CYA: All standard disclaimers apply: I don't own these guys, though I do like to boss them around occasionally. I make no money; I mean no harm. This story carries an "PG-ish" rating on my somewhat random scale. Please ignore all the Americanisms, I beg of you. I plead the 'innocence of youth' for what I did to this fandom.

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As far as Doyle was concerned, Time Management had been a bad idea right from the start. The administration, having decided to Do Something for The Employee, brought in a specialist on project management to teach designated 'departmental experts' how to schedule too many projects into not enough hours. Bodie had been tagged to go since he had a broken wrist and Cowley only needed to sacrifice one lad to appease his higher-ups.

The hell had lasted three days--for Bodie, anyway--with only the end of the third day being any fun. The free food had made the first two days bearable, along with the joy of asking such questions as, "If I've got a terrorist with two hostages in Northampton, a drug runner in Bristol and two grasses to interview, how do I schedule my critical path on a PERT chart?" and "How would I show the impact of an unscheduled bombing on the Gantt chart? Do I treat it like an unscheduled phone call?"

Hell had started for Doyle at the end of the third day. That's when The Book entered his life. Black calf-skin embossed to look like alligator and a brass plate with BODIE in large, friendly letters on the cover, it didn't look intimidating. Yet in Bodie's hands, the item was a lethal weapon. Laundry days, shopping days, pub days all vanished into its bulk, along with every comment and off-hand remark that Ray casually said. His mate quoted chapter and verse from the thing--even to Cowley--and had their days scheduled right down to 8:05 - First round (Doyle buys). 8:15 - Second round (I buy).

Frankly, he was driving the whole squad round the bend. Doyle was amazed no one had shoved it down his partner's throat yet. Murphy certainly looked like he would yesterday when Bodie recited to everyone in the rest room what Murph had promised a certain blonde down at The Elephant and Castle.

But the worst of it were the stickers. The book had arrived with a virginal month-by-month calendar and a six-page insert of international holidays. That meant that each of them needed to be observed, at least in some small way. So far, Ray had helped Bodie drink an ice-chest full of margaritas for Juarez Day, had gone on an 'Easter Ale' hunt, complete with Technicolor labels on the bottles, and been the recipient of roses for Secretaries' Day--his partner handing them over as soon as Doyle had finished typing the daily reports.

The resulting explosion had not been pretty, so it was with justifiable anxiety that Doyle pressed the buzzer to his mate's flat.

"Hang on a minute," came the near instantaneous reply from the tinny speaker, "and take off your shoes, will ya?"

Shrugging, the older agent braced himself against the landing's pillar and pulled off his trainers. He padded across the carpeted entryway, wondering how it was that Bodie always managed to get a nice place. This one even had an attached greenhouse out back, not that his partner would ever stoop to gardening.

Doyle opened the door, punching his own access code into the lock, then snaked into the hallway. If he was quiet, he could catch Bodie unaware. He gently parked his shoes on the rag-rug near the door, and made his way into the main room.

He froze for an instant, then ran back to the foyer, the door slamming shut just as he reached it. He sank against the portal, refusing to look at his partner.

"What's wrong, angelfish?"

Slowly, he turned around, acknowledging his defeat. His eyes traveled up from the one-toed slippers, past the three inches too-short, thin cotton kimono emblazoned everywhere with "Fukuyama Castle Hotel" in dark blue letters, past the Cheshire cat grin to the slicked-back hair pulled into an extremely small top-knot. The only thing worse would have been a sumo-style loincloth.

"You've gone over the top on this, mate. Straight over the top."

If anything, the grin got bigger. Bodie slid an arm around Doyle's waist and guided him into the front room. All the furniture had been replaced by tatami mats and a small wooden table. In the center of the room, in a square ceramic pot decorated with "artist's rendition" birds, stood a miniature cherry tree in full blossom.

Actually, it was a miniature *plastic* cherry tree in full blossom. With a cherry incense cone burning in a brass dish beside it for good measure.

