst though the glowing aura of well-being without warning. His mood suddenly shifting, he rinsed the last of the soap off and stepped out of the shower.

It was no good wishing for something he could never have, he told himself harshly. Drying and dressing himself with sharp economical actions, Bodie reminded himself that he had to accept what they had and stop wishing for more; it was enough that Ray was able to accept his loving and offer what he could in return. And if he wanted more... Bodie squashed the hope firmly.

There was no more.

---

Stumbling through the outer office and into the deserted corridor the two men looked at each other in wide-eyed amazement.

"He's bloody cracked!" Bodie said first. "I'm not sick--neither are you--how the hell can he put us on the sick list if we're not sick?"

"Well," Doyle shrugged his shoulders, not really wanting to question their good fortune. "I suppose if Ross says we need a break I suppose we must do."

"Since when did George Cowley start taking notice of that frigid bitch?"

"Dunno."

"You don't suppose..." Bodie stopped, a wicked gleam appearing in his eyes.

"Don't suppose what?"

"Neither of us are due any leave until January are we?" Doyle shook his head, agreeing with him. "And when you saw Kate yesterday she told you you were just a bit anxious."

"So?"

"So she's told Cowley you need a break--and as I'm your partner and you need a nursemaid--I get time off too!"

"That still doesn't explain why the Cow's followed her recommendation--he's never agreed with her over me."

"Perhaps he's realised that," said Bodie. "Maybe he thinks that if he'd followed her recommendations in the past she wouldn't be leaving the department."

"She recommended that he kick me off the squad!" Doyle reminded his partner sourly.

"I didn't say he should have followed all her suggestions, only a few of the more harmless ones," Bodie corrected, soothing the ruffled feathers of his mate.

"She's still leaving though--isn't she?" asked Doyle, suddenly doubtful.

"I don't think our Kate would resign just to force George to accept her idea--no, she's going, but I reckon he's just woken up to the fact that there are worse things in life than Kate Ross."

"What?"

"Better the devil you know, as they say," recited Bodie cheerfully.

"That's all well and good," Doyle said, shock having now given way to irritation. "What the hell are we going to do for four days in the middle of November--and no I don't want to start Christmas shopping early! It's hardly worth going away for a few days and it'll be wasted just 'anging around at home."

"I'm sure we could think of something to do," Bodie said waggling his eyebrows. "Why not go home now--we could do the first thing that...pops up!" he leered.

"For four days!" Doyle retorted, disbelief clearly written over his face.

"Hmm...know what you mean. You never did have any stamina." He dodged the lethal sideswipe expertly.

They were home and making half-hearted preparations for an unexpected leisurely mid-day meal in their own place when Bodie suddenly had a brainwave.

"You any good at stripping?"

Skinning his knuckles on the cheese grater, Doyle blinked in surprise, then swore as the pain started. "Fuck it!" He sucked his bloody knuckles.

"And you complain about me having a one-track mind--and don't bleed all over the cheese!" Bodie pulled the plate and grater out of Doyle's hands. "Oh well, add a splash of tomato sauce and we won't be able to tell the difference. No, not stripping as in s.e.x.--stripping as in painting and decorating."

"Decorating?" Doyle couldn't believe his ears. "You're serious," he realised in dismay.

"I promised I'd do it for her months ago but..." Bodie hesitated. "With one thing and another I never had time. Come on, Ray. If you come with me and help we'll get it done in half the time.

Doyle felt himself go cold inside. Bodie couldn't seriously expect him to help decorate some girl's flat.

"Please," Bodie asked softly. "It's only two rooms, a tiny kitchen she wants re-painting and the living room done out. We could book into a nice hotel just down the road and she'd be so pleased. If I don't go up and do it for her soon she'll pay someone to do it and they'll rip her off something chronic."

Bodie was serious--but the mention of a hotel revealed that all might not be lost. "Okay," Doyle agreed, resigned to four days of hard graft. "Whose place is it, then?"

"My mum's," Bodie said, grinning broadly from ear to ear.

"Your what?" asked Dole.

"My mum--I do have one you know--I wasn't hatched in an incubator!" Bodie said defensively, his partner's surprise at the revelation rather more than he thought necessary.

"I know that," Doyle said weakly. He only just managed to stop himself from asking which mum it was--the Marks and Spencer gift voucher 'mum' or 'William's loving mother'. The fact that his partner had two mothers floating around somewhere suddenly struck Doyle as being unaccountably greedy--particularly in view of the fact that he didn't even have one. As a fresh wave of memories rose up to swamp him, Doyle became angry with his partner. "What makes you think I want to waste four days sick leave decorating your mother's house?" he demanded to know.

Bodie's grin vanished. "You don't have to come if you don't want to."

"But you're still going to go--without me if I say so?"

Bodie felt his heart sink. He'd been so sure Doyle would agree. "Yes. I'll still go. I've been promising to get up there since Easter. I'd planned going up there during our leave after the Parsali business..."

Doyle looked away as his partner's voice faded. "But then I went and got myself half-killed and kidnapped and you've not had the chance since then," he guessed. "Well...if she's been expecting you that long I suppose you ought to go."

"Come with me, Ray," Bodie asked quietly, his eyes begging him to agree. "You'll like her, and she'll like you--she's always had a soft spot for stray dogs," he finished ruffling the head of curls.

Doyle briefly considered the alternative--four days without Bodie. "We can stay in a hotel?"

---

Leaving their bags at the hotel Bodie had chosen for them, Doyle looked through the car window at the streets they were driving through, as faceless, characterless and tatty as some of the bleaker parts of the East End of London. Fifteen minutes away from their hotel they left the grimy town behind them and hit open country, the green lanes soon making way for a pretty very rural-looking village. Turning off the main road through the village into a side street, Doyle guessed their destination was close.

"What sort of place has your mum got then?" he asked. Since leaving London six hours ago, Bodie had not talked about her nor allowed Doyle to force him to open up about his family. Somehow understanding that his partner's family was not a topic for casual discussion, Doyle had managed to refrain from asking direct questions, and any indirect ones were either ignored or evaded.

"The council gave her a sheltered flat five years ago, it's small but she likes it. She's got some nice neighbours and the warden and his wife are really good, they keep an eye on her."

Doyle wondered at the reason for sheltered accommodation, he thought only really old or frail people got that. "What about your dad?"

"He died five years ago--he'd had a good innings, was over eighty. Here we are," Bodie announced and he parked in front of a modern block of flats surrounded by lush gardens.

Following his partner into the entrance hall, Doyle did some quick arithmetic--Bodie's father must have been in his sixties when he was born--he had thought his own father old at half that age. He stood behind Bodie as he talked into the smart entryphone. After a short exchange the door opened and he followed him through; ignoring the lift, Bodie ran up the stairs to the first floor. Dawdling behind Doyle caught his first glimpse of the woman he presumed was Bodie's mother.

Tall, almost as tall as her son, and skinny with the frailness of age, the woman stood still as Bodie swept her into his arms and gave her a smacking great kiss. Feeling strangely left out, Doyle waited to be introduced, unwilling to look away but wishing he was somewhere else.

"And you must be Ray," she said once Bodie had released her.

Unable to speak, a huge lump in his throat threatening to choke him, Doyle could only nod, unaware that his eyes were over-bright and his misery obvious to all.

Seeing her visitor's distress, she smiled knowingly at Bodie and then extended a gnarled, arthritic hand towards Doyle. "Come on in, if you've driven all the way from London you must be parched. There's a pot of tea waiting and dinner in the oven."

Hearing the welcome in the soft Merseyside lilt and with Bodie's arm curved around his back steering him in, Doyle entered the flat. The photographs which covered the entire length of the longest wall in the living room drew his attention immediately.

"My children," she said proudly. "And of course their children and even one or two grandchildren."

Bodie enjoyed the look of total bewilderment on his partner's face, the unhappiness banished by this new puzzle. He had known she would be good for Doyle; an injection of motherly love was well overdue.

"Where's my picture?" Bodie asked, knowing exactly what Ray was looking for.

"And when did you ever stand still long enough to be photographed?" she asked laughing. "I think you're over here...yes, here next to Angela and Colin--Angela's daughter was married last month, it was a lovely wedding--another picture for the wall."

Doyle bent down to look at the framed black and white snapshot of a very young but unmistakable Bodie.

"Here you are dear, your tea."

Accepting the cup and saucer, Doyle moved to sit on the sofa--but was unable to look away from the amazing wall of photographs.

"Thanks...Mrs Bodie," he added awkwardly as he took a biscuit from the proffered plate.

"Oh dear no," she said laughing, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm not Mrs Bodie--just call me Betty--or Mum; most people call me Mum, some of my children even called me Mrs Mum."

"They can't all be yours!" Doyle said, then blushed as he realised how rude he sounded.

"Oh yes, they were, all mine and my dear husband's for a short while, some longer than others. We took in one hundred and thirty seven children at one time or another. Lots of lovely children--even now I keep in touch with a lot of them and I've seen their own families growing up."

"Mum is my foster-mother," Bodie explained taking pity on his bemused partner. "I lived with her and Jack for years."

"This one was number one hundred and thirty seven--"

"They ran out of energy once they'd had me for a few years," Bodie joked easily.

"Get away with you," she laughed. "We were just too tired and too old to keep on taking in young ragamuffins like you. I was already fifty-five and my Jack was near sixty when this one was delivered to our doorstep by the Welfare woman. Just a few weeks she said--"

"And I stayed for eight years."

Listening to the banter, Doyle guessed that the story had been laughed about many times before.

"Not that we minded," said, Bodie's foster-mother. "He was such a lovely, sweet boy--I can still remember all those beautiful blond curls--you'd never think that to look at him now though. Keeps it so short he's nearly bald."

"Mum!" Bodie protested. Plagued all her life with dead straight hair, she had always nagged him for hiding the fact he had curly hair; he also knew that the way the conversation was going she was just as likely to drag the albums out and prove to his wide-eyed partner how blond and curly his hair had been.

"Oh don't look so worried, lovie," she said. "We won't get the albums out--not yet anyway. Now, who's for dinner. I do hope you've got good appetites both of you."

"I'm starving, do you need any help?" offered Bodie, following her into the small kitchen.

Watching them go, Doyle set his cup and saucer down on the table and looked around the flat. Apart from the photographs most of the furniture was fairly modern and of reasonable quality, only the old-fashioned framed photos and intricate lace chair back covers and mats on the sideboard revealing the age of the flat's occupant. Walking over to the pictures standing on the sideboard he picked one up--recognising the posed formality. A similar picture had stood on his mother's dressing table; his grandparent's wedding day with sombre faces, stiff collars and shapeless high fashion wedding gowns. The picture had stood beside one of his parent's, dressed in their war-time best, the windows of the registry office marked out with white crosses behind them and his brother John, a grim-faced five-year-old glaring furiously at the photographer and holding tightly to one of his father's large hands.

