The Professionals Circuit Archive - Role Playing	 Role Playing

 

by Anne Higgins

  
 Peter Balliol stared at the paper in front of him without really seeing
it. He'd already read it, making certain it accurately detailed agreements
that had taken weeks, in some cases months, to reach. Now, he was more
concerned with what it represented -- the end of a marriage that had
lasted twenty-six years. 

Not that the time span was an indication of the quality of his marriage to
Naomi. They'd married when she'd become pregnant with their oldest son,
Mark. Though he had loved her -- *still did for that matter and couldn't
quite imagine a time when he wouldn't* -- he'd been restless from the very
beginning. It wasn't the disquiet of a man trapped into marriage when too
young, but a wanting of something indefinable that she'd never been able
to give him. It had taken him nineteen years to figure out what it was --
he wanted a man. 

Yet their marriage had stumbled on for seven years after that shocking bit
of self-discovery. He'd been unfaithful to her, tentatively and all but
unwillingly exploring his new sexuality with a handful of men, and had
considered an affair with an attractive woman, thinking, hoping, in the
back of his mind that perhaps he was wrong about the men, that another
woman was the real answer to the emptiness inside him. Before he had been
able to act on that impulse, events had got away from him, leading to an
altercation with the police in a gay club and headlines screaming his
secret to anyone who could read. 

But Naomi had stuck by him, remained his wife throughout the scandal and
beyond. For that he would always be grateful to her. He was far from the
first gay member of Parliament, but the label didn't fit him well. He did
find women sexually attractive, had made love to Naomi on more than one
occasion after he'd discovered his attraction to men, but, how had she put
it? *It just doesn't work. Hasn't for a very long time*. 

Ah, yes. It didn't work. A polite way of saying that their love making was
jolly well boring. The ironic thing was that he'd found it equally boring
with men. Not that there had been many men. The world might have decided
he was a homosexual hiding behind his wife, but satisfaction and sexual
bliss had not come from a cock up his backside anymore than it had in his
wife's bed. If he didn't ache so badly inside, he'd have decided he simply
wasn't the sort who really liked sex or relationships. Perhaps that
suspicion was what had made it relatively easy to stay faithful to her
after the scandal broke. Or perhaps he had enough of a conscience that he
had been unable to reward Naomi's loyalty with further pain. In any case,
he had not strayed or even seriously considered doing so in the seven
years since his stint as the media's nine-day wonder. 

Unfortunately, fidelity did not mean the marriage was anything other than
uneasy companionship, and it hadn't surprised him when she'd finally
answered his question of was there someone else with a yes. She wanted a
divorce, and Peter could find no other reason than he would miss her to
deny her request. Dissolving a union of such length was not without its
complications, and their younger son was still not of age, so there had
been custody matters to settle as well, but there had been no angry words
between them. All in all, things had proceded in a shockingly friendly
manner. 

He blinked back a few sad tears, picked up a pen, then signed his name.
That done, he handed them over to a courier and watched the boy leave. A
judge would need to rule on the procedings for it to be official, but to
all extents and purposes, he was now a single man. 

A single man with responsibilities, he told himself firmly, and tried to
turn his attention to the work cluttering his desk. He had the usual tasks
of an MP, but beyond that he was now the senior Parliamentary Secretary to
the Home Secretary, and as such he had been assigned the task of
monitoring CI5. The junior Ministers, O'Shay and Simons, along with a
staff of civil servants, kept an eye on the other domestic law enforcement
organizations, but CI5 was exclusively Peter's task. He had no permanent
under secretaries do the work for him. CI5 was that important, that
useful, that dangerous. 

It was hard to fathom that in this day and age any organization could
exist with a by-any-means-necessary brief. Though George Cowley and his
lot seldom pushed that brief to its absolute limits, the potential for
horrific abuse was there. Hence the assignment of a Minister to play
watchdog. Not that Peter could control Cowley; he had no authority over
him. And though the Controller of CI5 reported to the HS directly, only
the Prime Minister could actually sanction him, and then not without
extreme cause. 

It made CI5 a powerful force in battling government corruption as well as
crime, but it did make Whitehall uneasy. Peter was the early warning
system -- *at least on those occasions when he could figure out what
Cowley was up to* -- for those who had to handle the public relations
problems often left in CI5's wake. 

He was halfway through the morning dispatches when the phone rang. "Peter
Balliol," he answered. 

"My office, Peter," the Home Secretary's voice instructed him. "Now." 

"On my way," he assured the man, but found himself speaking to a dial tone
instead. That sort of rudeness wasn't at all like Charles Truman. Whatever
had happened, it couldn't have been good. 

He got up, walked out of his office, down the corridor, then into the
outer office area serving the HS. He went straight into Truman's actual
office, closing the door behind him. "What's happened?" 

"George Cowley is in the hospital." 

"What? Why?" 

"Heart attack."

******

William Andrew Philip Bodie sat in a chair next to the hospital bed, his
father's limp hand in his, his ears straining for each beep of the machine
that reassured him George Cowley was still alive. He'd sat there for over
twenty-four hours, waiting, willing the man to wake up and scold his son
for being a damned sentimental fool. But Cowley had not regained
consciousness since he'd collapsed in his office early yesterday morning. 

The man in the bed looked so small, so fragile that Bodie fought tears
every time he looked at him. Several inches shorter than his son and much
slighter in build, the man had managed to seem a tower of strength to
Bodie. All but invincible. He almost laughed at himself for that foolish
thought. His father walked with a limp, the result of a war injury that
had left a bullet a permanent part of his right leg. Proof if there ever
was any that the man was all too mortal. Yet Bodie had never considered
the fact that his father might not live forever. Surely, if anyone could
out wit Death, it was George Cowley. 

"Dad, please wake up," he whispered, tightening his grip on the hand that
felt cool to his touch. 

Cowley's private physician had stopped by earlier, a visitor, not a member
of the current team of specialists working on his case. He'd expressed the
usual encouraging platitudes, then something about a spider coiled in his
web for too many years and the wisdom of old dogs giving way to young
pups. 

"How long did you know?" Bodie asked the unconscious man. "How long did
you know you were working on borrowed time?" 

Bodie could forgive his father anything. The suicide runs he'd been
assigned to, the exercises in triple think that had left his head
spinning, the very principle his father lived by -- crown and country
first. Even before the life of his son. But no more. No more spider. No
more webs. The doctors had said as much, and Bodie would see to it that
they were obeyed. But it left him in an awkward position. 

For years he and his partner had been Cowley's best team, not only
surviving operations that had invalided out or killed their peers, but
thriving through them. But last year, shortly after they'd been
instrumental in stopping a spate of terrorist bombings, Cowley had pulled
them off the streets, making Bodie his Deputy Controller and Susan the
Assistant Deputy Controller. For the first time, CI5 had a second level of
command, something Bodie now realized had been a quiet concession to his
father's failing health. He'd removed them from field duty a full five
years before he should have considered it, but even given that, for once
Cowley had misjudged a situation and had waited too long. 

Now Bodie was Acting Controller of CI5. But he was only thirty-three and
had only one full year of muted-experience with the demands of the job. He
was far from certain that he could handle it. So he sat at Cowley's
bedside, the dutiful son determined that his father had done his last bit
of triple think, but at the same time the overwhelmed AC who wanted his
boss back on his feet and working. 

The door opened behind him and Susan walked in, a steaming cup in her
hand. "I thought you might like this," she said, handing it over with a
wistful glance. 

No caffeine, no liquor, no headache tablets. A hell of a list of
restrictions for someone in her job, but she was also five months
pregnant, so she did without. Though Bodie was beginning to think of
wistful as her normal state. 

"Thanks," he said, sipping at the liquid that proved to be a strong cup of
coffee. He doubted anything could do much against his current state of
exhaustion, but it was worth a try. "How are things going at the office?" 

"Running smoothly." 

As a progress report it left much to be desired, and he gave her a stern
look. 

She glared back. "If England looks to sink beneath the waves, I promise
you'll be the first to know. Otherwise, shut up and look after him." 

"Not much I can do," he sighed, giving the limp hand another squeeze. 

"Maybe not, but I know you well enough to know you need to be here. And
I'm going to let you for as long as I can." 

"Just don't wear yourself out, love. Don't want Jax coming after me, do
I?" The baby and the wedding ring that had proceeded it had come from
Bodie's ex-partner. Jax and Bodie had gone through CI5 training together
and had been teamed for three years. Then a white supremacy group had
rearranged Jax's kneecap with a cricket bat, invaliding him off the squad.
Cowley had helped Jax set up a security consulting firm, and Susan, a
member of CI5 for all of three weeks, had become Bodie's new partner. 

At first things hadn't gone smoothly between the two of them. Getting
accustomed to a new partner and working with a woman when he had the usual
degree of chauvinism of a man in a violent profession had not been easy
for Bodie. Then he'd discovered that he had a nasty tendency to fall in
love with his partners. He'd had a brief affair with Jax, but the man was
basically straight, and the sexual aspect of their relationship had lasted
less than a month. Bodie's brief marriage to Susan had lasted about two
weeks longer than that. Deciding that his two ex's had a great deal in
common, he'd played match maker -- one of his more brilliant maneuvers as
Jax and Susan had a strong, loving marriage. Not exactly the norm these
days and a bloody miracle when half of the couple worked for CI5's A
Squad. 

Susan sighed. "Somehow I'd deluded myself that now would be a good time to
finally start a family. I should have known better." 

Thirty, off the streets and out of the firing line, even something
approaching reasonable hours with the duty trade-offs having three command
personnel allowed -- yes, it should have been a good time. "You know how
the old man likes throwing a spanner into things." He meant it as a light
joke, but his voice caught, and he found himself biting his lip to keep
the tears from spilling. 

Her arms went around him, holding him as closely as her swollen belly
would allow. "He'll be all right, Bodie," she soothed. "He's too mean to
die." 

