The darkness was almost tangible. Doyle's flesh quivered beneath the surface. The presentiment was intense. The sensation of malevolence was overwhelming.

This was Whitechapel where a Jack the Ripper clone was running rampant, butchering gay men like the original executioner had done the female doxies that had once walked those streets.

A car slowed. "How much?"

The radio in the auto played a heavy metal tune of hatred and bloodshed, a fitting song for that area.

"Not for sale, love," the CI5 agent said as pleasantly as he could. He studied the man carefully, made mental note of the license. His job hadn't come to him doing that yet, and to be honest, he wasn't sure he'd be able to even if Cowley ordered him to actually go with a possible 'client'.

Mist tinted the night with a mild chill, a light grayness. It obscured the lights from the shops and pubs, producing an eerie cast around them. Even sounds were muted.

"One hundred pounds," the man in the red mini said stubbornly.

"No." 4.5 buttoned up his checked jacket. His tone was abrupt, rigid.

"You aren't worth more," the man hissed.

"Be a nice bloke and hunt elsewhere. I'm not for sale." Doyle's eyes searched for Calvin and Jason. Where the hell were they?

The man in the red mini shouted an obscenity and drove off.

"Same to you," Doyle murmered beneath his breath. The crimson auto pulled up next to a lounging, blond man who waited further on. They talked and the hustler climbed into the tiny vehicle. The car became a red blur and then vanished in a thicker patch of fog.

The green eyed man removed a small pad and a biro and jotted down the man's description and the license number. The only clue the police had been able to gather was that the car involved had been black, Italian make, but it wouldn't hurt to keep track of all the vehicles he saw in the area...just in case.

---

At CI5 headquarters, Cowley stared morosely at William Bodie. There was a brief moment of silence, then the agent known as 3.7 admitted, "I know he's working in Whitechapel."

"Aye," the older man agreed dourly.

"He shouldn't be alone."

"Doyle can take care of himself."

"Is he after the Shredder?"

"And what if he were?"

"Bob Shyre had a black belt. That didn't stop the Shredder from cutting off his bollocks."

Cowley winced. "Ray volunteered for this job on the condition that he work alone."

"It was his idea, and if I so much as hear a rumor that you're planting your feet into this, I'll suspend you without pay for a month. Understood?"

"Yes." Bodie studied the stern, cold eyes of George Cowley. "Why is CI5 involved?"

"Lord McGillis' grandson was one of those killed. They hushed up the connection, but we were brought in, just in case."

"Lord McGillis' grandson was a street walker?"

"That's neither here nor there, Bodie."

"It is possible that the other killings were cover ups."

"Indeed." His blue eyes spoke volumes which 3.7 understood immeadiately. The agent shrugged and shifted slightly in his chair.

Cowley viewed the other man in suspicion. Whenever 3.7's eyes were thin slits like they were now, he was up to something. He pulled a folder from his left hand drawer, plopped it on his desk but changed is mind when he glanced back up at Bodie. Knowing Bodie like he did, he had no doubt that his agent would go to Doyle. Why waste his breath in giving him a different assignment? "You're dismissed, 3.7."

The ebony haired agent nodded, stood up in slow, laziness. He left.

---

"Cor, if it don't stink in here," Jason said and wrinkled his nose.

"Stop letting your air out of your tires then," Calvin remarked dryly. He took one last drag of his cigarette and ten tamped it out in the dirty ashtray.

"I ain't fartin'," the auburn haired man snapped. "God if this seat don't feel like it's got rocks in it." He wiggled on the stool.

"The only rocks you feel are your own," the dark haired man, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "How about letting me cop a pat?"

"You keep your hands to yourself," Jason ordered. "I'm a good boy, I am, and I don't fool around with strangers."

Calvin choked on his ale as laughter tried to occcupy the same space as the liquid. "Like hell. If you expect me to believe that, you're a bloody fat, arse."

"Ah, Binky, I thought you loved my arse." Jason's hand came to rest on Calvin's jean clad thigh. "At least that's what you told me last night!" And then he mumbled, "And it ain't fat."

"Fool." He turned to Doyle. "Take him off my hand, Ray."

"I'm too much for him." Giggling, Jason grabbed his glass. For a moment, as he hoisted it, the light gave a golden stain to the alcoholic beverage.

4.5 laughed beneath his breath.

"Hello, Love," a very familiar voice said from behind Doyle. 4.5 rotated his stool and viewed Bodie in mild vexation. "How about a kiss?"

And 3.7 pursed his lips, half closed his eyes.

Doyle shot up, drug an unresisting partner to an empty part of the pub. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Taking in the sights." 3.7's eyes swept over the trim form of his partner.