"Penny for 'em, sunshine?"

The quiet voice so close behind him made Doyle jump. He replaced the wedding picture and turned round. "Food ready?"

"Nearly. After dinner we're taking Mum into town to pick up the paper and paint and stuff. There should be time before the shops shut--she's already picked out what she wants and then we can get the rooms ready this evening to start in the morning. She's packed most of the kitchen stuff into boxes so there's only really this room to sort out."

"It'll be fun taking all those pictures down and then rehanging them when we're done," Doyle pointed out with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "Most people are happy with just one or two pictures--what the hell does she want wallpaper for with all that lot to cover it up?"

Bodie had already realised the photo-wall was going to be difficult. "She never used to have them all out. The old house was a lot bigger and they were spread through the rooms on mantelpieces and shelves. It's only since moving here that she had to put them together--I suppose it's that or hide them away in a box."

"Can't she choose a few special ones and put the rest away?"

"All her children were special," Bodie explained softly. "They could never have kids of their own and so they looked after other people's. Ever since Dad died she's been lonely--that's why the photos are out where she can see them."

"You really liked living with...with Betty and Jack?" Doyle asked stumbling over the couple's name. He simply couldn't call the woman Mum as she'd suggested; not even Mrs Mum--it was impossible--she wasn't his mum.

"The best parents ever--if I could've chosen my mum and dad they would have been them."

"How old were you when you came to them?"

"About four or five--I'm not too sure."

"And you stayed with them for eight years so you were...thirteen when you left," Doyle said, remembering the few personal details he'd read about his partner's history. "So you weren't here when you ran away at fifteen."

Bodie's expression changed abruptly, the light in his eyes going out. "No, I didn't run from Mum and Dad--that was from another place. I think dinner's ready."

"Bodie--" Doyle started to pull him back but hesitated when he saw the guarded look on his lover's face.

Turning in time to see Doyle change his mind, Bodie knew he was being unfair. He had already decided that bringing Doyle face to face with his past would bring all sorts of questions out. "Later, Ray," he said quietly. "When we're back at the hotel." He smiled gently and was relieved to see some of the tension leave his partner's face.

---

It was very late by the time they arrived back at their hotel room, tired and grubby from washing paintwork down and beginning to scrape the old wallpaper away.

"Toss you for the shower," Doyle suggested, a coin already spinning through the air.

"Tails."

"It's heads, I'll take the shower first," said Doyle, his shirt already off.

"Fancy a bath myself," replied Bodie as he peeled off the overalls, an old pair of Jack's that Betty had produced for him.

"A bit kinky that--fancying a bath," teased Doyle as he tossed his last remaining garment in the general direction of the chair.

"Well I suppose I must be a bit kinky--fancy you, don't I?" retorted Bodie.

"Do you still want to go down to the bar for that drink when we've cleaned up?'

Bodie thought about it as he threw himself to lie full length on one of the room's twin beds. "No. Do you?"

"Not really--especially as your mum's expecting us so early in the morning."

"Might as well have an early night then," replied Bodie, his gaze slipping to the empty bed.

"Have a cold shower and think pure thoughts," Doyle suggested guessing what was going on inside his partner's head.

"I am--pure lust," Bodie replied and licked his lips as Doyle collected his towel and washbag and vanished into the small bathroom.

---

His arms aching as he cleared the last patch of old wallpaper, Doyle gratefully sank down onto the old stool and took the mug of tea from Bodie's mum. "Thanks, Betty, you're an angel. Where's Bodie vanished off to?" he asked when he noticed that the kitchen was empty.

"He's just gone down to the chippy in the high street to fetch us some hot dinner. It was chips or cold sandwiches because I can't get to the cooker," she explained apologetically.

"Chips are fine by me--and Bodie doesn't need an excuse to eat them," he reassured her.

She laughed at that. "He always did have a good appetite. I can still remember the day he tricked my Jack into giving him a second dinner. Hollow legs, that boy."

"Still has," Doyle added. "You and your husband were very good to him," he said hesitantly uncertain how far to probe. "It must have been quite a wrench when he left you after so long."

Betty's eyes clouded over slightly and her expression became more subdued. "Well...we never expected to have him so long. A few weeks, maybe a month or so, but we'd decided years before he came never to keep a child for too long. It's too painful you see," she explained. "If they stay too long you stop just caring and start loving them--and then when they leave it just breaks your heart. After a while it just hurt too much and so we stopped taking in the long-term children--just took them in for a few weeks, maybe a few months, and then they sent us young William Bodie...apart from Edgar and Albert years before, our William stayed the longest." She smiled remembering her first meeting with the little boy.

"He was so excited the day he came to us," she told Doyle. "The Welfare woman brought him in her car you see. Caused quite a stir it did, the first car in our street it was, all the neighbours were on their doorsteps looking at what was going on. And our William--he'd never been in a car before. Oh dear, I can still remember the fuss he made when they first arrived and he had to get out of that car--he cried and cried and carried on so bad the woman had to promise he could go around the block once more before getting out. So round the block we went. Me, my Jack, the Welfare woman and that little scrap all squeezed inside that posh car and him waving at the neighbours and poking his tongue out at the other kids."

Doyle smiled as he pictured the scene--Bodie had always known how to get his own way.

Bodie's foster-mother's face became sad again as she continued. "Poor lamb--he thought he was having the best day of his life that day in the car. When he first saw me, he thought I was his gran come to take him home, and he really took to me. Sometimes it takes the little ones a while to settle into a strange home but not our William, treated me and my Jack as if we belonged to him right from the start."

"He's never spoken very much about his other mum," Doyle ventured carefully trying to give the impression he knew more than he did.

"That doesn't surprise me," said Betty, her voice tart. "That stupid woman doesn't have a clue about how to be a mother. It's a mystery to me why she keeps trying to make the poor lad like her."

"He still gets birthday cards from her."

"Huh--silly bitch she is. You can't buy a child's love, but she wouldn't learn. No, not that one, too hoity-toity for her own good, that one. Ah, here's our William--oops, better not let him hear me call him that though goodness knows why--it was good enough for him while he lived with us before." So saying, she went into the kitchen to hunt for the box that held the salt and vinegar.

Juggling the hot packets of food, Bodie tossed one over to Doyle, who fielded it expertly. The end of the first full day saw the kitchen half done and the living room walls stripped bare with the ceiling whitewashed and the undercoat already on the skirting boards and doors. Back at the hotel, even more tired than they had been the night before, they managed to visit the hotel bar for a brief half hour before climbing into separate beds.

Hanging wallpaper was a new experience for Doyle and one he found difficult to master. After hanging one piece upside down, saturating another to the point of disintegration and tearing three strips in a row, he finally conceded defeat and allowed his smug partner to demonstrate his perfected technique.

Betty was not best pleased when during the fight that followed, a bucket of wallpaper paste was spilled, the messy liquid oozing through the protective sheets of newspaper to the carpet. "Don't just stand there gaping!" hissed Bodie. "Mop it up."

"You kicked the bloody bucket over!"

"Only because you were pissing around!"

"Give over, the pair of you, before I knock your heads together!" said Betty in a no-nonsense voice. "Bodie, put the paper on the wall before the paste dries--Ray, go fetch the cloth from under the bathroom basin."

"Yes, Mum!" two voices echoed in unison. Betty and Bodie shared a secret smile as Doyle went in search of the floor cloth. Bodie had known she would be good for his partner; she was well used to dealing with emotionally scarred children in need of a little mothering and she never failed to get people to respond to her.

After three days of hard work everything was done, the debris cleared away and the photographs installed onto the newly papered wall.

"Well done, boys," mum said looking around her new-look home. "It's grand, just grand, thank you."

"Sorry it took me so long to get up here and do it," apologised Bodie, pulling her into a gentle hug and kissing her.

Pulling herself away from her foster-son's arms, she turned to Doyle, who was watching them enviously. "And thank you, lovie," she said giving him a kiss on the side of his mouth. "It's been really wonderful of you both to spend your holiday decorating this old girl's house."

Accepting the kiss, Doyle caught her up in his arms and squeezed her gently. "It's been a pleasure," he said throatily.

They spent the remainder of the evening at a quiet restaurant, lingering over their meal and talking about everything and nothing; friends, families and memories with Betty telling them both stories of the many children that had been lucky enough to spend some time in her care.

After seeing her home safely they returned to the hotel, the evening's warmth still affecting them, making them easy and relaxed with each other.

Pushing the bulk of Bodie's weight off him but holding on tightly just in case one of them should fall out of the narrow single bed, Doyle reached for the wadge of toilet tissue he had thoughtfully placed beside the bed, and wiped them both clean.

"I'll be glad to get 'ome," Bodie mumbled, his grip around Ray's waist tightening as the bed dipped and swayed as they cleaned themselves.

"Why?"

"You and me do not fit in a single bed!"

"You've been spoilt," Doyle said, his voice sleepy and affectionate. "We won't always have a king-sized bed. The next time we get moved we might end up with two regular doubles."

"I shall tell Cowley," said Bodie firmly, "that we need a king-size."

"Oh yeah," snorted Doyle, tongue darting out to trace the curve of throat up to the indentation behind one ticklish ear. "And when he asks why?"

"You'll think of an answer," Bodie replied confidently.

It was quiet as they lay together, too replete to move, yet too uncomfortable to sleep in such a cramped space.

"I like your mum," Doyle said quietly, his breath tickling bare skin near his lips and making Bodie shiver. "She's lovely."

"I knew you'd like her--everyone does. She likes you, too--but then, there's no accounting for taste," he joked.

Doyle laughed and gave Bodie the dig in his ribs he was expecting after such a comment. "She's easy to talk to, after five minutes I felt as if I'd known her for years."

"Well," Bodie said quietly. "She does know quite a bit about you. Every time I ring her she wants to know how you're getting on."

"You've talked about me with her?"

"She's always asking me what I'm up to," Bodie said defensively. "She doesn't know much about CI5 and she knows I can't talk about my work, so she wants to know everything else. She's known about you from the first month you joined us. She rang up one night and asked me what sort of day I'd had--you know, just for a chat--and it was the day after we'd had that row about your training programme. After half an hour of me bleating on about how bloody-minded you were, she always made a point of asking how you were progressing. And then this past year...well, she knows the bare bones of it because I kept postponing when I could get up here." Bodie felt Doyle stiffen in his arms and wondered whether he had been wise to speak so freely.