It would have been so easy to give in, to let all the fear show, but he
couldn't do that. Though she'd granted him the gift of time with his
father, Bodie was head of CI5 now. Even she needed to know he was in
control of himself, ready to face anything. So he gave her a brief,
awkward hug with the arm also occupied with the cup of coffee, then
managed a smile when she looked at him. "I know. Just tired. You'd best
get back to the office." 

She nodded, then walked to the door. But she paused a moment before
leaving and said, "Times like these, partner, I wish you were still mine
to take home and hold through the night. I think you need that rather
desperately." 

Too right he did, but there was no one. "Bring Jax with you. I've always
fancied a threesome with the two of you." 

A fond smile answered his attempt to brush her off, then she patted her
belly. "You mean a foursome, don't you?" 

He pretended to give that serious consideration. "No, that's too kinky for
me. Three's my limit. Guess you'll just have to go home to your husband
and do without a night of sexual excess with me." 

She sighed. "You're impossible. I'll keep you posted." 

He nodded, and she left him alone with his father and the machines.

******

Peter went straight from a committee meeting to Truman's office, stuck his
head in the door, then asked, "Any word on Cowley?" 

"Ah, Peter, come in," Truman said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front
of his desk. "He's still unconscious." 

Peter frowned as he sat down. "That's not good." And he should know --
he'd been a respected physician before deciding to enter politics. The
longer a patient stayed comatose, the more unlikely recovery became. 

"Apparently he's showing some signs of waking, but that's all I could
learn." Truman gave him a rueful smile. "By God, Peter, if the people in
this office could withhold information as well as George's doctors, we'd
never have to worry about security leaks again." 

Neither man one to carry the notion of the public's right to know to any
sort of extreme, Peter could appreciate the thought and returned the
smile. "Nice to know some still understand the meaning of
confidentiality." 

"Which brings me to the reason I was going to send for you if you hadn't
stopped by." Truman stood up and walked over to the window. "What's your
appraisal of Bodie?" 

He'd done a lot of thinking about that, knowing it was an inevitable
question. "He's a good man. He'll not tend to abuse CI5's brief any more
or any less than Cowley. Solid tactician, and he's got a good ADC backing
him up. I think it's safe to say that CI5 will be it's usual efficient
self with Bodie at the helm." 

"You don't find him too young for the job?" 

Peter sighed. He'd known that would come up as well. "Youth isn't
necessarily an indication of experience, Charles. You know something of
the man's background." 

It was ... unorthodox to say the least. Runaway at fourteen, stint on a
ship, mercenary in Africa, tour of duty in the Paras, then the SAS, and
finally eight years in CI5. Peter could think of a half a dozen career
officers who'd spent less time on the firing line. And somehow Bodie had
also turned out to be George Cowley's bastard son. There was a story
there, a fascinating one he'd wager, but only Cowley and Bodie knew the
particulars, and neither of them would say a word on the subject. 

"Yes, he is experienced," Truman agreed, but there was something about his
tone of voice that puzzled Peter. 

"You expect problems?" 

Truman turned his gaze back to him. "The timing is bad," he said. 

A tad cryptic as far as Peter was concerned. "The timing?" It was never
convenient when an important figure like Cowley made a sudden exit, but he
got the feeling Truman was referring to a matter other than inconvenience.
"Something I should know?" 

A half-smile that was probably meant to reassure, but did exactly the
opposite, answered him. "I want you to go to the hospital. Find out what
you can about Cowley's condition and his prognosis." 

Peter could make a guess now. Cowley was probably finished professionally.
But he opted not to tell that to the Home Secretary. After all, the man
was Cowley's boss as well as his own, and he wouldn't want doctors who
hadn't seen him diagnosing his future to Truman. He'd go and see for
himself, then decide what to tell the boss.

******

Bodie had sat in the bedside chair long enough that he'd lost track of
time, so he didn't know exactly how many hours had passed between the
heart attack and the moment pale blue eyes opened. It had felt like an
eternity, a nightmare that had finally ended with hope, despite his fears.


"Dad?" he whispered, leaning forward, his grip tightening on the hand he'd
held all along. This time a faint, but definite pressure answered him. 

No sound came from the man's throat, but Cowley's mouth formed a word,
"Bodie." 

The tears almost did come then. His father was awake and at least aware
enough to know who his son was. Bodie kissed his forehead, then reached
for the call button. 

A nurse, then a doctor arrived, and Bodie found himself shoved to one
side. He took the opportunity to visit the loo and get a cup of tea. It
didn't help. After the first flood of relief -- the feeling that once
Cowley was conscious and aware of a battle that had to be fought, it would
make defeat impossible -- his adrenaline switched off. He'd been living on
that for hours, and his knees shook as he made his way back to his
father's room. 

He all but collapsed into the all too familiar chair as the doctors made
optimistic, but guarded remarks. He nodded, already knowing the worst was
over, but it was nice to have it confirmed. His father's hand curled
around his own, and the eyes were alert, but weary. Cowley was conscious,
though it was obvious he wouldn't stay that way for long. When they were
alone again, Bodie gave him a stern look. "Old fool, do this to me again
and I'll twep you myself," he muttered, ruining the effect with an
ill-timed sniff. 

Again the hand squeezed his. "Go home." This time Bodie could hear the
words as well as see them. "Sleep." 

He had to smile. Awake for only twenty minutes and the old buzzard was
already fussing over his chick. Although Bodie knew he should go, he shook
his head. If he left, he'd go home and sleep as long as the next crisis
would allow, then CI5 would demand all his attention. He'd not see his
father outside of short sporadic visits again. "I'll stay awhile longer,"
he told him. "You sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." 

And he was. He was there when Cowley opened his eyes for a brief time an
hour later, and again when he seemed to genuinely wake up three more hours
after that. Bodie had tried to doze in the chair, but he was too keyed up,
while conversely his exhaustion had reached near-epic proportions. He'd
honestly felt better after SAS Test Week, and anyone who had ever made it
through that grueling make-or-break evaluation and into the SAS could
testify to the significance of that. He knew it was because he'd been
unable to do anything but sit and worry, his exhaustion and adrenaline
having no outlet. 

He was, therefore, fairly responsive to his father's demand that he stop
being a damned fool and go home. Problem was, he was also relatively
certain that he would collapse if he stood up. Cowley did not need to see
that. "I'll just stay a little longer. Wait until you're ready to sleep
again," he told the scowling man. 

"Bodie, you look terrible. Go home." 

"Dad --" 

"That's an order, Alpha Two." 

A laugh from the doorway drew both their attention. Peter Balliol stood
there grinning. "I needn't check with your doctors to know you're feeling
much better, George." 

"Peter," Cowley answered, his voice not as strong as normal, but far
beyond the earlier breathless gasps. "Maybe you can get him out of here." 

Peter gave Bodie a long look. "Ah. Well, I suppose someone needs to take
him in hand." 

Bodie managed to find the energy to give them both a glower. "I am not a
child," he reminded them. 

"No, but you are one very tired young man," Peter said, taking hold of
Bodie's arm just below the elbow. "Now, come along." 

Bodie nearly jerked away out of sheer principle, but suddenly twigged to
the fact that Peter was offering him a subtle way of getting up without
alarming his father. "Sodding mother hens, the both of you," he muttered,
but stood, Peter's hand steadying him when he would have at least
stumbled. 

Despite the uncertainty of his limbs, he risked leaning over to give his
father another kiss on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered in the
man's ear. "Be back as soon as I'm able." 

They both knew that could mean days later, though Bodie would do
everything in his power to see that it wasn't. "I know you will, laddie,
and I love you, too." 

Though near out of his mind with fatigue, leaving was one of the hardest
things Bodie had ever done. And it took the last of his reserve to do it.
Once out of the room and the door safely closed behind him, only the
knowledge that Peter Balliol wasn't strong enough to carry him kept Bodie
mostly upright and his legs moving, but reaching the car proved a very
near thing.

******

Peter got Bodie settled in the passenger seat of his Merc, snapped the
seatbelt around him, then slipped behind the steering wheel. It wasn't
until he reached the first traffic light that he noticed his charge
resisting the urge to sleep. This surprised him as he'd assumed that the
man would pass out the moment he was safely in the car. 

"I'm a decent enough driver, Bodie. You needn't fear for your life if you
drop off," Peter told him. 

"It's not that, Dr Balliol. If I fall asleep now, you won't be able to
wake me up when we get back to my flat." 

"Ah. That would be a problem." There would be no carrying this sleepy lad
off to bed. He settled on driving as quickly as he could without
attracting the notice of the local traffic cops. As Bodie's current
address wasn't that far from Peter's flat, he knew the short cuts to take
and arrived at his destination within fifteen minutes of leaving the
hospital. 

Bodie didn't get out of the car, and Peter feared the man had managed the
trick of falling asleep with his eyes open. "Bodie?" 

"Just give me a second." 

Poor sod didn't have enough left in him to make it the last few yards to
his bed. Peter parked the car, got out, walked around to the passenger
door, then opened it. He reached in and took hold of the nearest arm.
"Come on, son, let's get you to bed." 

"Not that much younger than you," Bodie muttered -- Peter imagined that
only the state of the other man had saved him from the addition of a
fierce glare -- but accepted the offered help. 

Peter grunted as Bodie came upright only by leaning heavily on him. He
sighed when he got him through the front security door and saw that there
was no lift. Bodie's flat was on the third floor. It undoubtedly made it
more secure, but it was jolly well inconvenient today. Well, there was
nothing for it but to start climbing. 

After each step up Peter expected Bodie to collapse, but he didn't even
increase the amount of weight he gave to Peter's care. It was as if the
man had assessed Peter and knew exactly how much of the burden he could
handle and gave him every fraction of that but nothing more. It struck him
that there was no 'as if' about it. Bodie was a tactition. He assessed and
dealt with people and situations most of his waking day. Peter found it
reassuring to know Bodie could do it even in this condition and felt just
that much more confident in the positive evaluation he'd given Truman. 