"Damn Cowley."

"He didn't think of this."

"Trust you to stick your nose into it then."

"Who said I am?"

"I swear, if you bungle this up on me...."

"I'm not going to muddle anything!" The ex-mercenary's tone was sharp, miffed. "We been partners for over a year. You know I wouldn't botch our assignment."

"Our?!"

"I thought you could use someone to watch your back."

"I'm working alone on this," the green eyed man told his partner coldly. "I'm sure Cowley told you that too, so you can hoist your backside out of here!" His lovely green eyes shot fire and venom at the other man.

"I can come in here for a drink, same as the next fellow."

"You're not the same as the next fellow in here," Doyle snapped, peeved.

"How'ja know, Sunshine? Bodie winked once. He turned and walked off, swinging his hips in an extreme sexual way.

"Bodie!" Doyle said in a low, harsh voice. 3.7's chuckle sent shivers up and down Doyle's spine.

Bodie sat down on the stool next to Jason. He winked at the auburn haired man who smiled lopsidedly back at him. "Pint," the ex-soldier-of fortune ordered from the barkeep. "I'm Bodie." He shook Jason's hand. Both Jason and Calvin introduced themselves. 3.7 pointed at a stiff, scowling Doyle. "Lover's spat."

"I ease sore hearts," Jason said, licking his lips.

"That's not the only thing he'll ease," Calvin said with a smirk.

Flouncing a little, Jason told the other man, "You're just jealous."

"Yeah, right. Flighty bird is what you are, flitting from one limb to another, and I don't mean tree limbs neither." Calvin drained his glass. He tapped it on the counter and the barkeep nodded in understanding.

Jason made a rude sound beneath his breath and turned his attention to the CI5 agent sitting next to him. "I never saw you with Ray before, at least, not in here."

"We use his apartment," Bodie announced with a twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Bodie," Doyle warned as he came up to them.

"You haven't kissed me yet, darling. Don't tell me you're still mad at me?" The twinkle grew until it touched the corner of his lips.

"Go home."

"What? And miss another evening with you?"

"I don't want you here!" He didn't attempt to hide the hard anger that he felt.

"Oh, I do," Jason said, admiring the dark haired agent. "He's gorgeous. I can see him all stretched out, au natural."

He shivered in pure sexual anticipation. "I'll bet you have tons of chest hair."

"I do," came the pleased reply.

Doyle groaned.

"You always were an ill tempered brute," Jason told his friend of fifteen years. "What this darling man sees in you is beyond me."

"You haven't seen him naked," the ebony haired man said softly. "He's got chest hair too, though mine's a lot cuter and a hell of a lot softer."

"Damn you, Bodie, shut up."

"I just love telling tales out of school. Of course, I've seen Ray naked." Jason threw a loving look at the pink cheeked agent. "He's got the cutest, little mole on his stomach, right by his navel. And that grusome scar...." He shivered deliciously.

"Have you?!" Bodie asked softly.

"Go home!" Doyle ordered the other man in wintery remoteness.

"Trust me, he does. But you mustn't be mad, you adorable male." Jason's hand caressed 3.7's arm. The auburn haired man quivered. "I'm sure our evenings together were before he met you." His hand went up the suede clad arm. "I know I'd never sleep with another man if we were lovers. You make me tingle." And he shivered deliciously.

"And I suppose now you're going to tell him you're a virgin?" Calvin demanded sarcastically.

Jason pouted.

"Are you going home?" Doyle persisted.

"No." Bodie accepted the glass from the barkeep and took a large swig.

The man with the chestnut ringlets gritted his teeth and stalked out. Sighing 3.7 set down his glass. He flung money down and rose. From the rigidity of Doyle's spine, from the way his boots hit the floor, Bodie knew his partner of only one year was enraged. Mentally shrugging the dark haired man followed his friend.

"Wait up!"

"Go fuck yourself." Doyle slammed out of the tiny bar.

"Not a good place for that, now is it?" Bodie caught up with the other man, grabbed his arm.

"Fuck off Bodie!" Doyle snapped as he flung off the other man's hold.

"Take it easy, Mary Poppins," came the even tempered request.

"I don't want you involving yourself into my case. I don't need you."

"Why so prickly? What's so special about this one that sets your teeth on a lemon?"

A new, nastier tone yelled, "Fags!"

Doyle and Bodie turned toward the voice. They saw six men standing there. A couple of them carried large sticks.