"I thought she knew," Doyle said finally. "She never said anything but--but I knew she knew." He pulled away from the encircling arms, Bodie letting him go reluctantly. "She's a lot like my mum is--was," he corrected. "I didn't have to explain much to her either; she always seemed to know." Slipping out of Bodie's bed and climbing into his own a few feet away in the dimly lit room, he added quietly, "If there was just one thing I could change in this fucking mess it would be for Mum to really know beyond any doubt that I wasn't lying."

A few feet away, the bed already growing cold, Bodie had nothing to say. Ray's mother had believed in the system that had found her son guilty and had died still believing in it.

"She did love you, Ray."

A heavy sigh and rustle of bedding was the only reply. Suddenly, too cold and lonely in the narrow single bed, Bodie crossed over to join a surprised Doyle.

"Bodie--"

"Shift over," he ordered gruffly. "I'm wide awake and freezing so give us a cuddle."

"Your hands are cold!"

"So warm them up."

Although neither of them would admit it, they were still both too wound up to sleep, the pleasure of being so close in the small bed not enough to compensate for the cramped insecurity.

"Tell me about your other mum," Doyle asked quietly a while later.

For a minute or two there was no answer, but then, just as he was beginning to think he was being ignored, Doyle found himself suddenly pulled and pushed into a different position to finish up lying full length on top of Bodie, his head resting on the smooth chest and strong arms wrapped around him holding him in place. A few wriggles and minor adjustment of arms and legs and they were both comfortable.

"She's alive," Bodie said finally.

"I know, I saw the birthday card she sent you," Doyle said.

"Nosy bugger," said Bodie tugging hard on a handful of thick curls. "She's never missed a birthday or Christmas yet."

The sarcasm wasn't missed and Doyle wanted to know more, to understand why his partner was so bitter.

"All it means sunshine, is that she uses a diary. Even I can remember birthdays if they're in the diary--and who the hell can miss Christmas?"

"You've never remembered my birthday," Doyle pointed out.

In the darkness Bodie pulled a face; the first year he hadn't known Ray's birthday; the second year the happy couple were courting and had celebrated the event with a romantic meal for two somewhere in the West End--gooseberries not invited--and this year his birthday had passed unnoticed as CI5 searched for his body, thinking him already dead. He sighed and pushed the memories away; what was past was gone and best forgotten. "She doesn't live very far from here, only a few miles. I don't see her and we never really got on--I hardly know her."

Still mourning his own mother, Doyle couldn't understand how his partner could sound so cold. "How come you went to foster-parents?"

"My gran died," Bodie said, his voice little more than a thread of sound in the gloom, his voice deep and echoing where Doyle's ear was pressed to his chest. "I lived with her, and when she died no-one knew where my mother was. I was only about four or five...not very old. The Welfare people put me with the Melias. I wasn't supposed to stay very long, but when they couldn't find my mother they left me there. She went round to Gran's place and found out what had happened. The Welfare brought her to the Melias' house. That visit is the first real memory I have of her." Hearing the poorly concealed hurt and bewilderment of the child Bodie had been, Doyle wrapped himself around his partner even tighter, blanketing him as if protecting him from the world. Bodie wriggled into the encircling arms and went on.

"She always turned up just before my birthday or at Christmas, with a great big box all done up with daft ribbons and bows. I had to open the bloody thing and pretend to like whatever stupid thing was in it and then kiss her--Jack would give me a belt round the ear if I didn't pretend to be pleased once she'd gone. They said I had to pretend because it made her happy. Jesus--I hated kissing her, she used to stink of make-up and perfume, I think she's why I hate getting stuck with girls who plaster it on and bathe in perfume, just that smell brings it all back--every bloody time!"

Hearing the harsh whisper Doyle's heart went out to the child-Bodie.

"Mum and Dad, my foster parents, were my real parents--she was just someone who came by twice a year to deliver a box and get a kiss. It was years before I realised who she really was. And before you ask--yes, I am a bastard," Bodie added tonelessly. "I stayed with Mum and Dad for so long they even thought of themselves as my parents and then eventually asked the Welfare people if they could legally adopt me. My mother refused permission."

"Why?" Doyle asked.

"Because she considered me her property--and, around then she got married. Her husband was divorced and already had a child, a boy a few years older then me, who lived with his first wife. As soon as she was respectably married the Welfare people let her have me back."

"What--just like that?"

"I came home from school one day and found the Welfare lady...can't remember her name now...my clothes and things were already packed and in her car. There hadn't been any warning, not that I know of, Mum and Dad were crying but trying not to--even the neighbours; the whole street was watching. I wouldn't go and the Welfare lady had to drag me into the car. I stayed with them for one day and then ran home--it was only a few miles away, but the Welfare lady came and took me away again.

"The second time I ran home she turned up with a policeman," Bodie's voice grew harder, all emotion gone.

"Jesus!" Doyle exclaimed. He had heard of similar stories and didn't doubt the truth of what he was hearing. Is that when you ran away for good--when you went to the coast and started on the ships?"

"No, not right away. I was still only about 12 or 13 then. I ended up staying with her and my step-father for a year or so. Every time it got too much I ran back to Mum and Dad's house. But it caused a lot of trouble. My mother got really angry and said Mum and Dad were enticing me away from her and the last time I ran to them dad was arrested--they tried to say he had kidnapped me.

"I can remember the headmistress at my school explained it all to me--how my natural mother had the law on her side and how Mum and Dad could end up in prison if I kept on running back to them. So I had no choice then, I had to stay."

"So that's why you finally ran away to sea?"

"No," said Bodie. "I was still too young. I managed to hold on for a bit longer until I was nearly 15." The story ended abruptly.

Pressed so close to him, Doyle felt him shiver and realised that the story had ended at the worst part. What had happened in the new home he wondered. "So," he probed cautiously. pretty sure he knew what was coming next. "You've got a step-father and step-brother. Any half brothers and sisters?"

"No."

"It must have been nice having a big brother though--wasn't it?" Doyle asked, he'd always felt that if he and John had been closer in ages they would have got on better.

"No."

"Didn't you like him?"

"No."

"How about your step-father?" Doyle held his breath expecting some kind of reaction but he was disappointed.

"No," Bodie answered calmly.

"Was he...was he okay? He was good to you?"

"He was okay, I suppose. He didn't bother with me very much," came the controlled reply.

Doyle was puzzled. He'd been sure it would have been problems with the step-father--he had come across cases similar when in the police force. "What was your brother like?" he asked, playing for time as he re-organised his suspicions.

"I hated him!" The placid front shattered and real, undisguised hate coloured the previously cool tones.

Doyle winced as strong fingers gripped his upper arms, biting into him painfully. "Bodie!" he protested.

"Christ, but how I hated him!" Bodie growled, his mind slipping backwards into a past he'd hoped was long forgotten.

"Why, what did he do?"

And Bodie remembered...

---

...He remembered how he had looked forward to that first weekend the boy, four years older than himself, was due to visit. The truth about his own visit to his mother's house had finally been explained to him but with a child's trust he still hadn't accepted that they could force him to stay where he didn't want to be. His new brother coming on a regular monthly access visit was an exciting diversion from his own problems, and for a while young William Bodie had forgotten he was supposed to be unhappy.

His new brother soon reminded him.

The co-incidence of the two boys sharing the same Christian name was a source of great amusement to the newly-wed couple; neither of the boys found it so funny. William Fowler, his whole world shattered by the ugly divorce, had been tossed around by his parents like a shuttlecock as they each tried to prove to him how much they each loved and cared for him more than the other parent. William's mother had finally won the custody battle and now they lived in a council flat in the heart of an ugly estate on Kirby. His father still lived in their old home with his new wife--the reason for the divorce--and, if that were not enough, his stepmother had brought her own son and placed him in his room.

Poor William Fowler--William Bodie had his father, his bedroom, and his bed--he even had his name. Every time he heard his father call 'William' he would look up and discover his puny little step-brother being spoken to and the knife inside him would twist painfully.

Older and craftier, Fowler was careful not to let his father see how much he hated the newcomers. In front of other people he was always affectionate and considerate towards his new 'brother' and visitors and friends commented on how well the family fitted together.

But alone, especially at night in the large bed the boys shared, William Fowler made sure William Bodie paid for every second of phony kindness. At first pinches, kicks and pulled hair to make the young boy cry satisfied William but not for long. Just turned sixteen, his voice deepening and his body halfway between boy and man, he discovered the wonders of sex. Denied the opportunity of experimenting with girls and finding himself thrown into bed with an available body once a month William Fowler practised his newly learned skills on his unwilling subject. At first fumbling and awkward he soon discovered the heady delights of being able to force his will on a quaking and tearful body.

It was not long before Fowler realised how much he enjoyed his visits to his father's house and he pleaded with his mother to be allowed to stay more often.

Young William Bodie had soon learnt not to speak of the painful pinches and bites his brother delivered under the blankets in their bedroom and when the touches changed into something else entirely the pattern was already established and he never spoke out. As his older brother became more inventive and demanding the young Bodie would break away and run home to Mum and Dad--but even there he never spoke out.

Each time the Welfare people or the police brought the young boy back, William Fowler would hold back a little as if afraid he had talked--but as time passed his confidence grew and his treatment of his victim became even more demanding. By the time he bedded his first girl at the age of seventeen, he was already screwing his brother regularly.

Discovering girls only made things worse for the younger boy; girls expected to be wooed and petted endlessly for the slightest touch or promise and, as Fowler soon found out, girls didn't like to be rushed or handled roughly. It was therefore easier and much more enjoyable to force himself into his little brother's tight hole and the fight to make the boy cry grew harder and more pleasurable every time.

But Bodie did eventually break away. One night, quite by accident, he discovered he could hit just as hard as his tormentor and he had won his freedom. His brother's cries for help had woken their mother and she had come into the bedroom to tell them to be quiet lest they wake father. Angry, with two and a half years of fear and frustration welling up inside him, Bodie told her everything, every single ugly detail while Fowler cried and snivelled in the corner of the bedroom. At the end of his story, Bodie waited for her to judge his brother, to pay him back for what he had done but the room had remained quiet and, in the corner, Fowler stopped crying and lifted his head.

"Well, say something!" Bodie had demanded.

And so she did: she refused to look at either of the boys as she said, "I know."

The truth hit the young boy hard. She had known all the time. She had always known, right from the start and she had never done anything to stop it.

The next day he left for the last time. He called Mum and Dad from a call-box to let them know he was going but still not why. All his life he had only ever told one person--and she had known the truth the whole time.

