The Professionals belongs to Brian Clemens and Mark 1 Productions. This is done for love, not money.

Bodie lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. It was over. Everything was over. He should leave, move on, but he couldn't work up the energy. Couldn't work up the energy to do anything but lie here. Couldn't even work up the energy to hate.

He should have expected it. It had all been going too well. A job he was good at, was comfortable doing. A boss he trusted. A partner he trusted. Lone wolf Bodie, finally becoming a team player.

He should have known. Should have known they were all the same.

Marikka dead, blown away in front of him. In front of CI5, MI6. An awkward pat on the shoulder from Cowley, promise of a couple of days off for him to try to deal with it. A swig of scotch from the old man's hip flask. Not enough.

Bloody Marikka. She'd been dangerous right from the start. And that had been half the attraction for a young, stupid Bodie. For an old, stupid Bodie, the attraction had been more difficult to define. Trying to recapture the old days? Maybe. Or maybe he'd simply been in love. She hadn't changed. Not really.

And Doyle? Nothing from Doyle. He'd followed orders, been the good little CI5 man. Done exactly what Bodie should have expected from him. One day he would stop hoping that people would exceed his expectations.

Bodie was jolted from his reverie by the harsh buzz of the doorbell. He lifted his head, stared at it, then flopped back down. No point.

The doorbell buzzed again. Kept buzzing.

Bodie pulled the pillow up round his ears. It muffled the sound but didn't cover it. He let the pillow fall back. No point making the effort.

Finally the doorbell stopped.

"Bodie, I know you're in there."

Bodie shut his eyes.

"Bodie, if you won't let me in, I'll come in anyway."

An unrecognised tune danced round Bodie's mind. He concentrated on snaring it.

"I'm not kidding, Bodie. I could kick your door down. Perfectly legit. Worried about a fellow CI5 agent, not responding to calls."

He'd been listening to it the other day. Waiting in the car while Doyle nipped into the newsagents for a paper.

"Just let me in!"

Irritating bass line.

"I let myself in."

Bodie opened his eyes. Doyle was standing next to his bed, hair even more of a mess than normal, t-shirt streaked with dirt. "Hope you haven't busted my door." Stupid thing to say.

"Just picked the lock." Doyle ran his fingers through his hair. "Dunno what to say now I'm here."

"Goodbye?"

"Maybe I should." Doyle waited in silence. Eventually, he sighed. "I know it's worthless but - I'm sorry, Bodie."

Bodie shrugged. "She's dead. Sorry isn't going to fix it."

"Did you love her?"

"Dunno. Used to. Still did a bit, I think." He sighed. "She was just a bird."

Doyle waited.

"I thought she was something special," Bodie finally continued. "After she threw me over, I suppose I cast her as the perfect woman. Kept that as the image everyone had to live up to. And then she turned up and. Yeah, she was nice. Better than average. But I wanted to talk, get to know who she was now. All she wanted was to fuck. Champagne, hotel rooms. Seedy."

"She was human."

A pause. "Yeah. Too human."

"Everyone is."

Doyle. Cowley. Marikka. Himself. All too human. "Yeah. S'pose so."

Soft, almost too soft to hear. "I'm sorry."

"For being too human?"

Doyle shrugged. "Among other things."

"Why didn't you come after me?" Bodie shut his eyes.

"Cowley told me not to."

"And you always do what Cowley says?"

"Yeah. I trust him."

"So did I. Forgot he's human. Forgot we're all fucking human." Bodie embraced the spark of anger. Feeling. He was still capable of emotion underneath this deep, aching weariness.

Doyle was silent for long enough that Bodie wondered if he was still there. He didn't bother opening his eyes to look. "I saw you following me. Talking to the flower seller."

"I've got the roses you bought her. D'you want them?"

"They'll be dead in a week. Less. They were cheap."

"Cost me a quid. Keep that old biddy in gin for a day or so."

"Somebody came out of it well, then." Bodie's mouth twitched with amusement. Suddenly he rolled over, opened his eyes, looked at Doyle. "Bring any booze?"

Doyle produced a bottle of scotch.

"Clever lad. Give it here." Bodie didn't bother with a glass, swigged direct from the bottle. "I'm going to get pissed. Do you want to watch?"

---

Doyle watched. He was expecting anger. Hoping for tears. Got nothing but an empty bottle.

"Got any more?" Bodie's eyes were shut, the words carefully enunciated.

"No."

"Get some."

"Not leaving you in this state."

"Why not? Can't do anything." Bodie hiccupped.

"You can throw up and choke on your vomit."

Bodie didn't reply and eventually Doyle took a sip of the shot of scotch he'd put aside for himself.

"What you waiting for?" Bodie suddenly asked.

