"You're going to do what?" Doyle's face was a picture of disbelief and suspicion. Had he heard that right. Bodie actually offering to prepare a meal for him that night.

"There's no need to sound so surprised. I can cook you know."

"Yeah, I know. I've seen it. Oven chips, frozen pies and dried up beans on burnt toast."

"Look, you don't have to come, I just thought as we weren't doing anything tonight it might make a nice change." Bodie was beginning to wonder what had prompted him to make the offer in the first place. He hated cooking, even for himself. Given the opportunity he'd much rather eat Doyle's, anyone's had to be better than his. If he was lucky though, maybe Doyle would take the invitation as a joke and shrug it off. Some hopes!

"Okay, lets see what you come up with then. I'll be at your place by eight, see you."

Doyle smiled, waved cheerio and drove off towards home, leaving Bodie on the pavement outside CI.5 HQ wondering what the hell he was going to do now. Thinking furiously, he drove home. It was obvious that Doyle expected him to make a complete cock up of the whole thing, thereby gaining ammunition to shoot him down for months to come. It suddenly became very important that the meal be a success, but how the hell he was going to manage that eluded him for the moment. Doyle, he knew from experience, was a very competent cook, whoever taught him had done a good job.

Bodie knew he could cook well enough to survive, the stew he used to make from compo rations in his mercenary and army days was always commented on! Mind you, if they didn't eat what was prepared they went hungry and Bodie had to admit that a starving man will eat almost anything.

Arriving at his flat he went straight to the kitchen to see what he had in. The fridge revealed 2 packets of butter, a bowl of rather aged tomatoes and a furry, soggy cucumber that had seen better days. There was also a plate holding a few cooked sausages, his favourite nighttime 'picky' treat. The small freezer section was nearly full and looked more hopeful, but a rummage through its contents proved equally disappointing; a bumper bag of oven ready chips, frozen sausages, beefburgers, rissoles, ice cream and assorted one person dinners.

With a small sigh, he shut the fridge door and tried to picture Doyle's face as he dished up the dinner, the table nicely laid, posh cloth and best glasses -- and a pair of scissors to cut his dinner out of its bag!

He didn't even bother looking in the larder knowing that it would resemble Old Mother Hubbard's. He would just have to go out and buy something. Bodie made himself a coffee and tried to work out a plan of action. Surely he must have at least one recipe book somewhere in the flat, but a swift check over the bookshelves proved fruitless. Oh well, he thought, he'd just have to go out and buy one. He looked at his watch, one o'clock, seven hours to buy a book, find a recipe, get some shopping and learn how to cook. Easy!

First stop after leaving his flat was the little bookshop down the street, but after a few minutes scanning the books on offer, Bodie felt like giving up -- it would be easier to take Doyle out to a restaurant and foot the bill. The titles in front of him ranged from, 'How to prepare you vegetables' to 'John Le Carre Cooking for Friends.' At first the title had looked hopeful but a quick flick through the pages hadn't revealed a single recipe that looked promising.

A soft voice interrupted his examination of the shelves.

"Excuse me, Sir. Can I be of any help?" Bodie looked down at the lady beside him.

"Yes please, I am having a bit of trouble." He admitted, then smiled at the shop assistant, valiantly ignoring the fact he knew he had gone all pink with embarrassment. "All I want is a plain cookery book, something... simple." He waved a hand over the books in front of him. "All of these seem a bit complicated. I just want something that even I can do without ruining everything and giving everyone indigestion."

The lady smiled knowingly and patting Bodie's arm, leant forward and whispered, "You young men are all the same," she said. "What you really mean is you want to impress some young lady that you are wonderfully self-sufficient. I know. They all come in here and say, 'what I want is something that looks good, tastes better and is easy to cook.' Am I right?"

Bodie was about to agree, with reservations about wanting to impress a lady, but the assistant didn't give him a chance. "I know I'm right," she said smugly patting his arm and looking up at him, lost for a moment in almost forgotten, but cherished memories of how young handsome men had once tried to impress her. Oh to be young and twenty again!