When they finally reached the door of the flat, Bodie had to deal with the
locks and alarms. The system was similar, but more sophisticated than the
one on Peter's own front door. By watching carefully what Bodie did, Peter
was able to reset them once they were inside. 

He guided Bodie to the bedroom, got him stripped off, then into the bed.
He surprised himself by saying, "I think I'll make myself a cup of tea
before I leave for Division. Give a shout if you need me." 

He'd made it sound as if he only had a few minutes to kill and it would be
pointless to go anywhere else to do so. In reality he had hours. He simply
did not like how wound up Bodie looked. Best to stay awhile and be certain
he'd settle down. 

"Help 'self," Bodie sighed, then curled up beneath the duvet. 

Feeling foolish, but too uneasy to leave, Peter went to the kitchen and
put the kettle on. It only took a brief search to locate the makings of
good cup of tea, and he took a sip of the results with a sigh of
satisfaction. 

While he drank, he went into the front room, attracted, as most guests in
anyone's home were, to the bookshelves. It really told a person a lot
about the owner. Bodie's collection was quite eclectic. A few books on
military history, two tawdry Harold Robbins novels, all of Samuel
Beckett's works and a selection of both classic and contemporary poetry.
Peter was reaching for a large collection of poems when he heard a sigh
come from the bedroom. 

Frowning he went to the doorway and found Bodie lying on his back and
contemplating the ceiling. "You should be asleep." 

"'m too tired to sleep." 

Peter had always found that an absurd statement, but did know that it
happened to some people. He moved over to the bed and studied the
frustrated young man. Normally light complected, Bodie's face had lost all
its color to fatigue and his eyes were burning like two brilliant blue
coals. 

Later, Peter would think of several things he could have done: fetch Bodie
a drink, put on some soft music or even read to him. But all of that would
come to him through the wisdom of hindsight. For the moment, all he could
see was a pair of eyes pleading for him to do something, and he found
himself bending over, then their lips touched. 

A spectacular kiss, one that he could feel all the way down to his toes;
the first touch demanded a second, then a third. Bodie's hands and lips
clutched at him, pulling him down against a muscular torso, with the sort
of desperation one might associate with a drowning man. 

Peter's glasses fogged up and his head spun. He'd never felt such need
before, never felt so ... powerful. The slightest touch brought a moan to
Bodie's lips, and he could feel the hard throb of Bodie's erection beneath
the duvet that separated them. 

Though he longed for the glide of skin against skin, Peter denied himself,
kept both his clothes and the thick comforter between them. In any case,
more was not necessary. With a startled cry, Bodie came, his body
shuddering in an intense release. 

Spent, he fell back against the pillow, looking very much like someone who
had passed out. But the blue eyes fluttered open, looked at him briefly,
then as they closed again, Bodie murmured, "Suppose you want to be fucked.
Do it when I wake up."

******

The buzzing of the bedside phone broke into Bodie's dreams. He groped for
it, noting the time on the clock. He'd either slept about ten minutes or a
full twelve hours. "Alpha Two," he answered, when he finally managed to
get the receiver to his mouth. 

"Central, sir," a woman's voice answered. "Operation Skyfall is in
motion." 

Skyfall? It took a split second for his muddled thoughts to gel, then he
remembered the details. A crate of anti-aircraft missiles had been stolen
from a local army base; he'd put Robbie Allison and Gwen Richards on that
one two weeks ago. Sounded like they finally had a hot lead. "On my way
in," he said, even as he got out of bed. 

All of his adult life spent on the edge of one call to duty or the other,
he'd become a master at a fast morning routine. Fifteen minutes later, he
left his flat with a cup of tea in his hand and looking to all the world
as clean and immaculately attired as a man who'd had an hour to prepare
for the day. 

He got into his silver Lotus, made good time to CI5 Headquarters and
settled in for his first official day on duty as the Acting Controller of
CI5. His only passing thought to the day before was that he'd definitely
had twelve hours sleep. Realizing who had carried the burden of his duties
for the last four days, he let Susan bring him up to speed on Skyfall and
ten other ops that had started, ended or had shown significant
developments during his hospital vigil. That done, he sent her home with a
kiss on the cheek and orders not to show her face in the office again for
at least two days. 

Bodie had arrived at his office around a quarter past noon. Skyfall broke
at three. The missiles were back in army custody -- *along with the
suggestion that they hold on to them this time* -- and the thieves settled
in the nick by four. Along the way, another case came up, this one
warranting the assignment of Anson and Charlie, and another came to a less
spectacular, but equally satisfying end. 

Around six, Betty set a sandwich and a cup of tea in front of him. He gave
her a grateful smile and bolted both down. She'd kept him posted all day
on reports from the hospital -- *all very encouraging* -- but after five
crisis-free minutes passed, Bodie risked picking up the phone himself. 

He talked to the doctors first. Cowley was indeed doing very well. With
proper diet, exercise and care, he'd live a full and rich life for many
years to come. But as everyone had expected, the verdict was clear -- no
more spider sitting quietly in his web. George Cowley would have to opt
for early retirement. Expected news, but not welcome. CI5 was his father's
whole life, and Bodie hadn't a clue what would fill the void its removal
would cause. 

Next he called his father's room. Cowley not a patient any doctor would
dare coddle, he'd already been given the news. They agreed that Bodie
would inform Truman, and he got the distinct impression that Cowley
expected to continue on in some sort of advisory capacity. It didn't sound
like what the doctors had in mind at all, but Bodie decided now was not
the time to argue the point. Or maybe he was just a coward. Cowley always
hovering in the background would make this whole Controller notion far
easier to take. A thought he'd leave to his conscience on another day. 

"So how are you doing, Dad?" he asked, finding himself still free to chat
after the important matters had been at least tentatively discussed. 

"Bored, but nothing a wee nip of pure malt scotch wouldn't cure." 

Bodie grinned, but kept his voice stern. "None of that, old man. 's
definitely against doctors' orders, and I intend to keep you around until
long after I'm a geriatric case." Which at this rate felt a lot like it
would be day after tomorrow. 

"Ach, you always were a selfish child," came the answer, the affection in
the voice unmissable. 

"That I am," he admitted easily. 

"And how are things with you, Bodie? I take it Peter got you home safe and
sound." 

"Peter?" 

"Balliol. My God, son, were you so far gone that you don't remember him
taking you home?" 

He flinched at the disapproval he heard, and, had he been twenty years
younger, he'd have expected to hear himself sentenced to his room without
supper as a follow up. "I ... remember." And he did. At least vaguely. Now
that Cowley had mentioned it. 

"Bodie, I'll not have you neglecting your health because of me." 

"Well, then, I guess you'll have to refrain from scaring me to death
again, won't you?" That came out a little sharper than he had intended,
but a part of him was still very angry that Cowley had kept the condition
of his health hidden from him. 

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. "I'm sorry, son. I thought it for
the best." 

"I know, but, please, for once in your miserable, stubborn life, listen
and do what the doctors tell you." 

"Aye, you have my word." 

That was more than Bodie could ever have hoped for. His father never broke
his word to him. "Thanks. I'll try and stop by on my way home." 

"I'll look forward to it, but will understand if you can't." 

They said their goodbyes and hung up, leaving Bodie free to frown at his
empty office as he tried to reconstruct yesterday. A thought occurred to
him, and he depressed the intercom switch. "Betty, do you know how my car
got back to my flat?" He'd driven it to work day before yesterday, rode in
the ambulance with his father to the hospital and home in Balliol's car. 

"Anson dropped it off for you some time yesterday." 

"Thanks." He'd have to remember to thank Anson as well. If the man had
been half that caring when they'd been lovers, they might still be lovers.
Bodie stood up and stretched, still tired around the edges, but despite
the hour it was too soon to chance going home. There was a drugs bust set
up for tonight, and he could monitor things better from here. 

Still he might be able to get in a quick kip. He stretched out on the
settee, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him. He was right on
the edge of it within seconds, but that brought back a rather vivid memory
of being unable to sleep. "Christ!" he hissed, sitting up abruptly. 

No, that couldn't be right. Not with Balliol. Never with him. Oh, he was
handsome enough. Bodie had been uncomfortably aware of that for years. Not
CI5-fit, but a reasonably firm body, soft sweeping hair that begged for
fingers to run through it and large green eyes that the lenses of his
glasses made look all the larger -- it all added up to a most attractive
picture. Unfortunately, the rest of the package left Bodie cold as a
corpse. 

The only thing about Balliol's bisexuality that had surprised Bodie was
the bi part. The man was given to making rather grand gestures with his
hands and had a quality that, no matter how hard Bodie tried to label it
otherwise, was faintly feminine. He liked Balliol, respected his courage
and his intelligence, but he'd never wanted that sort of ... soft man for
his lover. 

Unfortunately, that was the kind of man Bodie attracted. The needful ones,
looking for some big, butch protector. They took one glance at his strong
build and brooding dark looks, then fell all over themselves lining up for
a chance in his bed. Problem with that was, Bodie was looking for the same
thing. Oh, not the domineering, sadistic protector Krivas had been or the
possessive bastard Keller had typlified, but someone who would hold him in
the night and keep the nightmares at bay. 

Bodie sighed, got up, went to his father's office, then poured himself a
glass of scotch. Tomorrow he guessed he should move his things in here, a
sign to the rank and file that all was business as usual. Yes, it would
have been grand to go home to ... a nice cuddle. But his sort didn't
cuddle, did they? It wasn't macho enough. No, he was supposed to go home
and be strong there too. No safe harbor for him. 

Only man who had ever understood him was Jax. Jax who had slept with him
because he had known Bodie had needed it. Jax, who would still be in his
bed if Bodie had asked it of him. But never in his life had Bodie been
that selfish, and he'd ended it. Jax, bless him, had done his best to hide
his utter relief, but Bodie knew him too well to have not recognized it. 

Susan had understood as well, as had a few other women, but try as he
might, Bodie couldn't deny that he found men more sexually attractive than
women. The small number of male lovers listed in his file was an
indication of the need for discretion in his line of work, not of
preference. 