"Dunno."

"You'll be waiting for it a long time."

"I'll know it when it happens."

"S'what I thought. Bollocks."

"Maybe. But I'll keep waiting."

"Stupid."

"Call it human."

"Same thing."

Doyle emptied his glass and stood up. "Probably. Time for you to go to sleep."

"Can't move."

"You don't have to." Doyle pulled the blankets out from under Bodie, pulled them up over him.

"Can't sleep in my clothes."

"You've done it before."

"Where you sleeping?"

"Sofa."

"Stay here. Lie here." Bodie patted the bed next to him.

Doyle looked at him for a long moment. Finally, he sighed and pulled the covers back. "Okay." He kicked off his jeans, pulled his t-shirt over his head, settled on to the bed. "Night night, Bodie."

"Don't want to go to sleep yet."

"What do you want?"

"You human?"

Doyle shut his eyes and a faint smile played at his mouth. "Too human. Much too human."

"Prove it."

"I already have." Doyle felt a movement on the mattress next to him and a hand crept on to his chest. He took a deep breath. Swallowed.

"You're not human. Human couldn't follow orders so well."

Doyle reached up, gripped Bodie's hand, stilled the distracting movement. "I'm too human for that."

"Prove it."

Doyle shook his head. "You don't want me to prove it."

"Prove it."

"No."

"Prove. It."

Doyle opened his eyes, turned his head to look at Bodie. "No."

Bodie pulled his hand away. "Go away."

"No."

"D'you ever say yes?"

"Yes."

"What'd you say if I asked you to hug me?"

"Yes."

"Hug me."

Doyle rolled towards him, rested his arm over Bodie's stomach. "Yes."

Bodie sighed and Doyle felt some of the tension leave him. "You ever get lonely?"

Doyle waited, thought. "Yes."

"When there's somebody right next to you?"

He didn't need to think. "Yes."

"I'm lonely, Ray."

Doyle swallowed. "I know."

"So lonely."

Doyle rested his head on Bodie's shoulder, enjoying the softness of the black cotton against his forehead.

"Specially with you here," Bodie continued. "If you go now, I'll be lonelier. Can't win."

"Nobody can."

"Yeah." Bodie's hand stole up, lost itself in Doyle's hair.

Doyle tried to ignore it. Couldn't. His hand paid no attention his brain and tucked itself under Bodie's sweater. Warm flesh, so soft. Moved upward. Velvet skin.

Bodie sighed, a faint breath of pleasure.

Doyle's hand moved further up, ghosted over hardened nipples. He swallowed. "Shouldn't take advantage."

"Know I shouldn't."

Not what I meant. But he didn't say it. Couldn't say it. He lifted his head, pressed his lips against Bodie's jaw. The tensed muscles relaxed.

"So nice." Fingers loosened from Doyle's hair, caressed down his neck.

Doyle shivered.

"Cold?"

"No."

Bodie turned his head, dropped his mouth against Doyle's forehead. "I am," he murmured into the skin.

Doyle sat up. "Let me." He gripped the bottom of Bodie's sweater, pulled it upwards. Bodie shifted just enough for Doyle to pull it over his head. Then Doyle sank back down, pulled the covers back over them. "No need to be cold." Flesh against flesh. Smooth shoulder so much nicer than black cotton.

"Always cold."

Doyle kissed Bodie's shoulder. Solid, muscled, velvet shoulder. Beautiful shoulder. Kissed across. Collar bone. Three fractures that Doyle knew of and still perfect. Kissed up. Traced the jawline. Stubborn. Pigheaded. Cold. Lonely. Human.

Bodie's fingers trailed liquid fire down his spine. "Not as lonely."

"Should never be lonely." Kissed down Bodie's chest, head buried under the covers. Avoided his nipples - too obvious, too impure. Fingers unbuttoning Bodie's jeans. Knowing, secure, confident fingers. Not fumbling, not nervous. Deceitful fingers, pulling soft, grey jeans down over heavy hips. Gentle fingers, caressing satin skin over hard flesh.

"Not as lonely." Bodie's fingers playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

Encouragement. Pressure. Doyle kissed over Bodie's stomach. Paused.

"Not as lonely."

Dropped his mouth. Tongue caressing molten velvet, liquid gold.

"Never as lonely."

Taste seducing him. Texture raping him.

"Never as lonely."

No choice. No resistance. Not tonight. Not ever.

Bodie silent as he came, Doyle swallowing. A final warm, contented sigh; a final stroke of burning fingers down Doyle's shoulders. A final murmur that might have been: "Not lonely."

Doyle rolled away. His own erection would fade unattended. In the morning, they wouldn't remember. Even if they did remember, they wouldn't.

They were too human to remember.

-- THE END --