"Damn," 3.7 muttered. He managed to grab Doyle's arm when the other man took a step toward the newcomers. Further words were shouted at them as the six men hurried forward. 4.5 shook free and swung at the closest basher. His fist connected with a jaw. The man stifled a yelp. Even as the newly injured bastard struck back, another man punched the agent in the stomach. The battle lasted for a good five minutes before the bashers realized that these were normal, gay-bar hoppers. Like most bullies, they did not enjoy being on the receiving end of both pain and humiliation. Gay men better fighters than they were? Unthinkable. Giving up their fight, they ran into a patch of heavier fog and disappeared into the darkness.

Doyle glanced around, saw his partner still on the street, lying on his back. Growling, he straddled Bodie. He grabbed his friend's jacket and yanked him up. "Bloody fool!"

"Kiss it and make it better." 3.7 tried to smile.

"Damn you, Bodie! Stay out of this!" The fog cleared enough to make the angry glints in the emerald eyes stand out in the lamp light.

"I can't stay out of it, if I can't get up, now can I?" Doyle moved and Bodie struggled unaided to his feet. "You would have gotten beaten to pulp if I hadn't been here."

"Just go away."

"Hey, I know you're investigating the Shredder. Why can't I help?"

"Because I don't need you."

"They've torn my jacket," 3.7 complained as he studied a huge rip. "Bloody bastards. Do you know how much I paid for this? And my eye feels like it's swollen as big as my bollocks. Is it?"

"Not yet."

Getting serious, the ex-mercenary asked. "How come you want to travel alone on this one?" Doyle remained silent. "One of the dead guys a friend of yours, sweetpea?"

"Yes."

"Was he one of your lovers?" Bodie inquired softly, gently.

"How...? Yes." Doyle turned and began the trek back to is apartment.

"Which one?"

"Anderson."

"I'm sorry."

Doyle simply lifted his shoulders sightly upwards. He chose a spot in a semi-lit area and leaned against the brick wall.

"It isn't safe being out here alone."

"I can take care of myself."

"Bob Shyre had a black belt."

"He's not going to stop if he sees two of us."

"Maybe he's kinky."

"Bodie!"

He threw up his hands in defeat. "All right! All right! I'll stand over there in that dark corner."

Jason came out of the bar. He spotted them and headed toward them. "Waiting for me, you exquisite man?"

Bodie laughed lightly. "Having a fight with Ray."

Jason clung to the dark haired man's arm. "You've been hurt! Ray! How could you?!" He shifted Bodie's head, clucking his tongue. "You come home with me. Jason will fix that nasty eye."

"I need to stay here and make it up with Ray. I hate to sleep alone."

"I'll sleep with you." Jason rubbed against 3.7 who jerked in surprise.

"He's not homosexual," Doyle said in a harsh voice.

"But he said...!"

"He lied."

"You wound me, sunshine," Bodie said, pretending to be vexed. "I travel all this way to make up with you and you shun me!" He looked at Jason. "Is that fair?"

"Ray always was a stubborn one. Wanna come home with me? I have this great, big tub. We could soak for hours...among other things."

"Can't, but thank you."

Jason sighed dramatically. "I never get the cute ones." He waved his hand. "Ta." Singing a sea ditty beneath his breath, Jason vanished into the darkness.

"Jason talks, Bodie. By the end of the week, everyone will think you're bent."

"Maybe I am," 3.7's tone was mild, restrained.

"Yeah, and I'm Bonny Prince Charlie."

They heard a sound of a car in the distance.

"I always thought you had a touch of the blue blood, rosebud."

A man screamed. Bodie and Doyle reacted immeadiately. They ran in that direction. A black car was parked, still running, by the curbside. An extremely large man, dressed in total black, stood over Jason. The gleam of the huge curved knife was quite evident in the puny lighting. He tried to fight off the huge man. The gay man's shirt and pants had been ripped off. The Shredder heard the running footsteps. He whirled, say Bodie and Doyle heading toward him. H jumped into his car and sped off.

Bodie ran after the car, hoping to catch at least a partial on the license plate. Doyle bent over Jason. At first, the auburn haired man fought Doyle, but when he recognized his friend's voice, he allowed the CI5 agent to pull him close. Jason sobbed against the warmth Doyle offered him.

"We need to question him," 3.7 pointed out in quiet firmness.

"Yeah." And Doyle sighed.

"I'll go call the cops." Without waiting for a reply, 3.7 hurried back into the bar.

"Let me go," Jason begged between sobs. "I can't be seen like this."

"I'll give you my shirt." Doyle removed the cream, silky shirt he was wearing.

"Please."

"You have to talk to us, Jason. You have to tell us what you saw, what he looked like, smelled like, anything that could help us catch him." He wrapped his shirt around the other man's groin area. It was a good thing Jason was so slim, otherwise, it would have been ineffective.