He could date almost any woman, but he'd chosen to limit the men to ones
in highly vetted positions. It made the dating pool rather small, and
between that and the usual pitfalls of becoming involved with someone, he
went home alone most nights. Or with a woman. He was honest with them,
never wanting to be known as a man who used women. He was not, nor ever
would be a potential husband. If that type of relationship had been in his
future, he would still be married to his wonderful Susan, but they'd been
unable to make it work. Despite the fact that the sex had been good
between them, he'd never been able to shake the feeling that he'd married
some long lost-sister. That they'd acknowledged their mistake quickly
enough to divorce when it was still possible to remain not only partners
but loving friends was something for which he was immensely grateful. 

So he was the man women turned to for a few nights of fun in and out of
bed before moving on to the next fun guy or a man interested in something
more permanent. Or at least he had been. Having reached the point in his
life when he wanted to go home to someone special, he opted to spend most
nights alone. Or he made a mistake like Anson. Or Balliol. 

Well, he had survived Anson, he would survive Balliol. It shouldn't be too
difficult. A few minutes of unreciprocated sex wasn't exactly the stuff of
one of Shakespeare's sonnets. There'd been no note in the flat, no calls
to the office. Yes, a mistake, but obviously one as far as Balliol was
concerned as well. Bodie would be careful to avoid him for a few weeks,
then settle back into the status quo of a remotely friendly acquaintance.
Not a problem.

******

Almost two days later, Peter was still furious with both himself and that
arrogant son of a bitch Bodie. *Suppose you want to be fucked., indeed*.
If the man didn't reek that sort of macho drivel from every pore, Peter
might have been inclined to forgive and forget. Bodie had been exhausted,
and one tended to babble under those circumstances; but one didn't
normally have the wherewithal to lie or misrepresent either. 

And he had jolly well had enough of Bodie's type. Peter knew he wasn't the
most macho of men, but he didn't fit the soft, silly ninny role in which
the Bodies of the world tried to cast him. No, he didn't know three
hundred ways to kill someone with a raisin, but he was a strong man in his
own right. He didn't need a master, a protector or even a posturing
rooster cluttering up his bedroom. And he certainly didn't want another
cock up his arse. He'd found that singularly unsatisfying. 

He knew the two things were not necessarily related. A man could be a
flaming queen and not enjoy being fucked, while the machoest of men might
consider being penetrated the only route to satisfaction. But too often
roles were assigned to preference. Often enough that it made it all the
more difficult for a man like him. He didn't particularly like having
something messing around inside him. And even if he did, he wasn't about
to play the bum boy for anyone. Least of all for Bodie. 

A sigh escaped him. He wished the kiss hadn't been so good. That sulky
mouth had been made to kiss, deeply and often. If only the bastard
attached didn't come with the package. Ah, well, it made him all the more
fool for dwelling on it. He would have thought he'd learned his lesson
about bedding strangers. And that's what Bodie really was to him. They'd
known each other for years, and Peter would wager his life on his ability
to assess Bodie professionally, but they actually encountered each other
infrequently. Cowley, not his Deputy, was the one who frequented
Whitehall. 

When he and Bodie did bump into one another, they were friendly enough,
and Peter had noticed that the man was extremely handsome. Beautiful, if
he were honest about it. Broad shoulders, long lashes over deep blue eyes,
dark hair and skin like polished ivory -- Peter'd had wet dreams that had
featured less spectacular men. But he was a walking nightmare to Peter's
sensibilities. 

It would have been too easy to say the man thought with his balls and
dismiss him. Bodie was intelligent, resourceful and a trained killer who'd
learned his lessons well. The sort of man needed to run CI5, but not at
all what he wanted in his bed. 

Peter sighed a second time. He seemed to have a long list of things he
didn't want in his bed. He wished he could be equally certain of what he
did want. It would be just his luck if he found himself attracted to a
sheep. 

The phone rang on that dejected thought. Another summons by Truman, but
this one coached more politely. Peter responded with the same promptness,
but froze in the doorway when he discovered Bodie sitting in one of the
chairs opposite Charles' desk. 

"Peter, come in," Truman said. "I thought it time the three of us had a
chat." 

"Ah. I suppose that would be for the best," he said taking a seat and
hoping he didn't sound as exasperated as he felt. 

"Bodie has just informed me that George will be retiring." 

He'd told Charles as much yesterday -- *after he'd snuck a look at
Cowley's charts* -- but if the HS wanted to play out some scene who was he
to object? "Oh? That will be a great loss, but I'm certain Bodie will fill
his shoes admirably." 

"I disagree." 

Peter blinked in surprise and noted out of the corner of his eye that
Bodie's face had settled into a mask of neutrality. No one would know what
he was thinking for the rest of the meeting. Peter could play that game as
well -- *what successful politician couldn't? * -- but it would hardly get
them anywhere in this situation. "Charles, I assure you that he can do
it." 

Truman shook his head. "He can run the agents, plan and execute any
operation, and I'd gladly place my life in his hands, but there is more to
running CI5 than that." 

There was? "Such as." 

Truman gave him a look that said loud and clear that he was being obtuse.
"Administration and politics. Am I wrong, Bodie? Has George had time to
train you in the duller aspects of the position?" 

"No, sir. You're not wrong." Bodie's voice was calm, showing no sign that
this had to be excruciatingly embarrassing for him. "He'd made a start of
it, but we hadn't got very far along those lines." 

"Of course, there are people who can do the support personnel management,
even hold your hand through budget allocations, but it's the politics that
concerns me. CI5 has many enemies in Whitehall. You realize that?" 

"Of course." 

"Graham Stebbings is the worst of the lot." 

The Shadow Home Secretary? Peter couldn't see him as much of a threat. "I
don't follow you, Charles." 

Truman sighed. "There are always rumors when election time draws near, but
I've done a lot of probing on the matter and ... well, come May, Stebbings
will be in this office." 

That seemed unlikely to Peter, but all he really knew was that his own
reelection wouldn't be a problem. "You're certain?" 

"I'm afraid so. You'll have a hostile Home Secretary to deal with Bodie,
and that generally means an unfriendly Prime Minister as well." 

"It wouldn't be the first time, sir." 

Accurate enough. Cowley had clashed often with Margaret Thatcher. Peter
spoke up again, alarmed by Truman's projection. "CI5's brief gives the
Controller the absolute right to designate his or her successor." It was
an unheard of point of authority, but kept the politics out of the
organization and a Whitehall mandarin out of the Controller's office.
"Your position is safe, but Stebbings controls the budget. He could choke
off your funding until you can't afford to buy a pencil, let along mount
an operation." 

Truman nodded. "Or he could convince the PM to set up a permanent
committee to monitor CI5. You could find yourself spending most of your
working day asking questions until you'd be insane not to resign. And
they'd keep at it until Stebbings had someone he wanted as Controller or
CI5 disbanded." 

The mask of neutrality did not change. Bodie simply asked, "What do we do
to stop him?" 

"He could not have moved against your father. Cowley commands too much
respect, even some amount of fear, for Stebbings to have ever gained the
support he would need to so openly manipulate CI5. But you --" 

"I'm young, unproven and brash at times." 

"Yes. It would help a great deal if Cowley stayed on as an official
advisor, handled the Whitehall end of things." 

"Absolutely not. It would kill him." 

"Surely that's a bit dramatic." 

"I only wish it were, Charles." Peter sighed, hating to agree when having
Cowley around would make things so much simpler. "George hates the
Whitehall end of the things, and God knows none of us find this work
stress-free. Without the outlet of running the operational end, well, I'd
wager his heart would object again within the year. Whatever we do, we
must do it without George." 

Bodie gave him a slight smile that Peter interpreted as a silent thank
you. 

Truman looked far less happy, but not too terribly surprised. "All right,
but I would suggest we keep George's retirement among ourselves for as
long as possible. It will give us some time to get young Bodie up to speed
on the Whitehall side of things." 

Bodie's left eyebrow rose a fraction. "Sir?" 

"You're getting a crash course in politics, Bodie. You'll have to turn
operational control over to your ADC for the time being, but --" 

"No, sir." 

The refusal was abrupt and carried an edge of steel. It instantly made
Truman bristle. "What?" 

"No, sir. I will not turn operational control over to my Deputy." 

Peter found that ... surprising. He'd assumed Bodie held his former
partner's skills in high regard. "You don't think she can handle the job?"


Bodie stood up. "CI5 is my responsibility. If in the performance of that
duty, I leave myself open to a political attack, then so be it." 

In other words, he wasn't going to talk about it. *God damn it, Charles,
say something*. But Truman didn't like disagreement from underlings,
especially underlings who were relatively untouchable, so he stayed silent
as Bodie walked out the door. *Oh, great. Macho posturing and bruised
egos. A nice show, but not too terribly productive. Now what do I do? * he
asked himself and wasn't all that fond of the answer.

******

The death of a tourist pulled Bodie out of his bed and into the office at
four the next morning. The youngest son of a Saudi sheik had been working
his way through the nightspots, then ended up face down on the pavement in
a puddle of his own blood when he failed to see an oncoming car. It looked
like a legitimate accident, but appearances could be deceiving. Bodie put
Ruth Pettifer and James Morgan on it, but opted to speak to the young
man's father himself. 

He finished that unpleasant task by sunrise, then met with his agents. The
kid had been a hell raiser given to drinking until he passed out. A blood
test had shown a near toxic level of alcohol in his system at the time of
death. A preliminary check of the driver came up negative. They'd make a
better job of it once the rest of the city woke up, but even the family
had acknowledged that it was a miracle something like this hadn't happened
long ago. 

Breakfast was a bacon sarnie and a cup of a tea, then Bodie turned his
attention to the current roster. He had ten teams and three solo agents
currently on A Squad status. All the solo agents and six of the teams were
assigned, one team was on leave and half of another had a broken leg. He
marked three operations that needed to produce results within twenty-four
hours or he'd pull the plug, then gave an order to cancel a surveillance
operation that had failed to reveal any signs of drug activity despite a
tip from a reasonably reliable grass. 