---

"Why, what did he do?"

And Bodie remembered. Everything. Every little thing.

"What did he do that was so bad?" Doyle repeated the question softly, his fingers rubbing away the harsh lines that had formed around his lover's mouth.

Inhaling deeply, Bodie sighed and pushed all the memories away. They were gone forever. "I suppose he was just jealous of me--I was living with his father, after all. It must have been hard for him to accept the way things changed."

"He didn't live with you?"

"No," Bodie said, setting the lock on the memories forever. "He just visited now and again--he lived with his mother."

"Oh," Doyle said thoughtfully, he'd been so sure he was right and the calm words only confused him more. "I think my brother John found me hard to accept for much the same reason. He was only about five when Mum and Dad married. His mum died when he was a baby but it was my mum that brought him up. She was dad's housekeeper at first," Doyle revealed.

Bodie raised an eyebrow and smiled down at him. "Hanky-panky below stairs?"

"It was all very respectable!" Doyle said indignantly. "And they were married for years before I arrived. Maybe that's why John never took to me--he'd had them to himself all his life--a baby brother when you're thirteen must be a bit of a shock."

"I'm surprised he had anything to do with you at all," Bodie said remembering his own feelings about squealing babies when he had been a thirteen year old.

"I don't think he had much choice. Once I was walking around dad would be in the workshop or out on a job and Mum was usually in the office. John was stuck with me; had to take me to school, look after me until Mum closed the office at night. I even had to tag along with him when he went out with his friends. The bastard used to make me sit in the foyer of the local cinema on Saturday mornings because he was too mean to buy me a ticket when he went in with his friends!"

Bodie laughed aloud at the hurt indignation.

"It wasn't funny," Doyle retaliated by clamping sharp teeth around one protruding nipple. "I used to run away and hide from him and then Dad would take the belt to him for not watching me properly."

"You enjoyed getting him into trouble, did you?"

"Served him right," Doyle said with no trace of guilt in his voice. "He was always sucking up to Dad--made a change for him to get the belt--it was usually me that got it."

"A bit heavy-handed was he, your dad?" Bodie asked gruffly.

"Only when he thought it would do some good. He never went over the top--but even so, he could really whack hard. He used to hang it on a hook behind the kitchen door--christ, the number of times he'd make me fetch the bloody thing so he could use it on me!" Doyle shivered, his buttocks tensing as he remembered the long-past but deserved beatings.

Bodie rubbed a hand over the taut globes, stroking them until they relaxed.

"Bodie--"

"Shut up an' go to sleep," Bodie ordered gruffly.

"But--"

"Shh!"

"Bodie you're--"

"Go to sleep!" Bodie muttered, irritated at the way his partner always seemed to wake up at the wrong moment.

"You're bloody squashing me!"

"Well, you're no featherweight yourself--and your hips are bloody bony!" grumbled Bodie as he managed to shuffle backwards half and inch. "Anymore and I'll be on the floor."

"Bodie--"

"I'm asleep so shut up," he lied.

"I love you too, mate," Doyle sighed and gave in.

"Night, sunshine."

And then they were both asleep.

---

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Doyle's first port of call on his return to duty after his unexpected four-day sick leave was to the medical section. Willis smiled unexpectedly as he entered the room and found his patient waiting for him. "I've been looking forward to seeing you," he said brightly.

"Why?" enquired Doyle, immediately suspicious, and he thought the doctor seemed uncommonly cheerful.

"No...particular reason," evaded the doctor, the smile on his face becoming impossibly wider and more smug. "And how are we feeling?"

"We," replied Doyle, his eyes turning to see if Bodie found the doctor's behaviour as strange as he did, "are feeling fine, thank you."

"Well, you certainly look nice and healthy, bit of colour in your cheeks, and your eyes are nice and bright--it was Kate's idea for a few days off, wasn't it? She thought you were a little tense...uptight. Have you been sleeping better? No problems? Eating all right, are we?"

Willis ignored the patient and looked directly at Bodie for his answers, knowing from experience he would get more truthful responses from that direction.

Trying desperately to keep a straight face in response to his partner's growing outrage, Bodie shrugged his shoulders helplessly and answered that Doyle seemed fine to him and that he was eating and sleeping well.

"That's what I like to hear." The doctor gave his patient a swift but thorough once over. "Yes, you're fine. Back to work and no more malingering, 4.5."

Malingering indeed, Doyle thought indignantly. His arms and back would take days to recover from the strain of decorating mum's flat.

"Just slip your shoes off and climb on the scales before you go, 4.5." Willis said in a carefully nonchalant voice.

"My weight is fine," Doyle protested.

"On the scales, 4.5," ordered Willis.

Ignoring the mumbled comments about bony hips from his partner, Doyle heeled his trainers off and stood on the scales the frown on his face enough to warn Bodie not to say a word.

"When did you last pass water?" Willis asked bluntly as he bent to peer at the scale.

Doyle raised his eyes to the ceiling, took a deep breath and answered politely. "About half an hour ago."

"When did you last open your bowels?"

"What?"

"I said, when did you last--"

"I heard you the first time," Doyle cut in, his face scarlet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Bodie going puce in an effort not to laugh out loud.

"Well?" Willis asked impatiently.

"Yesterday!"

"Morning or evening?"

"About ten thirty last night--I'd 'ave kept a note of it in my diary if I'd known you were so interested in my movements!"

"Have you eaten this morning?"

"Yes!" Doyle shouted.

"What exactly and when?"

In the corner, Bodie gave up and almost fell off his chair in an explosion of mirth.

"What precisely do you think is so bloody funny?" Doyle demanded of his partner.

"What did you eat and when did you eat it, 4.5?" Willis asked again, clearly not to be deflected by Bodie's behaviour nor Doyle's outrage.

"I don't believe this--some toast, two slices with butter and marmite and one, no two cups of tea about," he looked at his watch, "an hour ago."

Willis peered at the reading oh the scale, frowned and wrote a note on his pad.

"Is that it? Can I get dressed now?" Doyle asked belligerently.

Looking up from his pad, Willis smiled again, almost gleefully. "No, I want you to come through here," he said leading the way to a smaller room. "Don't bother with your shoes."

With Bodie close on his heels, Doyle padded barefoot after the doctor into the room next door.

"Right. Now I want you to strip off and stand on the scales please, 4.5," Willis ordered crisply.

"What?"

"Perhaps you need a hearing test, you seem to be experiencing some trouble--"

"There is nothing wrong with my hearing!" Doyle said hotly.

"I don't have all day, 4.5--onto the scales please. No, everything off, underpants as well."

"Everything?"

"Yes," Willis smiled and nodded.

"You want me to take--all my clothes off?" Doyle queried the order.

"Yes."

"And stand on the scales. Naked."

"That is correct. Do you like these scales? They're brand new, they were only delivered last night; and you are going to be the very first member of the department to use them. They are accurate to 0.0648 of a gramme. It's got a digital, quartz LED display, a totally new design. Isn't it beautiful?" Willis ran his hands over the cream coloured plastic moulding. "Naked, Doyle, that means without a stitch on. No pockets, no weights, no magnets--just you--naked as the good Lord made you."

Sighing in defeat, Doyle stripped and tossed his clothes in the general direction of Bodie.

"And the underpants, 4.5," Willis reminded him.

"Naked," Doyle growled.

"Naked," echoed Bodie and the doctor.

Determined to be no more embarrassed than he had to be, Doyle slid his pants down his legs and stepped onto the square base of the scale.

The doctor bent down to read the display, he frowned and pushed a few buttons before checking the display once more, then he jotted some figures down on his pad and produced a small calculator from his jacket pocket.

"Well?" Doyle asked, his patience running out.

Willis glared at him, suspicion written in every line on his face. "Show me your hands," he ordered. Surprised at the abrupt tone, Doyle did as he was told. "Hold your arms out straight at your sides. Now lift your right foot. Put it down--now the left." Doyle did everything he was told in stunned silence and as Willis checked and re-checked the display his smile vanished completely. "Open your legs and lean forward," he said briskly and moved to stand behind his patient his intention all too clear.

"No, you bloody don't!" Doyle shouted and almost fell off the small platform as he dodged the doctors hands.

Bodie stepped forward to back his outraged partner up but he wasn't needed. Willis gave in, realising that he had to accept the evidence on the display even if he didn't believe it. "Oh, all right," he snapped crossly. I don't know how you've done it but according to these scales you weigh the precise equivalent of ten and a half stone."

"But I thought that was what you wanted him to weigh in at?" Bodie asked as he passed Doyle his clothes. The sight of his own briefs sliding up Doyle's legs to cover the bare rump reminding him how lucky he was to have such a gorgeous partner--Pat Kelly didn't look anywhere near as sexy in them, all arse and no style, he decided.

"These scales, 3.7, are guaranteed to be accurate to 0.0648 of a gramme. Having previously informed your partner that I expected him to attain the gross weight of ten and a half stone I did not therefore expect to discover he weights in at 66.738 kilogrammes--which in imperial weights is exactly ten and a half bloody stone!" Willis slammed the note pad down on the desk and stormed back into the other room with Bodie following and Doyle hopping along as fast as he could with one leg in his jeans and his shirt on inside out.

"You don't really think we've been able to fiddle your new scales?" Doyle asked, his mouth agape in astonishment.

"It wouldn't surprise me in the least," Willis fumed. "You've managed to sabotage all the others!"

"Give over," Bodie said in an attempt to defuse the situation--Willis was really angry-- "You just can't bear the thought that your favourite patient has finally beaten you at your own game. Keeping an eye on his weight and the games he's pulled over the last few years has kept you on your toes," Bodie guessed.

Willis had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Well, do you honestly blame me? The games you two have tried in the past I had given up hope of him ever attaining an acceptable weight," he admitted, a rueful smile beginning to appear on his face.

Bodie tactfully pulled his not quite dressed but wholly outraged, exactly ten and a half stone, partner out of the medical section before he found something, preferably blunt and heavy, with which to hit the good doctor.

"See--I told you it was good for you," he whispered once Doyle was decently dressed, shirt on the right way round and both shoes properly laced up.

"What is?"

"Me," Bodie said, a huge grin threatening to split him ear from ear. "Quite apart from the extra protein you get when you--" he checked that the corridor was clear, "--when you suck me off. You're always hungry after you fuck me. Must be all those aggressive male hormones rushing around in your bloodstream--"

They might have got away with it if Cowley hadn't tried to come in through the door they were going out of at the same moment Bodie tried to escape.