"Cherry Blossom Festival?"

"Emperor's Birthday."

"Oh . "

"Here," Bodie extended a dark blue package toward his partner, "got this for you. Put it on."

Ray shook out the package, revealing a somewhat longer, though just as thin, blue cotton kimono, thankfully imprinted with white scallops as opposed to hotel names, and a pair of the same type of one-toed slippers that his companion wore.

Oh, hell. Why not? "Thanks, mate. Does seem a bit warm in here."

Pleased, Bodie wandered off toward the kitchen. By the time he returned, Doyle was arranged cross-legged on the floor. He looked up, his own frizzy top-knot waving frantically. "What now, grasshopper?"

The dark-haired man put a lacquered tray on the table and settled down beside his partner. "It's simple. We eat, drink and watch the flowers die." He handed Ray a gray porcelain dish--cup, actually--and kept one for himself.

"Bodie, the flowers're plastic."

The blue-eyed man flashed him a grin. "Then it'll take a long time, won't it?" He picked up a matching vase from the tray and poured Doyle a drink.

"Careful, the sake's hot." He waited expectantly.

Ray took a cautious sip just as Bodie said, "Now you've got to do me," causing Doyle to nearly spit the fiery liquid into his partner's lap. "It's an ancient tradition," Bodie explained. "No one pours their own alcohol." He relaxed back a bit, which more than adequately demonstrated his lack of undergarments. "Nice, huh? The tradition, I mean."

The curly top-knot nodded in agreement, while green eyes focused on the gape in the robe.

They sat in companionable silence for a time, contemplating the tree. Or in Doyle's case, contemplating Bodie's crotch while he contemplated the tree. When the buzzer went off, both men reached for their weapons before the source registered as the oven timer.

Sheepishly, they both put their guns away. Bodie checked The Book for a minute, then returned it to the shelf.

"Ray, would you mind turning on the stereo while I get dinner? Just turn it on; the records are all ready to go."

"Sure, mate." Doyle got up and turned the power on as Bodie left for the kitchen, and was rewarded with the plink-plink-twang of oriental music.

Definitely over the top.

He checked the room and door to the hall with furtive glances, then went to the bookshelf and pulled out the project planner from hell. He scanned the day's entries and let out a short silent whistle. Yes, The Book needed to go.

From the kitchen came the unmistakable clatter of dishes and a barked, "Ouch!" Doyle quickly replaced the offending volume and moved down the hallway toward the smell of food. He stuck his head around the door jamb.

"Need any help?"

Bodie was sucking on a finger, a wicked-looking fillet knife lying next to him. "Nah. I'll just be a minute. Why don't you take the rest of the stuff inside?" He nodded toward a red wooden tray sitting on the counter.

Doyle picked it up, noticing the detailed work along its edges.

"Where'd all this stuff come from, anyway? Haven't seen any of it before, have I?"

Bodie snorted. "Don't know everything about me, do ya?" He paused significantly, going into his "mysterious past" routine.

Doyle wasn't buying.

Bodie shrugged and went back to work. "Most of the stuff is mine--it's been in storage since I joined CI5--but the nice stuff is Cowley's."

Doyle said nothing, expectantly. He was good with expectant silences. He'd practiced them on Bodie until 3 seconds of expectant silence could make his partner reveal whether Bodie preferred one-ply or two-ply in his bog roll.

Not that Doyle actually wanted to know.

With an exaggerated sigh, Bodie set down the knife and turned to face his partner. "The Cow was stationed in Hong Kong for awhile; that's where he met Macklin. Spent some time there myself, with the SAS."

Not quite satisfied, Doyle let the matter drop. There were more interesting things to think about, like the rest of Bodie's schedule. He picked up the red tray and returned to the sitting room, setting the tray on the small table.

"Done!"

Bodie's cry sounded as if he'd finished deciphering the Dead Sea scrolls.