Susan arrived in his office at eight, and he motioned for her to take a
seat. He noted with concern that while her color had improved over the
last time he had seen her, she was still pale, the dark circles beneath
her eyes still present. "How's the blood pressure?" he asked. 

Bitch didn't even blink. "There was no need for you to know." 

He glared at her, angry that she'd kept the state of her health a secret
from him and furious with himself for not noticing how ill she'd looked
recently. But she was right; until Cowley's collapse there hadn't been any
reason for him to know the pregnancy wasn't going well, that her blood
pressure kept going up. They were no longer partners, and the Deputy
didn't assign the Assistant Deputy's calender. But he was Controller now,
and he'd read through her medical file after he'd sent her home. Neither
she nor Cowley had been obvious about it, but she'd been pulling light
duty for weeks. 

She sighed. "Bodie, there wasn't anything you could do but worry, and
quite frankly I liked having someone close to me who didn't fuss all the
time." 

And she hated to be fussed over. "What did it cost you to cover for me
while I was at the hospital?" 

She handed over a physician's report. "I'm sorry, Bodie." 

He did a fast read through it, expecting the worst and found it only a
little better than that, then he sighed and made it official, "You're
relieved of duty until after the baby is born." 

Susan looked disgusted. "Damn it to hell. My entire family tree is full of
women who had babies without batting an eye, and I have to be the one to
break the trend." 

Bodie got up, walked over to her, then knelt beside her chair. "Teach you
to have me for a partner," he said, taking her hand in his, while his
other hand caressed her cheek. "'s my luck finally catching up with you." 

That got him a small smile. "How can I leave you to all this without back
up? Especially, now?" 

"Cowley ran the show for years without help," he reminded her, but she
made a face. 

"He was older, more experienced and look where the bloody hell it got
him." 

"I'll struggle through." He kissed her forehead. "Now get out of here
before I change my mind and handcuff you to a desk." 

She nodded, kissed him on the lips, then left. 

He sighed. He really could have done with her help in the days ahead. He
even found himself wondering if either of them would still have a job by
the time she returned. Thankfully, the intercom interrupted his gloomy
mood, and he picked himself up off the floor, then depressed the switch.
"Yes?" 

"Dr Balliol here to see you, sir," Betty informed him. *Oh, fucking
wonderful. Another round with Whitehall. * Just what he'd needed to make
the morning a total loss. "Send him in."

******

Peter gave Betty a smile and walked into George Cowley's former office. He
and Bodie studied one another with wary eyes, then Peter grew weary of his
burden and sat a briefcase of rather impressive size down on the floor.
"If Mohammed won't come to the mountain. ..." he announced. 

"What?" Bodie asked. 

"Since you have seen fit to refuse instruction at Whitehall, I have come
to give it to you here." And Truman had not been pleased with that notion.
Peter would still have his responsibilities as an MP, but he had spent his
last day working for the Home Secretary. For in the end, ruffled feathers
aside, Charles had agreed that protecting the future of CI5 was more
important the anything Peter could do for him. "You may consider me your
shadow for the next few months." 

"My shadow?" 

"Quite. If I'm to coach you on your appalling diplomatic skills, it would
be better if I saw the problems coming versus being briefed on them after
the fact." All modesty aside, both Peter and the HS had agreed that there
wasn't anyone else more qualified for the task of educating Bodie. Peter
had strong allies and favors owed in both parties, he seemed to have a
knack for smoothing situations, of making everyone feel that their
grievances were understood and a matter of concern for him, even if there
was nothing he could or would do about the situation. And that air of
charm tempered with compassion and intelligence was the reason he would
still be an MP after the elections. "Along those lines, it would be better
if I set up shop in here with you rather than in your old office." 

"It would, would it?" 

"Yes, it would." 

"Balliol --" 

"Unless you are about to offer a better idea, I suggest you get over the
matter and quickly. If you think for one moment that I wouldn't prefer
doing anything else over teaching some ill-mannered, testosterone-on-the
brain prat the ABCs of politics, you can jolly well think again." 

Bodie blinked at the insults, then suddenly, against all of Peter's
expectations, he smiled. "Dr Balliol, we just might get along after all." 

Within the hour a second desk complete with a computer and a comfortable
chair was set up at a ninety degree angle from Bodie's. The room was large
enough that the additional furniture didn't overcrowd it, a pleasant
discovery given how long they'd be sharing quarters. Peter put his things
in the desk, and they got to work. 

He quickly discovered that things weren't quite as bleak as Truman had
thought. Cowley hadn't spent much time with Bodie on the administrative
aspects, but there had been a few lessons and Bodie was a fast learner.
His only real fault was that he had the usual impatience of the young with
old fools. 

So it was Peter who dealt with the calls from Whitehall -- a watch and
learn exercise for his pupil. One MP called, complaining about harassment
of a respected constituent; two others had quasi-legal matters they
thought CI5 should handle. Peter assured the first that he would look into
the matter, referred the second to a reliable private investigator, then
decided the third had a point and turned the matter over to Bodie. He
agreed and assigned a team to investigate. 

His second day at CI5 mirrored the first, beginning early and lasting late
enough that Peter went straight home to bed. Bodie did the same, though he
stopped off at the hospital for a visit on his way home. 

Bodie's senior team reported in mid-afternoon on the third day. Bodie
offered Anson and Charlie a scotch, listened to their reports on the op
they'd just completed, told them to write it up, then added, "Susan is on
medical leave. She won't be back until the end of the usual maternity
leave after the baby is born. It's a matter of blood pressure and staying
off her feet voluntarily or ending up on twenty-four hour bedrest." He
sighed. "Everything will be all right, but it leaves me without an Acting
Deputy." 

Charlie and Anson shared uneasy looks, but Charlie was the one who asked
the question, "You thinking of pulling us off the street?" 

Bodie shook his head. "I can't afford to, at least not full time. I'll
assign you as warranted, but I need the two of you to keep an eye on
things. Do whatever you can to minimize your surprises if something were
to happen to me and you have to take over." 

Charlie gave a dramatic shudder. "Will do, Bodie, but mind your health. I
don't fancy an office job." 

Bodie placated them with a smile, assurances that he wasn't planning on
dropping dead in the near future and the rest of the day off. 

Charlie grinned, then made a fast escape. Anson was only a step behind
him, but then he stopped in the doorway and looked at Bodie. "You all
right?" 

"Fine," Bodie answered. 

"You'll tell me if you aren't?" 

"Yes." 

Anson nodded, then left. 

Peter watched the brief exchange and would have felt hard pressed to say
which of the two men looked more uncomfortable. For some reason, it
irritated him, and once they were alone again, he asked Bodie,
"Boyfriend?" 

"Former." 

Peter realized he'd stepped into something nasty and immediately
apologized. 

"Forget it." Bodie sighed and glanced at his watch. "It's quiet, so I'm
going to make a quick trip to the hospital." 

"I'll go with you. We can discuss the budget while we drive." 

Bodie groaned, but didn't object.

******

It was the first time in the week since Cowley had taken ill that Bodie
had walked into the hospital during regular visiting hours, so it took him
by surprise to find his father wasn't alone. 

Margaret Grant looked up and smiled when Bodie entered the room. He smiled
back, genuinely pleased to see her and not missing the fact that she was
holding Cowley's hand. But she was also sitting in what Bodie had come to
think of as his chair, and he felt a funny lurch in the pit of his stomach
when he settled into one further away from the bed. 

He introduced her to Balliol, then the four of them enjoyed a nice chat
for about a half an hour. He didn't dare spend more than that away from HQ
this time of day, so he stood up, said his goodbyes, then walked out the
door. 

Margaret followed him as well as Peter. "Bodie," she said, stopping him. 

His stomach churned a second time, and he silently told himself not to be
such a prat. "Yes, Mrs Grant?" 

"The doctors tell me George can go home tomorrow. Have you made
arrangements for his care?" 

He nodded. "A private nurse is going to move into his flat for the time
being." 

"Do you think that's wise? Not about the nurse, but having him go back to
his flat?" 

He knew exactly what she meant. In his flat, Cowley would be far too close
to all the things the doctors wanted him to avoid. Keeping him away from
Whitehall and CI5 would be a major problem within days. But the
alternative was. ... "I can't send him to a convalescent home." 

"No," she quickly agreed. "But if you don't object, he could recuperate at
my estate. There's plenty of room for him and the nurse." 

The perfect solution. Beautiful, quiet and a forty-five minute drive from
the outskirts of London. No little jaunts to trouble spots if Cowley
stayed there. Nor did it take much imagination to realize that Margaret
Grant wanted very much to be the one to fill the void in Cowley's life.
And he knew his father had loved Margaret for a very long time. "Yes, that
would be wonderful," he assured her. 

Perfect. Wonderful. But he felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart.

******

Peter cut up some tomatoes as he watched Bodie turn the steaks. He'd
missed something. Bodie had been quiet, almost sullen since they'd left
the hospital, yet Margaret Grant's offer should have been a cause for
celebration. 

George had certainly accepted quickly enough, and Bodie had seemed pleased
in the room, but when they'd left this mood had descended. They'd gone
back to HQ, worked a few more hours, then Bodie had surprised him by
offering to cook dinner. 

Though not exactly how Peter had envisioned spending his first free
evening in seventy-two hours, he'd accepted, oddly unwilling to let the
young man out of his sight. 

And now under the bright kitchen lights, he was glad he'd followed his
instincts. The blue eyes looked so sad, it almost hurt him to see them. 

He waited for Bodie to say something. For certainly that had to be the
reason he was here. But other than an occasional off-hand comment, they
prepared and ate dinner in silence. The clean up proved no more revealing,
so when they retired to the front room for drinks, Peter decided he either
had to speak up or leave. 