Their punishment for such unseemly behaviour was to interrogate an informer of one of the agents killed in the Wakeman business, Doyle's good mood completely destroyed by the news that the man was currently being detained at Her Majesty's leisure in Wormwood Scrubs.

Driving the car while Bodie tried to read through the slim file Cowley had all but thrown at them, Doyle tried to tell himself he was still upset and angry with the way he had been treated by the doctor.

"How the hell was I supposed to know about the new scales?" he raged for about the tenth time in as many minutes.

Engrossed in the file, Bodie gave a small grunt of consolation.

"And you weren't much help--get a good eyeful, did you? The bloody cheek of it--I bet he doesn't ask anyone else to strip stark-bollock naked just to be weighed!"

"Mmm," Bodie looked up from the file. "You'd better turn right here. Right here...here, right there--you've missed it!"

"I know the way--I have interrogated prisoners at the Scrubs before, you know!" Doyle snapped back clearly irritated by the unlooked for directions as he kept on driving straight down the road.

"Yes, but that was how long ago--not since you've been with CI5--must be all of five or six years now?"

"Don't tell me," Doyle cut in, his voice dripping sarcasm. "They've moved the bloody prison, have they?"

"No," Bodie said calmly then pointed out what his partner could now see for himself. "But they have changed the roads. You've got to drive on for another mile and a half before you can turn right."

Looking across the dual carriageway that had replaced the previously busy and often congested road at the prison gates, Doyle swore. Loudly and profusely. "When the fuck did they do this?" he demanded to know once he ran out of expletives.

"Oh...it's been all finished for about three years now. Was hell while they were doing it." Bodie struggled to smother the humour in his voice. "Just keep going straight on--there's a roundabout at the end of the road."

They navigated the roundabout and returned along the dual carriageway turning left into the prison in silence.

"So," Doyle asked as he locked the car and followed his partner towards the main gate. "Why is Cowley so interested in this bloke?"

"He used to be Mathieson's grass. Since Mat died he's contacted the Control room twice with odd bits of information, useful stuff but nothing brilliant. He doesn't think very big--only ever asks for twenty quid and'll take less if that's all that's offered--"

"I'd heard Mathieson was tight."

"Not as bad as his partner. I'm surprised either of them were able to keep a grass happy," Bodie added. "He's been working in a pub in Kilburn, The Seven Bells, just off the High Road. Picked up driving a stolen car two nights ago, found in possession of some hard drugs and they've got him for pushing."

"Not drugs," interrupted Bodie. "He wants to deal. Our help in return for information; he mentioned a name Cowley's been after for years. If he's telling the truth, the Seven Bells is the recruiting and paymaster's office for Saad Al Mahak's little lot."

"Mahak! In England--I don't believe it," Doyle whistled appreciatively. "And this bloke Andrews, he recognised him?"

"No--but the name he knows the Arab by is one of Mahak's aliases--that plus the description, seems Mahak's right hand is very badly scarred and missing two fingers--the same as Andrews' suspicious Arab."

Doyle was still thinking over the implications of pulling one of the world's leading terrorists in when the guard admitted them and slammed the first gate shut and locked it securely behind them.

The uniformed guard checked their credentials and then escorted them towards another huge door, his keys rattling loudly on the end of a length of chain as he walked. "Authorised visitors to interview Michael Andrews," the man called through a small grill in the door. More keys rattled and the door opened to reveal another uniformed man who watched them carefully as they stepped through into the building.

The second time, he was expecting the bang and rattling keys as the door was secured behind them, but even so, Doyle barely restrained the impulse to flinch at the sounds. Taking a deep calming breath was a serious mistake, though, as the never-to-be-forgotten rank stench of prison filled his senses. To avoid the smell he tried breathing through his mouth, but the air even tasted foul on the back of his throat, making him gag.

Blindly following the black leather jacket his partner was wearing, Doyle concentrated on the coming interview. If Mahak was in England, in London, it could only mean one thing; he was either buying or selling arms and Arab expertise. An Arab arms master in an Irish pub could be the link between the IRA and the Middle East they all knew existed but so far had been unable to prove conclusively.

By the time they passed through miles of bare corridors and several more locked doors to reach the interview room, Doyle was just holding his own, Mahak's importance barely keeping the lid down in his own rising dread.

"Just think, Ray," Bodie said, eyeing the room and waiting with poorly suppressed excitement for Andrews to appear. "Mahak! It'll be a real feather in CI5's cap if we can bag him." He didn't see anything unusual in the way his partner was leaning against the wall, and continued talking. "Andrews should be easy enough; according to the screw, he was begging them to contact us. We shouldn't have to lean on him too much."

Beyond the stout-looking door on the other side of the room loud voices could be heard shouting, a mixture of verbal abuse and gruff orders echoing hollowly around the room. The sounds and the bleak surroundings reminded Bodie of a similar room in another prison when he had been waiting to escort another prisoner to CI5 headquarters. He turned to look at his partner, realising that this was probably Doyle's first return visit to a prison since that morning, but was unable to catch his eye, Doyle staring determinedly at the floor. "Ray--"

Doyle heard his name being called but was unable to answer; his shirt was wet under his arms and clinging to his back, he felt dizzy from where he was trying not to breathe in the foul stench, and Bodie's voice just merged in with all the sounds he could hear buzzing in his ears: the rattle of keys, the steel-capped shoes ringing on the stone floors. Bile, acrid and burning, flooded his mouth and he struggled to swallow it back down.

"Ray--I'll talk to Andrews and you can...Ray--are you okay, mate?" Bodie asked in concern when he caught a glimpse of the sweat-sheened face.

"Bodie--" Doyle gulped down another rush of bile. I can't--I'm sorry," and as he spoke he turned and banged on the door calling to the guard outside to open it. As the door swung open he looked back over his shoulder before he made his escape. "I'm sorry--I've got to get some fresh air...I'm really sorry."

As one door closed behind Doyle, the prisoner was escorted through the opposite entrance and Bodie was forced to stay and begin the interview. Emerging into the fresh, sweet-smelling air an hour or so later, he scanned the wide expanse of flat ground outside the gates. Several hundred yards away a solitary figure was sitting on the raised wall of a sorry-looking flower bed. He went and joined his partner.

Watching Bodie's progress across the car park, Doyle made no attempt to meet him. "What did Andrews have to say for himself?" he asked as soon as his partner was in earshot.

"I think it's worth following up," replied Bodie as he perched beside Doyle on the narrow wall. "Certainly sounds like Mahak. He calls at the pub every seven or eight weeks, meets about four or five Irish people, men and woman, people Andrews knows aren't regular customers. They always have small suitcases, bags and so on with them. He saw the Arab slap one of them down because they were flashing an Irish passport around in the bar."

"Every two months," Doyle said thoughtfully. "Sounds like he takes a batch over, waits to bring them back and then takes over the next batch. How long does he say it's been going on?"

"He didn't notice the pattern until six months ago but he's been working the Seven Bells on and off for the last few years; he thinks the Arab's been around for about a year."

"How the fuck has he been getting past port security?"

"Andrews even had an idea about that--he overheard one of the Irish lot talking about buying some sea-sick pills. If they mix in with day trippers it could be easy enough."

They sat in silence and watched the traffic roaring past on the new dual carriageway until a coach slowed down and turned into the main entrance coming to a halt near the main gate; the passengers, mothers, girlfriends, wives and children all spilled off it and filed towards the visitor's entrance.

Doyle jumped to his feet and walked briskly towards the car without waiting to see if Bodie was following. The prison was several miles behind them before he voiced his thoughts. "If the outgoing bunch mingle with a coach load of day trippers, all they have to do is change places with the homecoming lot. A day out--lots of strangers on a bus--who's going to notice if some of the faces change?"

It sounded simple enough to be plausible. The passport control staff at Dover and Ramsgate were notoriously overworked and undermanned. It was acknowledged to be the weakest link in the system; coach parties full of shoppers rushing over to France to raid the local supermarkets for cheap wine and duty free would be the ideal cover.

"Cowley'll want to set up a surveillance routine at the Kent ports," Bodie said gloomily. "And at the Seven Bells. Christ, some bloody Christmas this is going to be!"

"Just pray we don't get the ferry run," Doyle said as he manoeuvred the car through the city traffic.

"Why not--we could pick up some duty free for ourselves," said Bodie.

"The English Channel! In December and January--are you kidding?" said Doyle in undisguised horror. "I get sea-sick on the Woolwich Ferry!"

Bodie laughed. "How about some lunch before we report to the Cow--I'm starving."

"Sounds great--I lost my breakfast and I'm feeling a bit peckish myself," said Doyle, his eyes meeting Bodie's momentarily before sliding away again.

"Did you manage to get outside in time?" Bodie asked casually, grateful that Doyle had brought the subject into the open first.

"Just about. The screw gave me a funny look though, I mumbled something about a British Rail sandwich and he seemed happy enough." Bodie listened to the tightly controlled voice but kept quiet.

"I wasn't expecting it," Doyle said into the prolonged silence. "It wasn't until that first door slammed shut behind us that I even thought about it--and that smell!" White knuckles gripped the steering wheel as they turned towards headquarters. "And the keys rattling--I swear there's no sound like it on earth. Jangling keys and stone floors and that...that stink in your nose and throat so bad you can taste it." Doyle parked and switched the engine off. "I'm really sorry I ran out on you but--I knew I was going to be sick. I'm sorry."

Looking at the averted face, Bodie couldn't mistake his partner's regret nor the lingering horror of the visit. "I should have--no, we should have realised it might happen like that," said Bodie quietly. "All things considered, it's no surprise. I've escorted several prisoners into one prison or another--first timers and old lags--and they've thrown a wobbly once we've got inside sometimes. Crying, throwing up, fainting. Affects them all in some way. Some get used to it and others don't."

Doyle nodded remembering his own experiences. "When they moved me from Ford to Maidstone I couldn't take it in at first. All that noise...and that smell...the first night I had to bury my face in the pillow to stop myself crying like a baby.

"Sometimes you'd hear the newcomers crying and screaming to be let out. The rest of the men would run them ragged. But not always though," he paused lost in thought for a moment and Bodie didn't dare interrupt or make a move to leave the car. It was rare for Doyle to offer an insight onto what his life had been like inside. "A young lad came in once. Christ knows why they put him on my wing. He was only 18 and mentally retarded, was nearer 7 for all he was twice my size. He didn't stop crying for a week, but no-one hurt him, everyone tried their best to keep him happy; the kid just needed affection and he cuddled anyone who would let him. No-one minded, no-one took advantage of him either--not...not in that way. I even caught Bert giving him a cuddle when something frightened him once." Bodie was surprised to see him smile at the memory and said so, hoping even as he did that Doyle wouldn't suddenly clam up like he usually did.