Doyle's berk-of-a-partner waltzed in, cautiously carrying a fish artfully arranged on a thin bamboo platter as though it were an exhibit from the Museum of London, and placed it on the table. The head and tail were propped into a esthetically pleasing arch, while its flesh had been cut into bit-sized bits and arranged along its spine. Getting closer, Doyle noticed the mouth opening and closing while its eyes shifted from side to side and the tail twitched occasionally.

"It's not dead yet!"

Bodie looked up at him from his chosen spot on the floor. "Don't worry, sunshine, it's dead. Too stupid to know it." He popped one of the pieces into his mouth with a pair of bamboo chopsticks.

"Rather like one of my mates," Doyle muttered, sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of the low table.

Bodie just smiled and picked up another piece, dipped it in one of the half-a-dozen sauces and swallowed it whole. "You're a carnivore, Ray. Enjoy it."

Never one to let his partner get the upper hand, Ray tried a piece. It tasted better than Calamari, anyway. Not as rubbery.

The two agents joked back and forth a bit, making an elaborate ritual of pouring each other's drinks, when the buzzer went off again. This time, Doyle grabbed his partner's arm before he could run off. "Sit down, Bodie. It'll turn off in a second." He waited until the timer tripped off, then nodded toward The Book on the shelf. "You don't need a schedule for me, do you?"

Bright red, Bodie said nothing. His embarrassed silences were nothing compared to Doyle's expectant ones, but they did the job.

"Okay, sunshine, what was the bell for?"

Bodie shifted uncomfortably.

Ray shook his head, the top-knot doing a counterpoint. "Well, I'll just look it up, then, shall I?" He carefully got to his feet, pulling the kimono around him, and strode over to the bookshelf. Pulling out The Book, he flipped instantly to the place he'd marked earlier.

Bodie attempted to become part of the floor as Doyle brought The Book over and pointed out the day's entries.

"Here it is. 9:35 - Dessert." Doyle paused pointedly. "Under the main heading Seduce Doyle." He snapped the cover closed and stared at his partner. "Whatever happened to 'Emperor's Birthday?"

Bodie blustered. "The way we've been getting on for the last few weeks, thought you might be interested. That's the only reason I took up writing it all down. Couldn't believe what I was hearin'."

Ray sank to his knees and ran his hand along his partner's chest, pulling the chin up so he could look into embarrassed blue eyes. He smiled gently. "I am interested, sunshine."

Bodie froze, then softened, a childlike grin sneaking onto his face.

Doyle pulled his partner up with him as he rose, murmuring, "I just think we can do without the plan, though." He wrapped his arm around the ex-merc's waist, marched them both into the kitchen and dropped The offending book into the dustbin, nearly tipping the thing over.

"The leather's still good, y'know," Bodie protested mildly, kissing the back of the smaller man's neck, pulling him back into a tight embrace. "Bed?"

Ray arched against him, enjoying the sensation as passion kindled between them. "On one condition." He pointed at the planner. "That you leave that damn thing there."

Bodie waved expansively. "For you? Anything." He smiled. "Besides, it came out of the Cow's budget." One hand came to rest on his partner's arse, giving a small squeeze. "A small sacrifice, indeed, if it bothers you that much."

Doyle shook his head. "Nah. That's not it. It's just that Murph said if you ever brought it into headquarters again, he'd use it to perform GBH." Ray turned back to face his partner, draping his arms up and across the muscular back, moulding himself to the stocky form. "Cowley said he'd get away with it." he added in a whisper. "And Betty said she'd help. With great glee."

"...Betty?"

Ray lightly licked the full lips, easing his way down the left side of the pale neck. "After you reminded everyone what she did at the last CI5 party..."

"Oh." Bodie kissed him, their tongues intertwining, the kimonos parting in front.

Green eyes darkened with passion. "Bed, sunshine, bed."

Bodie grinned in agreement ant led the way.

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In the morning, they gave the fish a Viking-style funeral with The Book providing the pyre.

-- THE END --