He thought he'd put it all together, a flash of recognition giving him the
answer. When Peter's youngest son, Patrick, had been twelve, his best
friend's father had taken a new job and moved the family away to South
Wales. That first night after Jimmy had gone, Patrick had looked very much
like Bodie looked tonight -- all sad and alone. Now, to get Bodie to admit
to it. He considered his first question carefully, then asked, "How often
will you be able to drive up to the Grant Estate?" 

Bodie started, that small jump many have when someone else has virtually
read their minds. "Once every month or so." 

Peter took a sip of his scotch. "Will be quite a change for you, won't it?
I mean, there can't have been many days you didn't see your father during
the last few years." 

Bodie shrugged. "I'm happy for him. 's always needed someone to look after
him." 

"Ah, but who will look after you?" 

Though he couldn't see actual tears, Bodie's eyes got very bright, and he
shook his head. Very sad and very alone. 

It made Peter ache, and he instinctively responded as he had to his
crushed little boy. "Come here," he said, opening his arms. 

Bodie looked at him, his voice soft and uncertain, "What?" 

"Come here," he repeated more firmly, and Bodie surprised both of them by
doing just that. 

Peter settled Bodie down beside him, guiding the dark head to rest on his
shoulder, while he held him in a loose embrace. It was the head on his
shoulder that proved his undoing. Up to that moment, he'd been reacting
like a father, but the almost black hair felt like warm silk against his
cheek and the sweet scent of it filled his senses. Bodie snuggled closer;
Peter tightened his grip and was lost. Disaster though the first time
might have been, he knew he wanted this man. 

"Why were you so sarky when you asked about Anson?" Bodie asked,
indicating his mind was also moving along different lines than it had
moments before. 

"I was jealous," Peter admitted, though he hadn't known it at the time. "I
don't like the notion of you with someone else." 

"'s over. Was a bloody mistake from the beginning." 

"Tell me about it?" He kissed the top of Bodie's head to soften the
request. 

"Was a year and a half ago. Always preferred to chose my dates from the
vetted services, but I'd never realized he swung both ways. We sort of
discovered each other at the same time and tumbled into bed. Was nice at
first." Bodie had been well on his way to falling in love with him. Then
Anson had decided it was time they started fucking. "He flipped a coin,
said he'd take whatever position it indicated. Came up heads, and I got
the best fuck of my life, but it turned out to be the last time it was
good between us." 

Bodie fell silent, so Peter kissed his head again. "Why?" 

"The next time it was my turn to fuck him. I don't really like doing it
that way, and he obviously didn't want to be done, but he'd done me, so by
Christ, I had to do him. You see, he kept track." It just wouldn't have
done at all if one of them fucked the other two times in a row. Anson had
insisted that they always alternate. "I only wanted to be in love and do
what felt good. When I finally tried to suggest doing that, told him I
didn't mind being the one fucked most of the time, he said ... he said
that if he wanted someone to play the wife, he'd find a cleaner hole to
play with." 

Peter hugged him tightly, hurting for him and wanting to take all the hurt
from Bodie. 

"Didn't have much choice but to end it after that. 's funny. I had an
affair with my partner and had to give him up, married the woman I loved
and had to divorce her, but Anson was the one who broke my heart." 

"God, Bodie, how can you even work with him?" 

Bodie shrugged. "He's good back up. I like living better than carrying a
grudge." 

Very sensible, and Peter's admiration for Bodie grew, as did his urge to
protect him. "I'd like to kiss you." 

Bodie tilted his head back and offered his mouth. Peter took it with
relish. The kiss lived up to his memory of the first one and surpassed it.
Fully awake and conscious of who held him, Bodie matched his passions
instead of seeking comfort in whatever form offered to him. 

The soft lips parted and Peter's tongue plunged into Bodie's mouth. He
took his time exploring it, mapping out every sensitive spot, the feel of
every crevice, then he retreated back to his own mouth, urging Bodie's
tongue to follow. The man had talent, he thought with satisfaction,
purring beneath the thorough oral exploration, but when Bodie's hands
sought the buttons of Peter's shirt, he stopped him. 

"No, we're taking this slow. Nothing but cuddles and kisses tonight, my
handsome man." 

Bodie pouted, an alluring sight that severely weakened Peter's resolve,
but no. This was the second time Bodie had turned to him in a vulnerable
moment. He'd regretted it the first time, and he'd not spoil the chance of
a future between them by giving into temptation a second time. 

Clever fingers tried to move again to change his mind, and he captured the
wrists in a firm grasp. "Stop it or I'll leave." 

The sadness returned to the blue eyes, and Peter's heart melted. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Don't want to sleep alone tonight," came the faint, embarrassed answer. 

"I'll sleep with you. Whenever you want me to. When you believe that, I'll
happily fuck you senseless." 

"Humph. Promises, promises." 

But Bodie behaved himself the rest of the evening, though he took Peter at
his word about the kisses. When they went to bed, they exchanged one last
kiss, then Bodie snuggled up against him, and they went to sleep.

******

Bodie was all smiles when he woke up to find himself in Peter's arms.
"Good morning," he said, and kissed him. "You ready to fuck me yet?" 

Peter's hand came down on Bodie's backside with enough force to sting.
"Shower, breakfast, then work." 

"No fucking?" 

"No fucking." 

Bodie grumbled and got out of bed. He had a sudden thought and stopped in
the doorway. "You said you'd fuck me when I knew you'd sleep with me
whether I let you do that or not. How are you going to know when that is?"


Peter gave him a sly smile. "I'll know." 

Bodie scowled, but launched into the morning routine, a little worried
that he was going to end up being celibate for the rest of his life. 

They stopped at the hospital on the way, but Peter opted to remain in the
car and read the paper rather than accompany Bodie inside. When he arrived
in the room, Margaret excused herself, leaving father and son alone. 

"When do you get out of here?" Bodie asked. 

"I'll be discharged in an hour. You'll call me if you need advice?" 

Bodie shook his head. Maybe someday. When the body and mind had recovered
from a lifetime of stress and strain, but not now, not next month. Maybe
not even next year. "I wish I could. For my sake as well as yours, but you
know it's not possible now." 

Cowley nodded. "It's hard, Bodie." 

He reached out and gripped his father's shoulder. "If the stakes were
anything but your life, I'd tell the doctors to do the other thing. Might
even still do it if I were just your successor, but I'm not. I'm your son,
and I can't lose you." His head dropped, unable to look the man in the
eye. How could he destroy him in the name of love? "I'm so bloody sorry." 

A finger caressed his cheek. "It helps." 

"What?" he mumbled, miserable in his helplessness. 

"Knowing it would hurt you if something happened to me. I think that might
be the only reason I can tolerate this." 

Latching on to that notion, Bodie looked at him and said, "Would hurt
Margaret, too." 

"That is a possibility in which I've always had hope. You'll take care of
yourself?" 

He nodded. "I'll call when I want to talk to my dad." 

"Aye, you be sure and do that, laddie." 

He wrapped his arms around Cowley, hugging the smaller body. "I'll miss
you, old man." 

"And I you." This time Cowley kissed him on his forehead. "Goodbye, son.
I'll expect that call once a week." 

"If not more often," Bodie promised, then he all but fled. He was more
than happy to return to the car and Peter. He made the loneliness easier
to endure, and with that thought came understanding about why Peter
wouldn't make love. Bodie felt so lonely, so weary beneath the burdens
pressing down on his shoulders that he was all but blindly reaching out. 

When they got back to Bodie's office and safely behind a closed door, he
let Peter hold him, then Bodie said, "I won't ask again. Not until I want
love instead of just comfort." 

Peter nodded with a satisfied smile. "And I'll stay with you until you ask
me to go." 

Bodie already doubted that day would ever come. "Deal." 

And so the pattern was set for the weeks that followed. They ate together,
worked together and slept together, but nothing else. Most nights
something else wasn't really an option as Britain seemed to erupt into one
crisis after another. Upcoming elections, spring fever or even the hopes
that CI5 had lost its touch without Cowley at the helm, it was impossible
to know the cause, but everything from gun smugglers to high priced
assassins demanded his organization's attention. Bodie counted it a good
night when he got four hours sleep, and Peter, true to the objectives of
his own job, shadowed him, handling the diplomats and the politicians who
misunderstood situations or simply didn't care for them, all while he
tried to teach Bodie to do it himself. 

One day while a minute's peace allowed them to grab a cup of tea, Peter
asked him, "What was the hardest thing about going from field agent to
Deputy Controller?" 

Bodie didn't even have to think about it. "Having to step back and let
others do the street work. I know Susan and I could do a better job of it
on almost any operation, but we can't do it all. Had to learn to give the
orders, not execute them. Still a bugger of a problem some days. Doesn't
help that some ops do require personal attention. Can make it hard to keep
perspective on when to order others about or do it ourselves." 

On other days, over other cups of tea, Peter talked about his marriage to
Naomi, about his sons. Bodie even met Mark and Patrick once when they
stopped by to collect their father for a dinner out. The sixteen year old
had given Bodie a long look, then asked his father if this was his
boyfriend. It had pleased Bodie to an absurd degree when Peter had
answered that yes, he was. 

Patrick had shrugged and asked Bodie if he liked football. Fortunately,
they both liked Liverpool. That got him in Patrick's good books; Mark had
simply told him if he hurt his dad, he'd regret it, otherwise the whole
thing was cool with him. 

Bodie's side of their small family discovered they were essentially living
together when Cowley rang in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, while Bodie
was trying to catch up on some sleep time. Peter answered the phone and
spent the next twenty minutes assuring Cowley that his intentions were
honorable. He must have succeeded for when the invitation to the wedding
of Margaret Grant and George Cowley arrived during the second week of
April, it was addressed to both William Bodie and Peter Balliol. 

For his part, Bodie was getting damned frustrated. He'd decided weeks ago
he wanted to make love to Peter, but when the job wasn't keeping him on
the hop, they lacked the energy to do more than collapse into bed. But
that didn't stop him from making plans.