"Human nature is surprising, Bodie," he said, a gentle smile on his face. "Even that lot, animals most of them, knew that Tony was just a frightened overgrown kid. They would have killed anyone who tried to hurt him. He was like the kid some of them had outside and they enjoyed looking after him. Keeping him happy made them feel good." Doyle sighed heavily.

Entering the building together and heading off towards the canteen, Doyle suddenly caught hold of Bodie's arm.

"What's up?" asked Bodie, concerned at the frown on Doyle's face.

"You'll probably need to speak to Andrews again."

"Yes--but there's no problem, I can manage him--"

"That's not the point and you know it," snapped Doyle. "I'll go in with you next time."

"There's no need--"

"There's every need!" Doyle said angrily. "This morning--it just took me by surprise. I wasn't ready." He took a deep breath. "I didn't get much out of all those hours with the shrinks but I did learn one thing, avoiding problems is no way to overcome them. I've got to go back. The first time will be the worst--let's hope it was the worst--but now it should be easier...I hope."

Bodie listened and realised he was talking sense. Interviewing prisoners was, at times, a major part of an investigation. They had been lucky that they hadn't been sent into a prison before now.

"Okay then, sunshine. Next time you can do the talking--Andrews is a sucker for a pretty face. You'll have him eating out of your hand in no time."

"What do you mean?" asked Doyle warily not liking the sudden glint in his partner's eye.

"Andrews is as bent as a nine-bob note. Very sweet, if you get my drift," Bodie wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. "The only thing I want to know is how a prude like Mathieson got himself tied up with such an exotic little blossom like Andrews."

Lunch was little more than a fond memory by the time they were able to give their reports to Cowley. Doyle let Bodie do most of the talking, contributing only on their speculation about the coach party trips from Dover and the Sealink.

The possibility of snaring Mahak brought a gleam to Cowley's eyes; not usually a head-hunter, the elusive Arab would be a substantial coup for the organisation. "I want everything we have on Mahak. Bodie--get onto Interpol, the European agencies and the American networks. I want all sightings, substantiated or otherwise, and every known or suspected associate. If he's running the trainees through our borders he must be feeling very secure and I want to know why." He turned to look at Doyle. "I want a discreet check on all customs officers on duty at Dover and Ramsgate. If Mahak's moving in and out of the country freely I need to know how."

"If Mahak sticks to the pattern, his next trip will be between Christmas and New Year--"

"Mingling with the crowd shopping for cheap booze to celebrate the New Year," added Doyle.

"Which means he should be returning to England with the current lot of trainees within the next three weeks; he'll aim to mix with the pre-Christmas crowds if the Sealink theory pans out," Cowley said thoughtfully.

Bodie and Doyle exchanged wry glances and wondered if they were destined to spend the next few weeks shivering at the Kent coast or chewing sea-sick tablets on the ferries.

"I'll call a briefing tomorrow morning, Henderson's team, yourselves, Lake, Day, Turner and Jax," Cowley decided. "I want all the information on Mahak and his associates, and the customs routines and staffing, by eight in the morning." Hearing the note of finality in the dry voice both men rose to leave, their minds already searching ways and means of gathering the information Cowley wanted. "Doyle," the voice called him back just as he was about to leave the room. He grabbed Bodie's jacket to prevent him from racing off. "Are you familiar with the Seven Bells?" asked Cowley.

"No sir, but I do know the area--it's at the end of the same street as The Brewers--I think I've met some of the regulars though, they've played against the Brewers in the darts league."

"And the landlord at The Brewers--what is his name?"

"Mahone. Thomas Mahone," supplied Doyle.

"Has he any links with the Seven Bells?"

"Probably--if only as a rival. It can't be more than half a mile away."

In the hallway Bodie listened to the dialogue with surprise, it wasn't the first time he'd heard of The Brewers but he still didn't know Doyle's connection with the place.

"Leave the customs angle to 3.7," ordered Cowley. "Go and sound Mahone out about the Seven Bells--"

"They'll probably have a vacancy for a barman with Andrews in custody," Doyle cut in, already thinking along the same lines as his boss.

"And in that area they will no doubt find it difficult to fill the position."

"I'm sure Tommy would put in a word for me--I'd get it easily with a reference from him."

Bodie opened his mouth to protest at the idea of Doyle going undercover but Doyle saw the look on his face and guessed his intent. "I'll get on it right away, sir." Spinning on his heels and ducking around his partner he made off down the corridor. "I'll catch you later, Bodie."

"Ray--wait up," Bodie called out after him. "The Brewers. What's so special about The Brewers?"

"It's just a pub," Doyle said in a surprised voice.

"I'd gathered that--where is it though?"

"You know where it is--it was you that took me there first."

"I did?" Bodie managed to jump in the lift just before the door closed in his face. "When?"

"Oh hell, I can't remember now--sometime after I came operational. It's in Kilburn," he added helpfully seeing the puzzled expression on Bodie's face. The lift stopped at the next floor and Pat Kelly stepped in. "You must remember it," Doyle continued after a nod of greeting to his friend. "It's a real little dump, full of old men and road-sweepers from the council yard--just up past the traffic lights on the High Road."

"The Brewers," guessed Kelly. "It's not a dump, it's what all the old pubs used to be like."

"Yeah, rough and ready--all that's missing are spittoons and some sawdust," laughed Doyle.

Already annoyed with Kelly for being in the lift with them and butting in on a private conversation, Bodie was furious to hear the two men laughing together so easily.

"You must remember it," Doyle was saying to Bodie. "We had a game of darts and you burned your tongue on a meat pie and complained that the beer was warm," he tried to remind his forgetful partner of the one occasion they had visited the pub together.

Memory returned to Bodie with a sudden flash. "That place! After the Miller op?"

"Er...yes, I think so," Doyle said struggling to remember himself.

"It's a tip!" Bodie said remembering the place properly now.

"I agree--to a point, but the people are okay. Some are a bit strange but the landlord and his missis are nice enough," chipped in Kelly--who suddenly realised how cramped the lift was when Bodie scowled at him even harder than usual.

Oblivious to the by play between the two men, Doyle continued on happily. "It was Tommy Mahone who put me in touch with Ferris and Twigg. He's been quite useful--and if he knows the landlord at the Seven Bells--"

"Mahone knows you're in CI5?" Bodie asked.

Both Doyle and Kelly laughed at that. "No, he thinks I'm his tame psychopath. He's heard all the inside gossip on me from his contacts and reckons I'm a pretty safe bet." The lift stopped again at the floor the computer section was on. "Your floor, Bodie," Doyle said holding his finger on the open door button. "I'll see you when I've finished at The Brewers."

"You off there now?" asked Kelly. "If you want some company I'll tag along--I could go a bit of slumming right now."

Bodie just caught Doyle's pleased acceptance as the door slid shut. Feeling the rage building inside him but not sure what he was so angry about, he stalked off in the general direction of the computer terminals.

---

For all its yellowing paintwork and aged decorations that were more likely to be junk than antiques, both Kelly and Doyle found the Brewers a pleasant enough place to spend a few hours in. If the other punters accepted you, you were okay, but on the other hand if you wandered in there by mistake they didn't encourage you to stay long. A regular customer of over two years' standing, Doyle was a friendly face and Kelly, who had been there several times, was accepted by the punters and bar staff because he was Doyle's friend.

So early in the evening, apart from the usual three old men with less than half a full set of teeth between them all huddled near the fire with their glasses of Guinness, Doyle and Kelly had the bar to themselves. Perched comfortably on his usual stool, his back resting against the wall and leaning on one elbow Doyle took another mouthful of his drink and listened sympathetically as Tommy complained about his long-suffering wife, Ivy.

"Honestly, Ray--most men come to the pub to escape their nagging wives. They listen to my Ivy going on at me for a night and then go home grateful she's mine and not theirs!" Doyle and Kelly made suitable noises of condolence. "Are you two married?" asked Tommy unexpectedly when he returned from pouring three more halves of Guinness for the old boys. He didn't miss the strange look that passed between the two men.

"Nah--we're just good friends," Doyle quipped winking at Pat who laughed good naturedly.

"No, it just never seemed to work out like that for me," said Kelly, not looking too unhappy about the lack.

"I don't believe in marriage either," said Tommy soulfully. "It was her idea. Still, I expect you've both got some little crackers stacked away somewhere, handsome fellas like yourselves." Again Tommy was aware of Doyle and Kelly looking at each other in an awkward, half embarrassed fashion; not romantically inclined nor particularly lucky in certain aspects of love, Tommy was nevertheless aware of the look of wistful longing on both men's faces.

The subject of women obviously putting a damper on the conversation, Tommy pulled the next topic from his hat; women, politics and money were always good bets but he had a feeling that these two would not share his views on politicians and so fell back on the general area of money--or, more likely, the lack of it. "How's work?" he asked.

Kelly snorted and gave the impression he could take it or leave it, but Doyle seized the opportunity. "Dunno, what's work other than a four-letter word?" he asked in a sour voice.

"Not fixed up with anything?" Tommy asked, knowing not to get too nosy. Doyle had been duly grateful for the introduction to that strange customer with the ginger hair and sweet tooth but had refused to discuss the job he had landed.

"Nothing I could admit to," Doyle said draining his glass. "Your shout, Pat."

"I got the last one!"

"So I owe you one, I'll buy next time me pockets are full." Doyle pulled Kelly into the act, knowing he could rely on him to pad out the background of the disgraced ex-policeman. "The way the Bill are sitting on my back it's a wonder I can cash my giro these days!"

"I thought that last job had you well fixed," said Tommy, curiosity overcoming his common-sense.

"Expensive life-style," said Kelly.

"Fuck off," Doyle said crudely. "What's wrong with wanting a bit of comfort?"

"Nothing," said Tommy. "I could always--you know--" he said slyly, "put a word in an ear or two for you, like last time," he offered.

"Thanks Tommy," Doyle sighed heavily. "But the way things are at the moment I need to be strictly legit. I can't afford a wrong move until--" he looked up, his eyes sharp and hard pinning the landlord to the spot. "Well, let's say I've got to be careful for a while," he finished smoothly, the smile on his face not touching the ice of his eyes.

"Oh--what sort of work are you after?" Tommy asked.

"Oh, I don't know--fifteen thousand a year, company car, private medical insurance--BUPA, of course, expense account. Anything like that'll do. Providing of course the little fact that I did time for-- Shit, don't ask bloody stupid questions. How many people are going to offer me a decent job?" Doyle raged.

