The Professionals Circuit Archive - Team Spirit	Team Spirit

 

by Ashlea

  
 *(or Better Late Than Never)*

Cowley leaned back against his chair and tossed the pen down on the desk
before meeting the other man's eyes. The young agent met his gaze
squarely. Honest, open, trustworthy, that was Murphy. And because of the
respect they had for one another, they got straight to the point.

"How's he taking it?"

"He's not, sir. Oh, he pulls his weight, but I wouldn't be happy going
into an A7 situation with him. Not yet, it's too soon."

Cowley took off his glasses and rubbed at tired eyes.

"Aye, but it can't be helped. I need him out on the streets, not moping
round. He's had colleagues shot before--he'll get over it."

But to Murphy's ear, there was a hint of doubt in the controller's voice.

"I'll do my best, sir, but he's an independent bloke, and I don't want to
push too much."

"I can't ask for anything more, Murphy. I appreciate what you've done so
far, you and the others. It's time he faced up to it, though. Doyle is
dead, and buried, and Bodie will working with you from now on."

"Yes, sir," said Murphy, hoping fervently that the arrangement would work.

******

Bodie slouched against the side of the Capri, waiting for his partner.
Running feet announced Murph's arrival, and he turned back towards the
stairs, listening for the sound he would never hear again.

He's waiting for Ray, thought Murphy. God knows we all miss him, but a
week on, and Bodie's still not accepted it.

Murphy slid into the front seat of the car, and opened the driver's door,
nudging gently at Bodie's side. It brought him out of his reverie, back to
the present, and with a heavy sigh, he got behind the wheel and set the
vehicle in motion. He drove automatically, in silence, and dropped Murphy
at his flat. A gentle hand touched his arm before he left.

"I'm helping you with Ray's stuff tomorrow."

Bodie nodded wearily, and turned a half-hearted smile to his friend.
"Thanks, mate."

The younger man got out, leaving Bodie alone in the car with his thoughts,
and a terrible aching emptiness he had never known he could fee. He shoved
the Capri in gear an drove home, reliving the last day of Doyle's life,
knowing he couldn't change it...

******

Thursday had been boring. They were on stake-out, observing the comings
and goings of a poky little terraced house in Brixton. Bodie had
complained, loud and long, about the job, the Cow, the neighbourhood the
weather, the football and Doyle's choice of food to sustain them through
the day.

His partner grinned, eyes firmly fixed on the target, and let him bitch,
pointing out that Bodie couldn't've found the food that distasteful as
he'd eaten most of it.

"Starving man'll eat anything," Bodie retorted. "I'm hungry enough to eat
you--jeans 'n' all!"

Doyle chuckled. "Like to see you try!"

Bodie stepped up behind him, leaned over and nipped his neck. It tasted
warm and slightly salty--Doyle- flavoured--and Bodie drew back sharply,
licking his lips: Ray did taste good......

"I'll get you some worming tablets on the way home," Doyle threatened,
apparently unfazed by the assault. "Hand us a coffee, will you?"

Bodie passed the flask, and poured out the drinks. Bodie remembered how
his face had flushed when Doyle's fingers brushed his as he handed over
his mug... how he was increasingly aware, as the afternoon wore on, of the
exquisite beauty--the uniqueness--of his partner...how Doyle flaunted
himself, even when Bodie was his only audience...not that he minded, but
his thoughts strayed more and more to what he would like to do to his
suddenly attractive fellow-agent....

At four-thirty, they were relieved by McCabe and Lucas, exchanged a few
words about the lack of action at the house, and went downstairs together,
Doyle in front, and Bodie hard on his heels watching every little
twitch...The look in the blue eyes when they reached the street told him
his thoughts had been read clearly...

It was Doyle's idea to stop at the chemist's on the way back to the city
centre, and he hopped out of the Capri with a twinkle in his eye.

"Back in a moment," he promised cheerfully.

And Bodie sat in the car, grinning like an idiot, guessing what Doyle had
gone to fetch. 

The echoes of gunshots reached him, and two tall coloured youths came
streaking out of the pharmacy. Both carried sawn-off shotguns--Bodie was
out of the car in pursuit in a moment as they headed into a blind alley.

"Stop!" he ordered once.

One of the lads raised his weapon in reply, and Bodie shot them both down,
before racing forward and making certain they were both dead. He shipped
his handgun, and rummaged in his pockets for RT. In the car... He jogged
back to the Capri, and was reaching through the door for the radio mike,
when he found himself barging past the spectators and into the store.
Crouched against the wall, sobbing quietly a young black woman clutching
an injured arm--in front of her surrounded in a widening poll of blood
knelt three more people--the chemist and two customers, Bodie later found
out--who were working over the body of the fourth man whose curly hair was
bloody and matted.