******

Peter's eyes snapped open and his heart raced. Something felt very wrong.
A few heartbeats later he had to laugh at himself. What had jarred him was
the lack of an alarm going off or one of the frequent phone calls that
ensured they were long gone before the alarm clock could ring. For the
first time in months, he'd slept until his body wasn't tired anymore. 

Wanting to allow Bodie the same luxury, he slipped out of his arms, then
the bed. He enjoyed a leisurely shower, shaved, then went to the kitchen
to make breakfast. The contents of the pantry dictated toast, butter and
jam for the menu, and he hoped things would stay quiet enough for a trip
to the market. He ate his fill, making certain to leave enough to appease
Bodie's healthy appetite, then took his cup of tea into the front room. A
lazy Saturday morning called for some pleasant recreation, so he picked up
a novel he'd bought weeks ago, but hadn't even had the time to open. With
a contented sigh, he stretched out on the settee and began to read. 

A fast reader, he was a third of the way into it, when he heard the shower
start up. He got through another ten pages before Bodie appeared in the
doorway, dressed in nothing but the dark blue, silk kimono Peter had
bought him. 

Bodie held out his hand. "Come back to bed, Peter," he said, his voice
full of sultry promise. "I said I wouldn't ask again until I was ready,
and now I am. Come make love with me. Please." 

"Ah, yes, I guess it is time we got around to that," he said with a smile,
setting a book mark in place with hands that trembled. He couldn't
remember ever wanting anything as much as he wanted Bodie. But when he
looked up, Bodie was gone. *Ah, the impatience of youth*, he thought and
made his way to the bedroom. 

Bodie lay on the bed, still wearing the kimono, but he'd opened it,
splaying it around him artfully so only his arms were actually covered.
*Oh, my, now there's a sight to behold. * Smooth alabaster skin over firm,
sculptured muscle made his mouth water, and he shed his clothes on the way
to the bed. Wanting to see Bodie clearly for as long as possible, he kept
his glasses on until he'd looked his fill and needed to touch. He took
them off, setting them on the bedside table, and Bodie blurred as if a
silk screen had softened his features. That sight had its own beauty, and
Peter lowered himself down onto the bed. 

At first they kissed and touched as they had the few nights they'd had
enough energy to manage more than breathing, then he shifted lower and his
lips closed around Bodie's right nipple. 

Bodie moaned loudly, his back arching to encourage the touch. Peter
happily complied, then shifted to give the left nipple the same loving
attention. Lovely, but he dared not linger. Having ruthlessly suppressed
his desires to ravish Bodie every chance he got, Peter had a strong sense
of impatience of his own. He had certain ... destinations in mind, and it
almost irritated him when Bodie insisted on doing a little nipple
exploration of his own. 

In fact, all too quickly, Peter found himself flat on his own back while
Bodie's hungry mouth roamed over Peter's chest. His nipples weren't as
sensitive as Bodie's but he liked the sensation, and he found the downward
direction of the kisses encouraging. Bodie rose up, grinned at him, then
shifted and took Peter's cock into his mouth. 

Peter cried out as Bodie licked and sucked him, then nosed his balls. It
was too much for Peter, who had distinct plans for this particular
erection, and he found the strength to throw Bodie off him. "Age before
beauty, brat," he scolded him, then added, "You shouldn't interrupt your
elders." 

Bodie gave him a totally unrepentant smile. "Couldn't resist, could I?" 

Peter scowled at him, then stuck his tongue into Bodie's navel. It created
a delightfully satisfying squirm. He shifted lower, choosing to ignore the
hard column of flesh, to lick at furry balls. He liked the taste of them,
and they were just the perfect size for him to take one into his mouth.
Gently he rolled the delicate flesh with his tongue. He released his prize
when Bodie began to writhe and whimper. Wanting to taste rather than cause
climax, Peter licked Bodie's cock like he would a lolly. *Mmm, Bodie
flavored candy*. He decided he could make a fortune if he could figure out
how to market it. 

His own body quivered in response, and he didn't want to taste anymore. He
shifted up and looked down at his lover. "Tell me we have some lube." 

Bodie gestured towards the drawer of the same table that Peter had set his
glasses on. He found a fresh tube, opened it, then poured some into
Bodie's hand. "Put it on me, pretty man. Get me ready to fuck you." 

"Oh, Christ," Bodie whispered, his hand shaking as he spread the gel over
and around Peter's cock. 

It felt wonderful, but he stopped him after a few caresses, then moved
Bodie's legs out of the way. It only took a few touches to relax the
puckered muscle, then Peter slid into him with a slow, easy stroke. 

Bodie's eyes widened and his head tilted back, his mouth lifting in
appeal. Peter kissed and caressed him as he moved forward until his balls
pressed against Bodie's buttocks. 

In a gentle, loving mood, the two men moved together with a lazy urgency,
pausing often to concentrate on kissing or to enjoy the sensation of being
joined. Bodie looked startled when his body suddenly tensed, then his cock
spurted. The contractions of his lover's climax massaged Peter into his
own, and he spilled his seed deep into Bodie with a sigh of blissful
contentment.

******

A week before the elections, Bodie couldn't keep the smile off his face
despite the fast approaching doom Truman had predicted. Professionally,
he'd done his best to absorb everything Peter had tried to teach him;
personally, he'd never been happier. The intense activity of the last few
weeks had given way to an equally quiet time, giving new lovers a chance
to make up for a long celibate streak. They did what felt good, which
translated into a lot of mutual caring and spectacular sex. Something
Peter assured him would not change once the government changed over, and
he could no longer stay seconded to CI5. 

"What will you do when Blair and Stebbings take over?" Bodie asked one
night as they snuggled together after making love. 

"Oh, serve on a variety of committees. Much as I did before Charles
offered me a post in his office. Be quite the change, but, as I recall, I
enjoyed the freedom of no permanent assignment once. I expect I'll manage
to do so again." 

Bodie shook his head. "Don't know how you can stand having such an
uncertain profession." 

Peter roared with laughter. "My God, Bodie, you spent most of the last
fifteen years not knowing if you'd live to see another sunset, and you
think politics is an iffy future?" 

"I take the point," he admitted, "but it's not the same thing. I could
have died or been invalided out at anytime, but as long as I did my job
well, I could count on having it. In politics, you can do all the right
things, be the best there is at the job, and still lose it when the public
decides it's in the mood for a change." 

Peter kissed him. "Yes, that is annoying, but this is something I can do
to make a difference." He sighed. "I'm not the James Bond sort, you see.
If I want to serve and protect, I need a less violent venue to do it in.
And I'll do so for as long as my constituents allow it. But it will be
bloody strange serving the minority party after all these years in power."


Hearing the uncertain note in his lover's voice, Bodie was pleased to
offer some support of his own and shamelessly cuddled Peter. "You might
not be the James Bond sort, but you are the type that comes out on top.
Too bloody good at whatever you do not to. And you can cry on my shoulder
whenever you like." 

"I'm counting on that," Peter told him, then they settled down and went to
sleep. 

It would all work out. Bodie told himself that repeatedly. He couldn't
accept any other possibility. It was all too fucking important for him to
fail.

******

Peter sat back in his chair and looked around the office, it striking him
that he had nothing to do. Bodie had his nose stuck in some reports, no
new crisis seemed on the horizon and Peter had less than three days left.
He decided it might not be a bad time to start clearing his desk and
reached for the heavy briefcase he'd not used since he'd arrived. As the
laws of nature seemed to demand, one trip with it had let him move in,
while he estimated at least four trips would be necessary to move him out.


Hoping some judicial use of a shredder might cut down that figure, he
started going through his papers. The intercom buzzed, he heard Betty's
voice say, "Sir, you can't go in there," then the door burst open and a
member of Parliament Peter knew very well stormed in. \tab Radiating
righteous indignation, Terry Lynch glared at both of them. Given that the
man stood over six feet and had a fairly powerful build, it should have
been an intimidating sight, but Peter had sat in opposition to him on too
many committees. Likeable enough, but when push came to shove, Terry
always gave in, his principles never as important as staying in favor with
Stebbings. 

Bodie seemed equally unimpressed. "Something I can do for you, sir?" 

"You can tell me what the hell you're doing harassing members of the
British Society for the Prevention of Cruel Experimentation on Animals."
*Oh, God, not the animal rights thing again*. Peter often wondered if
Terry thought animals could vote for him. Or maybe it was that they didn't
know enough to be disappointed by their champion's short comings. 

A concerned frown settled on Bodie's face. "Can you be more specific, Mr
Lynch?" 

Terry took a deep breath, then launched into it. One of the newer members
had been subjected to an intense investigation of his character and
finances, then arrested without cause earlier this morning. Of course,
Terry threw in a lot of rhetoric and took about fifteen minutes to get to
the heart of the matter. 

"Yes, one of my teams arrested Michael Baumer a few hours ago," Bodie
acknowledged. "The Crown Prosecutor will be charging him with industrial
theft. The matter has to do with his work, not the protest groups he
chooses to participate in." A friendly smile followed the words. "I assure
you, sir, CI5 has neither the time nor the resources to indulge in petty
harassment." 

Peter watched in fascination as Bodie turned on the charm, and by the time
Terry left, it had to have been with the vague impression that Bodie held
many liberal causes dear. Peter would wager that he could have made a
member of Peter's own party think Bodie a kindred soul as well. 

He gave Bodie a long assessing look once they were alone again. "Did I
teach you to do that, or have you been able to do it all along?" 

Bodie smirked. "Let's say you helped refine a natural skill." 

Peter snorted. "Let's say you've been playing games." 

"I never said I didn't know how to be charming." He shook his head. "Did
you really think Cowley would have made me his Deputy if he thought I
couldn't handle a few overwrought MPs?" 

"Then what am I doing here?" 

"Giving me a first hand look at how a politician's mind works." 

"You conniving, little bastard," he said, smiling in spite of himself. 

Bodie grinned. "Not so much of the little, laddie."