Mahone backed off a little to escape the fury being projected his way; he'd always known Doyle was a nutter. "I'll keep my ears open. There's always work for them that wants it," he offered. "Especially in this area--let's face it, who'd work around here if they had the choice not to?" He responded to the shout for service from the other end of the bar with more speed than usual, leaving Doyle and Kelly to share a knowing smile between themselves.

"Do you really think he'll put you up for Andrews job?"

"If I drop enough hints," replied Doyle quietly. "I can always tell him I've gone for the job and ask him to give me a reference but I'd prefer him to think it was his idea."

"He may not know Andrews has been pulled in yet."

It was a possibility but not a problem. "I've still got to check the Seven Bells out. I'll wait for the all clear from Cowley then visit the place, see if there is a job going."

Kelly listened to the casual way Doyle spoke about setting up his undercover role with no sense of envy; that aspect of the agent's work had never appealed to him--the prospect of having to do two jobs simultaneously while keeping one eye looking over your shoulder to protect your rear not one he found particularly attractive--but on the other hand, there was the perk of getting an extra salary.

"You've been very quiet the last few weeks," Doyle said quietly cutting across his thoughts. "What's up?"

Pat gave a wry smile and leaned on the bar. "Women," he said wearily.

"Too many or not enough?"

"If only it were that simple," Pat replied sighing. "You've heard that Kate's leaving the department?"

"I'd heard," answered Doyle cheerfully.

"No need to sound so bleedin' happy," said a morose Kelly. "She's moving out to Colchester, that's miles away."

"You're really sweet on her, aren't you?" Doyle realised and immediately attempted to dampen his elation.

"What is it with you lot?" Kelly asked angrily. "You talk about her like she's a cross between an ice bitch and an unfeeling robot!"

"Sorry," apologised Doyle. "I suppose she's okay really, it's just her job. On the A squad she tends to...to...push her nose into things--things some of us feel shouldn't concern her. She makes us feel uncomfortable," he explained lamely.

"Well I hope her replacement is twice as bad!" growled Pat. "God knows you lot deserve it."

Guessing the reason behind his friend's outburst to be a case of unrequited love, Doyle was careful to change the conversation and buy another round of drinks.

---

Rubbing one hand across tired eyes, Bodie arched his back against the so-called back-rest, stretching and flexing stiff muscles. The screen cleared and the next set of information flashed up for him to view. Behind him, at other terminals, others worked in a similar fashion, conversation desultory and rarely consisting of more than resigned curses and swearing. Concentrating on the cross-links between the customs officers and various Irish and Arab organisations, Bodie paid little attention to the sudden buzz of conversation; if it hadn't been for the casual reference to his partner he would not have paid any notice at all. Turning in his chair he saw Henderson standing at the door. "'With Doyle' is hardly much help," he was saying, an angry expression on his face.

"At The Brewers," offered a fair haired man whose name Bodie didn't know.

"Again?" asked Henderson. "What's with that place that he's always hopping over there?"

"God knows, I dropped Pat off there one night a few weeks back--he said he was playing darts with Ray--"

"Get Control to buzz him," ordered Henderson as he turned to leave only to be stopped by the fair-haired man.

"I can't. Doyle's operational when he's at The Brewers."

Bodie's eyebrows rose at the easy way the man spoke--how come Henderson's men knew more about his partner's duty status than he did? "And what the hell is Kelly doing out on the piss with an operational agent?" Henderson demanded, stalking towards the terminal at which Bodie sat.

"Why don't you ask him yourself," Bodie replied shortly.

"And have your partner on my neck for breaking a cover he's worked two years to build?" asked the surveillance chief in an icy voice.

Two years? Bodie thought and then wondered how many other people knew of The Brewers. Deciding that the customs men could wait a while longer, he switched off his terminal and brushed past Henderson. "If I see him I'll tell him you're looking for him," he said over his shoulder as he headed for the car-park only narrowly missing a grey-faced and weary looking Lake also heading towards his car.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" asked Lake on seeing the grim face of his friend.

"To pass a message to Pat Kelly--I've been demoted to messenger boy for Henderson."

Lake yawned and delved into his pocket for his car keys. "Try not to scowl at him, Bodie-mate, I swear the poor sod develops a nervous tic and ten thumbs every time you look at him."

"If I find him I'll bear that in mind," said Bodie, completely unaware of how grim he looked.

"You'll probably find him at The Brewers with Ray," offered Lake helpfully. "Try not to ruffle his feathers too much, good night, Bodie."

Once again the casual reference to The Brewers dumbfounded Bodie--how many people knew about the blasted place--and why the hell was he the last one to know? He parked within sight of the pub and then remembered the place, vaguely recalling the one time he and Ray had visited it. He could think of no reason why his partner should have wanted to return to the place voluntarily; once by accident had been enough for Bodie.

Carefully locking away his ID but keeping his gun, he left the car and after a thorough scan of the quiet street opened the door of the bar. Once inside the smoky, dimly lit room he immediately saw his partner and Pat Kelly sitting knee to knee on stools at one end of the bar.

The sight of Doyle lounging, relaxed and laughing, obviously enjoying Kelly's company and the unsavoury atmosphere of the pub was enough to send Bodie's temper towards flash point. How often had Ray come here to be this relaxed, he wondered. Aware of the fact that several people had noticed his entrance, Bodie ignored them and walked through the tables to his partner. Then he saw the carelessly flung jacket draped over a chair back and realised Doyle was unarmed, the green T-shirt and tight jeans leaving no room to hide any armoury.

Doyle saw Bodie as he reached the centre of the room, surprise turning into pleasure and he slipped off the stool standing to meet him and alerting Kelly to his arrival.

When Kelly glanced over his shoulder and saw who the visitor was his face froze for a second, a wariness then settling in; like Doyle, he also got his feet under him--being perched on a high stool not being the best of defensive positions.

Ignoring Kelly completely, Bodie confronted his partner, nose to nose almost and demanded to know in an angry hiss what the fuck was going on.

"I'm just having a quiet drink," Doyle answered helplessly, confused by the angry voice and realising that his first thought that some emergency had arisen was wrong.

"With him?"

Doyle blinked at the possessive tone but managed to control his explosive response. "Well, you were busy and he wanted to come."

"What's the attraction for this place? How come you've never asked me to come here with you? How come half the bloody department knows about this place except me? You've been coming here ever since we were partnered and you've never said a work to me!" Heedless of the turning heads and silence in the room, Bodie's stored up grievances tumbled out.

Pinned up against the wall, Bodie's hands clutching his T-shirt and a pair of fierce blue eyes boring into him, Doyle fought the impulse to laugh. Over Bodie's shoulder he could see the roomful of spectators, a nervous looking Kelly and Tommy Mahone edging towards the heavy cricket bat kept under the bar to subdue aggressive patrons.

"Bodie--you're making a right prat of yourself," Kelly hissed at him conscious that Doyle's cover was close to being blown and amazed that the burly agent could be so reckless.

"And who the fuck rattled your cage?" Bodie demanded to know, his grip on Doyle relaxing a little but not releasing him entirely. "And what the fuck are you doing here anyway?" he shouted, almost beyond caution, jealousy and anger magnifying the strength of friendship between his lover and Kelly.

"Bodie..." Doyle attempted to calm things down.

"And as for you--you're not even armed!" Bodie whispered, his face scant inches from Doyle's. "What the hell are you doing in a place like this without a gun or me to watch your back?"

"I never carry a gun in here because the police make odd visits and I could get pulled in. The local CID bloke knows me, knows my record and is a nasty piece of work--finding me tooled up would make his day--"

"Cowley's told you to come in here without back-up?"

"No--well, sort of--"

"This place is a dump--it's a breeding ground for--"

"Bodie," Doyle interrupted in a quiet voice. He relaxed deliberately under the bruising strength that was still pinning him up against the wall, and with the powerful body pressing against him, he felt the thick shaft press against his leg and realised that in his jealous anger, Bodie was aroused. "If you really want to screw me through the floor, do you think we could go home first--I'd rather not have an audience," he said softly, his eyes gentle and serious.

The quiet words hit Bodie like a bucket of cold water, forcing his awareness to their nervous audience. Releasing the grip he had on his partner, he stepped back a pace and bumped into Kelly, who had been wondering how best to prise the two men apart without getting killed in the process.

Seeing the worried concern on the faces of the other customers and particularly Tommy and Ivy, Doyle smiled at everyone. "It's okay, we're friends. His bark's worse than his bite. Everything's okay."

Bodie spun round and glared at everyone, staring them down with ease until they all returned to their drinks. When order was more or less restored he turned to Kelly, his face hardening fractionally.

Kelly saw the look. "Well, Ray... I'll be off then...see you in the morning," he said obliquely referring to the briefing.

"Okay, Pat, but don't you want a lift?"

"No--I'll get a cab."

"Fine--I'll see you tomorrow," Doyle said to his friend. "I suppose we'd best go too, we've upset the place enough for one night," Doyle said to Bodie and tugged on his jacket sleeve, pulling him towards the door. He smiled at Tommy and Ivy in reassurance as they still looked as if they were about to come to his rescue with the cricket bat.

Glowering at anyone who dared to look at him, Bodie allowed himself to be led outside but once the door closed behind them he snatched his arm free and grabbed hold of Doyle again, pinning him up against the outside wall.

"Bodie! Leave it out," said Kelly as he tried to pull Bodie away.

"What's with the caveman act, for christ's sake, anyway?"

"And what the fucking hell are you doing with an operational agent under cover when you're supposed to be on standby?" Bodie hissed in a voice meant to go no further than their little group.

"Control knows where I am," defended Kelly, ignoring Doyle's start of surprise.

"And how are they supposed to contact you in an emergency?" Bodie asked.

Kelly's face lost it's colour. "Oh shit! What's happened?"

"You'd better get back to HQ and find out," Bodie said.

"You fucking idiot, Pat!" Doyle shook himself free from his partner's grip. "I had no idea you were on standby."

"It's been as quiet as the grave, there's nothing on until the briefing in the morning."

"That's not the point," Doyle said, his voice tart as he made his opinion of his friend's behaviour obvious. "Come on, I'll give you a lift back to HQ."

"Ray--" Bodie began but was interrupted.

"Bodie, thanks for pulling this idiot out of there. I'll see you at home in half an hour, okay?" With a brief smile, Doyle ushered the now repentant Kelly along the road to where he'd parked his car out of sight and leaving Bodie standing on the pavement outside the Brewers.

---

Setting the deadlocks, Doyle pocketed the keys and turned towards the kitchen.