"I have just what you need over here." And she led him over to the cash desk and drew out a slim book from under the counter.

Virtually every inch of the work top was covered with mucky spoons, saucepans and bowls, the cooker top looked as if it had survived a minor earthquake. At last, Bodie's groping hand found the elusive wooden spoon that had wedged itself at the very back of the cutlery drawer -- no doubt the other five spoons would turn up when he started the washing up. Giving the sauce a stir, Bodie finally began to relax and felt the sense of impending doom fade away.

Everything was cooked, all he had to do now was chuck it in a serving dish and throw it in the oven while he prepared the salad and cleared the kitchen up. He was on the second layers of pasta, meat sauce and cheese sauce when the door phone buzzed. Swearing under his breath, Bodie answered it.

"Hello?"

"It's me." Bodie checked his watch and swore, it was only just gone seven.

"You're early," he said accusingly, very conscious of the mess in the kitchen.

"So?"

"It's not ready, you said eight o'clock."

"Bodie! It's pissing down out here, are you going to let me in or am I going to have to sit out in the car for the next hour?"

Standing by the front door, Doyle was aware of Bodie's reluctance and was half expecting to be told to wait outside, but the door clicked and hummed as Bodie, begrudgingly granted him admittance. Taking his time he walked up the stairs and found the front door open and went in. The kitchen door was shut which was clearly an order to keep out. Sniffing appreciatively -- whatever it was it smelt good, and ignoring the unspoken message walked through to the kitchen in time to see Bodie closing the oven door. Refusing to react to the disaster zone that had once been a kitchen, Doyle sniffed dramatically.

"Smells passable, what is it?" He looked around trying to track down the source of the smell. "Where is it?" he asked curiously as he peered into a pan and tired to identify the contents. Cautiously he plucked out one of the strips of pasta.

"Let me guess. Meat sauce, cheese and pasta. Lasagna?" he asked Bodie, and received a mute nod as his harassed looking partner snatched away the cheese and meat saucepans.

Something about the pasta left in the pan puzzled Doyle. He liked Italian food, no doubt one of the reasons behind Bodie's choice, and he'd cooked a fair bit of pasta in his time -- but never quite like this.

"What happened to it?"

"It stuck to the bottom of the pan. What of it?" Bodie demanded.

"No. Not that, its just... well... it is only four inches long, what have you done to it. You didn't buy it like that, did you?"

"How else was I supposed to get it in the pot. It's twice that length in the packet?" Bodie asked reasonably. The stiff length of pasta had caused him a few nasty moments -- but he'd soon cut it down to size. He supposed that in Italy they had special rectangular saucepans... all that spaghetti and stuff...

Keeping his face straight, Doyle retreated to the living room. It was a good half hour before Bodie emerged from the kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his hands and forearms glowing pink from being emerged in hot soapy water.

"It's almost ready. Do you want it on your lap or on the table?"

"Well... if it's not too much trouble I'd rather have it on a plate-- the table will do very nicely." Doyle added quickly as his host threatened to chuck the nearest object to hand straight at him.

Doyle stretched and sprawled across the sofa. "Y'know, that wasn't bad. Not bad at all, in fact, it was quite good."

"Told you I could cook," said Bodie smugly forgetting the panic of the afternoon.

"You'll have to practice a bit more though. I could get used to letting you feed me -- it'll make a nice change."

"No way, mate. I don't intend making a habit of this." Bodie spoke with feeling.

"Aw, shame. Being wined and dined by you s'nice. It's not the same as doing the works in a restaurant for some bird is it?" Doyle refilled their glasses and silently toasted his host.

"How d' you mean?"

"Well," Doyle waved a hand around over the pair of them and the room at large, "S'more... relaxing. Comfortable," then shrugged and smiled awkwardly, not really sure of what he did mean.

"Huh! What you mean is, if you'd taken some bird out you'd have to spruce yourself up, remember not to pick your nose or take your shoes off in the restaurant."

"Oi!" said Doyle indignantly, vaguely aware that he'd just been insulted. "I showered and changed before I came out. Clean shirt, underpants, aftershave, the bloody lot mate!"