The police came at the same time the ambulance did. Though Jason protested, he did so in vain. They took him to the hospital. Though scared bad enough to lose the contents of both his bladder and bowels, Jason hadn't been physically harmed. Somehow they made it through the police questioning though Doyle had to keep nudging his very shaken friend. It was only after Cowley had finished questioning the man as well, that the Doctor gave the gay man a sedative.

"Aye," Cowley said dryly when they were in the hall. "I should have known you'd be involved, 3.7."

"Not even penitent," Bodie said, "I was just passing through."

"I doubt that. It's too bad your friend couldn't have seen the man's face better," the head of CI5 said in irritation. "Long hair and bad breath are very little to go on."

"He may remember more tomorrow," Doyle suggested.

"Yes."

Cowley shrugged on his overcoat. He turned to Doyle. "I want you to walk the streets more."

"Yes." Doyle hid his distaste.

Cowley walked two steps away from them and then turned back. "Och, well, I guess it has to be done. Doyle, I know you don't want a partner in this, but it's nay safe for you out there. Bodie was right."

"But, sir...."

"Trust me in this. I'd hate to lose you. Bodie, you win. You're 4.5's backup." Bodie grinned in relief and pleasure. Cowley eyed him in sour disapproval but he said nothing else. He vanished down the dimly lit hospital corridor.

Doyle threw his partner a querulous gleam and turned his back on him.

"Okay, sunshine, if that's the way you want it." Bodie sat down on the worn, hospital waiting room sofa.

When Doyle finally realized his partner wasn't following him, he pivoted, stared at 3.7 and then demanded, "Well? You coming or aren't you?"

"Nah."

Doyle snapped, "Don't be an arse."

"Not me, Mary Poppins." Bodie's tone bridged just mildly on the sharp side. "You're doing just fine by yourself."

Doyle flushed and admitted reluctantly. "You're right." He sighed tiredly, ran his hands through his curls and said in a kinder tone. "Please forgive me."

Bodie smiled hugely. "I thought you'd never ask."

---

"I'll wait over here in the shadows. You strut your stuff and I'll watch."

"Yeah. See you don't fall asleep."

"Who? Me? Unzip your coat sunshine."

"It's cold out here."

"Unzip it and unfasten your buttons. Let your chest be seen. You have to make yourself tempting." Bodie searched the other man diligently.

"Not that tempting."

"And run your fingers through your hair."

"Just go stand over there and be quiet. Run my fingers through my hair, my arse."

"Does your backside have hair, Doyle?"

Doyle gritted his teeth and stalked across the street to stand and loiter by the lamp post. Bodie's soft laughter flitted across the street. 4.5's muttered cursed brought yet another burst of muted mirth...and then proceeded to unzip his coat, unbutton his shirt.

Though quite a few cars stopped, and the driver propositioned Doyle, each one drove off when the answer was no.

At three the next morning, Doyle, exhausted, called it quits.

"Fagged out?" Bodie inquired softly as he crossed the street to stand beside his friend and partner.

Doyle sighed as he ran his hands over his face. "And then some."

"My place is closer. Wanna kip out there?"

Doyle thought about it. "Nah, your sofa is too lumpy."

"So, share the bed with me." There was something about Bodie's tone that made the other agent glance up sharply. Bodie grinned mischieviously. "I'll keep my hands to myself."

"See that you do, Bodie."

"I just said I would, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then."

"Well...." Doyle sighed wearily.

"So you'll kip out at my place?"

"Yeah. I'm too tired to climb my stairs. You drive."

"Okay."

Doyle caught himself dozing off in the ride to Bodie's ground floor apartment. "Must be tireder than I thought," he murmered, slightly embarrassed.

"I won't tell anyone."

"See that you don't." He climbed out of the vehicle, ignoring Bodie's muttered comments.

Later, safely encamped in Bodie's small place, Bodie asked, "Want a cuppa?"

"Sounds good. Throw in a couple of biscuits, will you?"

"Sure."

Over tea and chocolate covered biscuits, Bodie asked, "You ever do it for money?"

Doyle froze for an instant. "No." His eyes dared the other man to argue.

"I have."

"You...!?"

"Me. I did a lot of things to survive when I was younger. Want some more tea?"

"Yeah. Thanks." Doyle yawned hugely, and then sighed in exhaustion.

Yet when Bodie returned with fresh tea, Doyle was softly snoring on the sofa. 3.7 stood for a moment, simply staring down at the tired man. Love surfaced in the dark haired man's expression. He set the tea down on the coffee table and gently picked up Doyle's feet and swung them up on the sofa. Doyle murmered in irritation but he did not wake up. Bodie went into his bedroom, removed an extra blanket, returned to his friend and partner, and spread the red and blue striped cover over the sleeping man.