"In here," Bodie called out from the lounge. Stepping into the dimly lit room, Doyle waited as his partner rose from his sprawl on the couch to stand in front of him. "Why have you never bothered to tell me about The Brewers?" Bodie asked in a dangerously quiet voice. Looking at the expressionless face, Doyle knew he was angry, furious even but was at a loss to explain why. "How come everyone in CI5, from Cowley, through Control and even Henderson and his mob knows about the Brewers but I don't?" the calm facade cracked a little as Bodie's voice rose.

Shrugging his shoulders and guessing that whatever he said he was bound to be in the wrong, Doyle replied, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything!" Bodie yelled. "Every-bloody-thing that you should have told me already."

"Why should I have to tell you anything?" Doyle shouted back, irritated by the domineering possessiveness. "How come it's taken you so long to discover there are still some things you don't know about me?"

Bodie stilled in the process of reaching for Doyle's shoulders. His hands closed on nothing and he lowered them slowly to his side. "Of course you don't have to tell me anything," he agreed stiffly.

"Bodie--" Unable to stand the closed-off hurt in Bodie's eyes, Doyle reached out and pulled him the final few inches. "I didn't mean...I'm sorry, it just never occurred to me that you didn't know. I've been going there so long now--I forgot that I've only been there with you that once." Fighting the resistance he felt in the slightly taller body until it melted away, Doyle rubbed his hands under the loose jacket, smoothing out the soft cotton that was damp here and there.

Burrowing his face into the soft curls and wrapping himself around the welcoming body of his love, Bodie heard the words from a distance, his awareness of the scent and warmth and closeness of Doyle overwhelming him.

Jackets and shoes were quickly, wordlessly discarded and hands fumbled with buttons, belts and zips as mouths duelled, tongues seeking the exclusive taste and warmth they each regarded as theirs. The bedroom and its comfortable bed was at the wrong end of the hall and they found themselves pulling and pushing each other down onto the soft carpet in front of the gas fire.

Slowly, Doyle became aware that their roles had altered; from taking the initiative and setting the frantic pace that stripped them and laid them down on the carpet, breathless, aroused and gasping for completion, Bodie changed and had tugged Doyle to lie on top of him. From his new position Doyle looked down at the closed eyes, open mouth that was damp and shiny from his kisses and the white-knuckled fingers that gripped his arms, saw the aggression being held back and the submission being offered.

"Touch me, Ray," Bodie begged harshly. "Please touch me."

His hesitation was only momentary and, responding to the need in the voice, Doyle settled down beside him and claimed the open mouth forcefully, seeking out the sensitive places on the body he had learnt so well with gentle fingers. A little later when Bodie stopped him from pulling out of the embrace, Doyle looked anxiously over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom and the tube of cream kept on the bedside shelf. As strong fingers dug deeper into his arms he knew he would be bruised in the morning and with a regretful sigh turned his attention back to Bodie. Wetting two fingers in his mouth he quickly slid them down towards the tightly guarded entrance. At the first hint of pressure on his anal bud, Bodie groaned and arched up to meet the probe.

Fiercely aroused, the cool rough friction of the carpet fibres under his bare skin a counter balance to the smooth silky warmth of the body pressing onto him, Bodie drew his legs up, opening them wide and tucking them loosely behind Doyle's back. Bearing down on the fingers moving inside him he cried out as they finally touched the right spot. From a long distance he heard Doyle chuckle and knew that his partner was aware he'd found the sensitive prostate gland.

"Don't...tease," Bodie panted. "I need more--harder...push in a bit more..." Sliding a third finger into the relaxed muscle, Doyle tried to oblige. "Oh my lord...a bit more...more," Bodie demanded.

"I can't shove my whole hand in!" Doyle protested, trying vainly to satisfy Bodie.

"Use your bloody head!"

"My--what?" Shocked and convinced he'd misheard Doyle froze.

"Fuck me, you idiot! Fuck me."

"But the stuff's in the bedroom--"

"Fuck the stuff--just fuck me. Now!"

"Are you sure?" Doyle asked doubtfully but even as he hesitated his cock pulsed in response to the gruff order.

"I'm bloody sure--will you just do it. For crying out loud--what does a fella have to do to get fucked in this place?"

But, even desperate to be fucked, Bodie still clenched his muscles around the invading fingers, holding them there and experiencing every millimetre of their slow withdrawal.

As they finally slipped free, Bodie opened his eyes and found Doyle watching him. "Over you go then," Doyle said softly after claiming one last kiss.

"No," whispered Bodie. "Like this," and he drew his legs up onto his chest before resting them over Doyle's shoulders.

"On your back?" asked Doyle in a surprised voice.

"I'm too comfortable to move," replied Bodie. "'sides, I hate kneeling on this carpet." As he smiled innocently up into puzzled green eyes one hand crept unnoticed to grasp the taut, weeping cock jutting out from Doyle's groin. "Go on--stick it in," he urged crudely.

The images conjured by the husky voice and the teasing hand pulling at his cock, Doyle sighed and gave in, pushing Bodie's knees further onto his chest and revealing the tiny pucker of flesh. The vulnerability of Bodie's position, his exposure and willingness melted any hesitation and released his own held-back need to thrust in and push for completion.

But there were problems; fiercely aroused, Doyle had to strain to hold back to allow Bodie's body to accept him in this new position. The angle was wrong; the straining muscles quickly cramped, spoiling the pleasure, but a hastily grabbed cushion wedged into the small of Bodie's back helped and, as the pain eased and tension lessened, the pleasure began to take over.

"That's better," gasped Bodie. "Let me put my legs round...round your waist." Crossing his ankles behind Doyle's back, Bodie pulled him forwards off-balance to lie on top of him.

"Careful," Doyle managed to gasp out as he became used to the wonderful feeling of being sunk fully inside his lover's body; the familiar feeling of a pubic bone pressing against him and the feel of soft breasts moulded to his chest replaced by the exciting hardness of Bodie's cock at his belly and the muscled chest providing a cushion familiar yet so very different.

"Don't move...for a minute...stay still--stay like this forever," Bodie whispered, lifting his head to claim a kiss, but that simple action caused his body to shift on the impaling cock and a wash of sensation overwhelmed him.

Guessing what had happened, Doyle rocked his hips experimentally, the resulting flood of sensation sending them both gasping. Within seconds, the gentle undulations became slow thrusts which quickly increased in speed and power with Bodie's legs pulling Doyle into him, forcing him back again and again until he froze, his head snapping back, a groan of animal-like pleasure leaving his throat as the spasms shook his body, but not enough to take Bodie over the edge with him.

Collapsing boneless and almost unconscious across his partner, Doyle barely noticed the hand that burrowed between them to grasp the urgent cock pressed against their bellies, the contractions of Bodie's climax almost painful to his own soft maleness as it slipped from its tight sheath.

The urgency gone, Doyle began to feel cold and snuggled up close, too sated and sleepy to concern himself with covers. For a while they lay together dozing and recovering, Bodie nearer sleep and the fire, Doyle drowsy but restless and growing steadily colder and more uncomfortable.

"Bodie--are you awake?"

"No--I mean yes."

"Bodie--"

"Shh."

"But--"

"Go to sleep."

"But I'm--"

"Shut up and go to sleep," said Bodie.

"But I'm cold," complained Doyle. "And my knees are sore!" In fact, he was pretty sure he was bleeding.

"Ray..." Bodie sighed. "If I so much as twitch I'm going to leak all over the carpet," he said in a wry voice.

"Dunno how to break this to you sweetheart--but you've already leaked," Doyle quipped brightly.

"Oh Jesus!" groaned Bodie as his fingers encountered a silky cold wet patch just beneath his bum.

"It was worth it though, wasn't it?" Doyle asked, unaware he sounded so hopeful.

"I trust you'll still think so when you're down on your hands and knees wearing the marigolds and scrubbing the carpets tomorrow!" Bodie replied in a matter of fact voice.

Clambering to his knees and reaching for the tissue box, Doyle groaned. "My knees are bloody sore!"

"So's my arse--but I'm not complaining. "It was worth it--not that I want to make a habit of having it off on the living room floor, I might add," he finished truthfully as he struggled stiffly to his feet and unselfconsciously wiped himself with a wad of tissues while pressing one hand to the small of his back when he thought Ray wasn't looking. "Now I know why they call 'em man-sized tissues," he said quietly as he finished dabbing at the damp spots on the carpet. Later, curled up in bed in their usual sleeping positions, Doyle's back pressed against Bodie's chest, the Brewers was mentioned again. "I just don't understand why you keep going back there?" Bodie asked, still trying to work it out.

"I like the place and besides, like I've already said, Tommy's been surprisingly useful, he put me onto Twigg and if I'm lucky he'll give me an intro to the Seven Bells."

"But you've been going there for over two years--how often do you go?" The knowledge that he had been unaware of these visits still rankled Bodie.

"Depends," Doyle mumbled sleepily. "Only when I feel like some company. 'part from the Cow thinkin' it was useful for my cover, I really like the place. The people are friendly enough; they seem to like me. No-one bothers me there, they all know I used to be a policeman, that I've done time...they accept me. To them I'm, just one of them."

Lying close to his partner, Bodie heard the husky words and the truth of them hurt. 'Only when I feel like some company, they like me, I'm one of them'. Remembering the dingy run-down pub and its dubious customers, Bodie wondered why Doyle felt he had to go so far before he felt welcome. "Do you still feel an outsider on the squad?" he asked, half dreading the answer.

Doyle wriggled around in his arms, the movement dislodging the bedcovers and releasing a cloud of maleness that washed over them both. "Not as much as before," he replied. "It depends who I'm with really, some of them still treat me like Typhoid Mary but they're easier to ignore now."

"Who treats you like that?" Bodie demanded indignantly. "You tell me who and I'll--"

"Shut up, Bodie. I can fight my own battles." His voice light and teasing, Doyle placed a wet kiss on the side of Bodie's mouth. "Now go to sleep," he ordered.

"Okay, night, sunshine."

"Night, lover."

"Ray."

"What now?" Doyle asked in a resigned voice as he turned back over, wriggling until Bodie's chest and legs were pressed against his own body.

"You know that I love you, don't you?"

"Why do I get the feelin' I'm not gonna like this," Doyle said in a resigned voice. "Yeah--you love me--but?"

"Why the fuck are your feet always so bloody cold!"

"'Cos I know you like feeling useful," replied Doyle and he deliberately ran his cold feet up and down the bristly warmth of his lover's legs. "You make 'em nice and warm for me, darlin', then I can get some sleep."

Smiling, Bodie did just that.


...Continued in Chapter 38...

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