"Happy birthday to you, happy..." chorused Bodie.

"Idiot." Doyle threw a wine cork across the room and scored a direct hit on Bodie's nose.

When the wine bottle was finally drained of it's last drop, Bodie decided that just maybe, Ray would be mellow enough to comply with his request.

"You gonna help me wash up?"

"No."

Oh well, it was worth a try.

"I'm going to take a page from your book, mate. Eat your food, drink your wind and leave the clearing up to you." Lifting his jacket from the back of the chair, Ray began to move towards the door. "I'll see you in the morning." He stretched sleepily and shrugged his jacket on. "Thanks for the dinner."

"No problem, sunshine. Treat me right and I just may offer to do it again sometime." Struggling upright from his low armchair, Bodie staggered almost losing his balance. "Phew, that wine's stronger than I thought." He looked across the room at Ray in time to see him sifting through his pockets to find his car keys. "You going to be all right driving? Can always stay here." he offered.

Doyle considered it for a moment, "Nah, I'm okay. I'll look out for the eager beavers with their pretty balloons."

"Maybe you should stay -- better safe than sorry, besides the Cow'd kill you if you got breathalized."

Doyle raised his eyes heavenwards.

"Bloody hell, if you're that worried I'll telephone you when I get indoors to let you know I've arrived safely. I'll be all right." To reassure Bodie, Ray slung his arm around his friend's shoulders and finished the sentence with a little squeeze. Unthinking, his body completed the comforting action by drawing even closer and delivering an gentle kiss onto Bodie's mouth.

Both men froze!

Eyes wide open, Ray stared with shocked fascination into a pair of equally startled clear blue orbs.

Ray recovered first and went to draw away only to find himself held in a tight grip.

"You're holding me," he croaked.

"You kissed me." said Bodie. His whole body tingling from his scalp right down to the tips of his toes.

"Why are you holding me?" Doyle's voice sounded distant and stilted to his ears. Why was Bodie holding him so tightly? It felt... strange. Not unpleasant though.

"You kissed me," Bodie repeated, "why?"

"I... I... don't know," whispered Doyle. "It seemed the right thing to do. I didn't think about it... it just... happened... I'm sorry... did you mind?"

"Not sure." Bodie thought of the warm, wine-sweet lips brushing his and the hot press of Doyle against him. "No." He said truthfully, "didn't mind a bit. It was just a surprise... a nice one though."

"Oh." Completely stunned by his own actions, Doyle couldn't think of anything to say. He drew away from Bodie's grasp, turned towards the front door and opened it.

"Ray." The name came out as a croaky whisper, and Doyle turned. For what seemed like an age, both men stared intently at each other then Bodie moved, bending his head slightly to kiss Doyle, his hands resting on the smaller man's shoulders, a light touch that could have easily been shrugged off. Accepting the touch, Doyle lifted his face towards Bodie, his eyes closing and lips parting slightly in expectation.

When Bodie finally drew back he knew for certain that he didn't object at all to being kissed by his partner, and from the response he'd felt in the wiry body he guessed that Doyle didn't mind either.

Drawing a deep breath into his oxygen starved lungs, Doyle opened his eyes. Bodie was watching him closely, the hot blue gaze a mixture of tenderness, surprise and uncertainty.

"Wow!" he said trying to calm things down just a little bit. "I'll have to come to this restaurant again, the service is... terrific."

"We aim to please," said Bodie quietly, refusing to release his hold on Doyle's shoulders. "I hope everything was... satisfactory. Any complaints?"

Doyle smiled and moved in closer, Bodie's arms slid down his back and came to rest around his waist. "None at all." Again, Doyle smiled then chuckled softly. "Except for one thing, you didn't have any After Dinner Mints."

"Never mind, we'll have another go tomorrow, I'll remember to buy some especially for you."

Tomorrow. Somehow, tomorrow had taken on a whole new definition. Their faces turned towards each other to meet in another kiss and as their bodies began to press closer, Doyle just managed to kick out backwards with his foot.

Neither man really heard the front door slam shut.

-- THE END --

March 1984