"Sleep well, Tinkerbell." Bodie grinned at his silly joke and went to bed.

It was the smell of food cooking that woke Doyle the next day. It was late afternoon. The sunlight filtered in though the gauzy curtains. It teased his eyes. Complaining, Doyle turned over, realized he was not in his own apartment and then sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he rose. His first trip was to the bathroom, the next one was into the miniature kitchen.

"Morning," he murmered as he went to the teapot. He poured himself a cup and sat down.

"More like good afternoon," Bodie teased. "I made fish and chips. They were frozen, but I'm sure they're palatable enough. I don't suppose you're hungry, are you?"

"Starved." He studied the other man with brooding eyes.

"What's wrong? I got something private hanging out or something?" He set a plate of food in front of his friend.

"I was just thinking about something you said last night."

"Like what?" He plucked silverware down beside the plate and then retrieved his own food.

"You exchanged sex for money?"

"I was hungry, had been for a couple of weeks. It was either that or eat garbage. At the time, it seemed the better option. I didn't like it though...made me feel dirty."

"I'm sorry."

Bodie shrugged. "I survived. A cop arrested me and threatened to send me to the Nick...or...." An odd look appeared in his blue eyes. There was an equally strange tone to his voice. "It was either go to jail or join the Merchant Marines."

"So you decided on the Marines?"

"Yeah."

"You're really bent, then?"

"More like I'm bent and wiggly Ray. I'm bi."

They stared at each other for a moment. "I never guessed."

"Same here, rosebud." Bodie picked up a triangular piece of fish, took a bite. After a moment, he asked, "I grow another head?"

Doyle flushed. "No, sorry. I didn't mean to stare. It's just...."

"It makes a difference?"

"Does knowing I'm homosexual make a difference to you?"

Bodie's features took on a distant look. "Yeah."

"How?"

"How?" 3.7 almost smiled. It was a strained upturning of his lips. His muscles were tense. "I've always fancied you."

Pleased, Doyle did grin. "Have you, now?"

Bodie's face eased. "Yeah."

"So."

Bodie wiped his mouth on his napkin. He rose and went around the table to stand beside his partner. "Hi."

Doyle stood up. "Hi."

Bodie's hand caressed the lean, prosaic face. "You're beautiful."

"Men aren't beautiful."

"You are." His lips brushed across the other's and then settled more firmly. "Ray..." he whispered. Doyle's arms went around his partner. Lips parted, tongues investigated the joy that represented each other's awareness.

Bodie's hands went up beneath the purple and white shirt Doyle wore. He soothed the muscles that waited, taut for the other's touch. He nuzzled the strong neck. Bodie pressed close, allowing the other man to feel his awakening erection.

"Ray?"

"If you have to ask, then you're not old enough." Doyle's face glowed with elation.

Laughing, Bodie led him into the small bedroom.

---

"Let's call it quits," Bodie whispered loudly from his hiding place. The night felt damper than normal. Or maybe I'm getting older, came the irritated thought. He shook it away. Nah, not me.

"Just a little longer." Doyle's nerve endings tingled. He unzipped his jacket, undid his shirt. He fluffed up his hair.

"Ray?"

"Well, it worked last night. Look at all the offers I got."

"Better watch your pride, Sunshine."

They heard the sound of a well oiled car heading toward them.

Bodie melted back into the darkness of the corner he hid in.

A black car appeared around the corner.

"This is it," Doyle murmered beneath his breath. He knew, he just knew.

"Don't play hero," Bodie whispered back.

The car was black...it was Italian...and it stopped. A man got out. Doyle's whole body grew tense. Something gleamed in the man's hand. It was only for a second, but it was long enough for the CI5 agent to see. In one second, it seemed, the stranger ran from the car to Doyle. The murderer's hand lifted as he neared Doyle. The CI5 agent's own hand went up to grab the other's wrist. Without waiting, Bodie shot out and added his own strength to Doyle's. Within seconds, the Shredder was subdued, handcuffed.

Doyle collapsed against Bodie just for an instant. The dark haired man gripped his partner's elbow.

"It's over."

Doyle sighed wearily. "Yeah."

It would be up to the authorities to prove a case, but with Doyle's testimony that the stranger had attacked him with the knife, it would be enough to start the ball rolling.

"Let's go home," Bodie said after Cowley and the police had come and taken charge of the man known for the last three months as 'Jack the Shredder'. They went to Bodie's car.

"Let's go to my place." Doyle suggested as they drove off.

"Why?"

"My bed's bigger."

-- THE END --