******

Cowley laughed in appreciation when Bodie finished telling him about his
encounter with Lynch and Peter's reaction to it, then took a sip of
scotch. The doctors had limited him to one glass a day, and Margaret had
seen to it that he complied. Bodie found it odd watching him nurse that
one drink. A reminder of his father's condition, yet a reassurance of
excellent care, Bodie couldn't manage not to notice the time that passed
between each swallow. 

It distracted him enough that he didn't hear what the man said next. "I'm
sorry, what?" 

"It doesn't bother you that Peter underestimated you?" 

Bodie shook his head. "No, I'm used to it. All brawn and no brains, that's
me." He gave his father a careful look. "You even did it from time to
time." 

"Aye. An easy enough mistake to make given your impetuous nature." 

"I never." 

Cowley gave him a who-are-you-trying-to-fool? look. 

Bodie grinned. "Well, not all *that* often. And not in years." The mirth
faded from his face. "Most still see me as 3.7, some brash young operative
who should wet himself at the thought of running CI5." 

"But you'll prove them wrong." 

The absolute certainty in Cowley's voice warmed Bodie, but he didn't allow
it to distract him. "Will I? Truman was right about one thing: I'm
vulnerable to attack. And Stebbings will attack, I don't doubt that for an
instant." 

"CI5 has weathered hostile administrations before," Cowley reminded him,
but Bodie shook his head. 

"CI5 didn't weather anything. George Cowley did, and I'm not him." 

"Of course you're not, but you have your own strengths." 

"I'm more concerned with my major weakness." He sighed. "Dad, to Whitehall
I'm an unknown without any connections -- no friends in high places; and
favors owed to you won't be seen as favors owed to me." 

"Well, I can --" 

A quick glare cut off the offer of help. "You can bloody well concentrate
on enjoying your retirement. I mean it, Dad. You keep your hands off that
sodding phone!" 

"Aye, I could, but what will you do then?" 

Bodie resisted the temptation to bite his lip. What he needed was time. At
least the five years he should have had before Cowley would reach
retirement age. But fate had denied him that, and after weeks of
considering the problem, he thought he might have the answer. So he'd
taken the afternoon off and driven up to the Grant Estate to talk it over
with, not his father, but the official Controller of CI5. "I don't think
you're going to like this, but. ..."

******

"You are out of your fucking mind!" Peter said succinctly when Bodie
outlined his plan. He'd hoped for a nice, quiet evening and had settled
down on the settee with a cup of tea and the Times crossword. When he'd
asked for help with a clue, the outrageous son of a bitch had dropped a
bombshell on him instead. 

"Probably," Bodie agreed, but Peter did not sense this marked a return to
sanity. Or whatever passed for such a commodity inside his lover's skull.
Any doubts on this score vanished when Bodie added, "but it's the best
chance CI5 has." 

"No," Peter said firmly. 

Bodie patiently outlined all the reasons why it was a good plan. 

Peter listened, even supposed the maniac had a point or two, and imagined
that this sales pitch had been enough to convince Cowley. But then, Cowley
had been ill. "Absolutely not." 

Bodie pouted. This alarmed Peter as he had a tendency to melt when the
young man did that. Couldn't imagine why, as sulking had always annoyed
him when others did it, but somehow Bodie managed to look adorable when he
sat there with a sullen expression and his lower lip pushed out a touch. 

"No," he said again, but noted his voice didn't have the ring of finality
he'd wanted. 

Bodie began to nuzzle and kiss him. 

"This isn't fair," Peter protested. 

"'By-any-means necessary,'" the unrepentant bastard answered, his hands
busy removing clothes without care as to which body they adorned. 

"It's ludicrous," he protested, or rather squeaked when a hot, hungry
mouth engulfed his cock. 

"Mmm," came the answer, Bodie's mouth too busy to give a more lucid reply.


"It'll never work." 

"Mmmm." That lacked originality, but Peter enjoyed the hum of it against
his arousal 

He lost the thread of his argument as Bodie released him, and actually had
a moment's fear that an agree-or-no-sex-tonight sort of demand would be
levied. The thought vanished into embarrassed shame when Bodie shifted
over to pull a tube of lube out of the end table. Despite Peter's protests
that his bones were too old to make love outside of nice, comfortable
beds, Bodie had stashed KY in a drawer in every room in the flat. And saw
to it that they were used with some frequency. 

His fragile old bones not withstanding, Peter let Bodie maneuver him to
lie on the floor. Peter looked up into the face of the impossible prat he
loved. "It's probably not even legal," he tried to resurrect the argument.


Bodie made a noncommittal sound, his attention on getting Peter's cock
nice and slick. 

"Damn it all --" he started, then groaned as Bodie took him into his body
by simply sitting down while straddling Peter's supine body. "Oh, Christ,
that feels good." 

"Mmm," Bodie murmured his agreement, fucking himself with a long, slow
rhythm. "Love the way you feel in me. All hot and powerful. Can feel you
all the way up to my heart." 

Peter groaned and came, the sensation making Bodie climax a second later,
his seed spilling over Peter's chest. 

"It's crazy," Peter returned to his original point, slowly rubbing the
pearly fluid into his skin. 

"But you'll do it for me." 

He sighed. "Yes. Manipulative sod." 

"But you love me anyway." 

He gave a heavier sigh. "Yes." Apparently, Bodie wasn't the only lunatic
living under their roof.

******

Election day dawned, then passed. As predicted, Peter won reelection
easily, but many of his colleagues, including Charles Truman, did not.
John Major left Number 10 Downing Street, and Tony Blair moved in. A
similar change of occupant occurred in the Home Secretary's office. 

In due course, Stebbings summoned the Controller of CI5 to his presence.
As this was still technically George Cowley, the man made his first trip
to London since he'd left the hospital. Bodie and Peter joined him when he
reached Whitehall. Graham Stebbings was far from pleased. 

"I asked to see the head of CI5, not a parade," he informed them when they
walked in. He gave Peter an extra glare. "And what the hell are you doing
here?" 

"Providing moral support," Peter answered. 

Bodie resisted the urge to grin. He knew Peter had to be so nervous he was
practically wetting himself, but outwardly he was the picture of
nonchalance. 

"Well, provide it somewhere else, and take him with you," Stebbings said
with a nod towardss Bodie. "I don't deal with underlings." 

True enough. Unless otherwise requested, the HS never talked with anyone
but the Controller. Still didn't make the man less of a miserable ass. Not
to mention an ass with a poor information network. Didn't seem to have a
clue about what was coming. 

"I asked Bodie to come along," Cowley said, pulling an envelope from his
inside jacket pocket. "It will save you the bother of summoning him once I
give you this." 

Such an innocuous looking thing, but that envelope represented the final
official act of a man who had served his country faithfully for forty-five
years. Bodie hated the sight of it. Until this moment, some part of Bodie
had hoped it had all been some bizarre nightmare or a joke in very poor
taste. Cowley always came out on top. Terrorists, traitors, criminals and
denizens of Whitehall had failed to best him, only to have his own body
force his surrender. It seemed impossible, but Stebbings reached out and
took the detestable thing from Cowley's hand. 

"And this is?" 

"My resignation for reasons of health." 

Consummate politician or utter hypocrite -- *and Bodie often wondered if
there were a difference* -- Stebbings said, "I'm sorry. I'd heard a few
vague rumors, but I'd hoped they weren't true." 

"Thank you," Cowley answered. "The letter also provides the necessary
paperwork to establish the new leadership of CI5." 

"Bodie." 

"Aye, Bodie ... and Dr Balliol." 

Stebbings blinked, waited for the punchline, or perhaps paused to
ascertain that he'd actually heard Cowley correctly. Finally he said, "Is
that supposed to be some sort of joke?" 

"Not at all. CI5's brief allows me to designate which ever person or
persons I feel best to succeed me. I have chosen to name co-Controllers
instead of a single person to do the job." 

"But this is ludicrous! He doesn't have any experience in law
enforcement." 

"Neither do you," Cowley pointed out, "but your party has seen fit to
place you in this office." 

Bodie watched Stebbings bluster and protest, while he almost did himself
an injury trying not to laugh. He'd needed time to establish himself and a
network at Whitehall strong enough to block any move Stebbings might make
against CI5. Peter, with his friends on both sides of the party lines,
would give him both. And, in any case, he would be far better than Bodie
could ever hope to be at dealing with Whitehall and the public. Bodie
would handle operations, all while they learned from each other. 

One day Peter might decide to return to politics, but, by then, Bodie
would be ready to run everything himself. But he hoped Peter would opt to
stay. They'd make a good team. He was certain of that. 

Cowley stood up. "As you pointed out, Stebbings, you deal directly with
the Controller, now Controllers, of CI5, so I'll be on my way." He glanced
at his son. "I'll be in the Red Lion Bar when you're finished here." 

Bodie glared at him. 

"Only one. On my honor." 

"Always thought you had a lot of that," he whispered and watched him
leave. 

Then he turned his attention to Stebbings, who spent the rest of the
meeting giving the usual speech about how he intended to run things with a
firm, but fair hand. Bodie imagined it had bored the hell out of the heads
of MI5 and Special Branch as well. Or maybe not. Stebbings couldn't touch
CI5 without damned good cause. His other charges were more vulnerable to
interference, and perhaps his cliche ridden talk had more alarming
undertones for them. Bodie simply stood back and let Peter deal with him.
That was after all what CI5 was paying him for. Made a nice show of it,
too, Peter did. All charm and cooperation, yet managing to make it quite
clear that all three of them knew it was a lot of hot air as far as CI5
was concerned. 

Yes, they'd make a great team, Bodie though smugly as they left Stebbings'
office, then Whitehall. But that reminded him. "Peter, there's something I
forgot to tell you," he said, heading in the direction of the bar where
his father waited for them. 

"Oh?" 

"Warn you about would be more accurate." 

"Oh, God. Now what?" 

Bodie stopped and looked into large green eyes made all the more adorable
by the glasses that covered them. "I have this nasty habit," he whispered.
"I keep falling in love with my partner." 

Peter smiled. "Ah. Well, see that you keep it that way." 

-- THE END --

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