"Ray!"

Bodie was on his knee beside his partner, looking in to the angelic face,
brushing his fingers lightly against the sodden curls. The shots had taken
him full in the chest and stomach, and his body seemed to be loving, at
peace now that the end was so close....

"Bodie-mate," he sighed, and Bodie could hear the breath bubbling in a
ruptured lung.

"Lie still, Ray. For God's sake, don't die, please, I don't think I could
take that..."

[missing]

"Yeah, sure, Ray!" Christ, where was the ambulance...

Doyle's hand jerked up, tried to touch Bodie's face. Unheeding, Bodie took
it, pressed it gently to his lips, wanting to offer comfort. Doyle smiled
wanly, and his eyes closed for the last time.

"See you 'round, mate..."

"Ray?"

The wail of the siren cut through the trance and suddenly the whole scene
burst apart around him. Uniformed officers moving in to take statements
and usher people away; ambulance men, dark angels of mercy, coming to take
his partner's body to be healed. Bodie was on the street, leaning against
the silver Capri staring after the vehicle that disappeared down the road,
screaming like a banshee. Wearily, he picked up the radio, and reported
in.

When Bodie got to the hospital, Doyle was already dead. He and Cowley met
at the mortuary to formally identify the body. Bodie looked at in
disgust--it had been cleaned up, but it wasn't Ray Doyle--not his
beautiful animated partner-in-crime--it was just so much raw meat on a
cold stone slab: Bodie wanted nothing more to do with it. Cowley had
answered all the necessary questions, and then he'd had Bodie driven home.

In the week that passed, Doyle had been buried in the cemetery where he
and Bodie used to run. Bloody ironic really, thought Bodie, as he tried to
push the pain away...

******

He turned into his street and glanced swiftly at the empty seat beside
him, remembering how Doyle used to loll there, long-limbed, like a rangy
cat....for a fraction of a second, it was almost as if he could see Ray's
[missing] despair descended again, and he left the car quickly, hurrying
to the bleak cover of his flat.

Inside the desolation hit hard, and he shook himself physically to dispel
the gloom. Shower, then drink, then...may as well go to bed--there's
nothing on the box. He put the kettle on, and headed for the bathroom,
submerging himself in the water, and wondering just how he and Murphy
would get all Doyle's gear over the following day.

He belted a robe about his body, and ambled into the kitchen again, to
pour boiling water into the waiting coffee cup. He took his drink through
to the lounge, sipping thoughtfully. It had been laced with whisky. Good
stuff, Bodie admitted. No wonder Cowley swears by it. He settled back,
allowing the alcohol to work, blurring the edges of his pain. How many
times had he and Doyle come back here and sat drinking just the way he was
now? Ray would sit, all golden and beautiful, and Bodie had never really
noticed, not TRULY, how special he was...not until last Thursday, and
suddenly it was too late. All the things he should have told Doyle would
be unspoken now--he would never get that close to him again...

Bodie opened his eyes with a jerk, and put his mug on the coffee table. He
was tired--hadn't slept well since Ray died--and decided to go to bed.
Show willing, he thought miserably, as he paced over to the bedroom,
unbelting his robe as he went. At least the whisky in the coffee would
help. He crawled under the duvet, laid his head on the pillow, and
thinking of Doyle, he fell asleep.

Sometime in the night, on a subconscious level, it registered that he was
being ousted toward the edge of the mattress, and grumbling in his sleep,
he almost came to.

"Shift over, Ray..." rolled into waiting warmth and snuggled down again.
Something light and gently touched his forehead--a hand brushing away his
fringe. He settled comfortably and drifted off. He began to stir as the
alarm clock rang. A swift hand cut it off.

"Don't have to work today. You can stay in bed a bit longer."

The concept penetrated his sleep-sodden brain...Yeah, good to be here,
warm and cosy, wrapped in strong loving arms---

His eyes snapped open, and he came to full wakefulness. He was alone.
Well, of course he was--what did he expect, for Christ-sakes? Alcohol and
depression and exhaustion--bad mix, he knew, blaming them equally for his
midnight fantasy.

He roused himself and trawled to the kitchen, dragging on his robe and
aiming for the kettle, intent on a coffee to revive him: the kettle had
already boiled, and clean mug stood on the side, waiting as if to lure him
into an ambush. Bodie looked round sharply. Somebody had definitely been
here. He prowled round the flat checking the windows and the alarm system,
but everything was intact. Untouched. He was at a loss to explain it. He
returned to the kitchen for a breakfast that he'd suddenly lost the
appetite for.

The buzz of the intercom--Murph's cheerful voice put the mystery out of
his mind for a while. Cowley wanted Doyle's flat cleared by ten o'clock on
Saturday, and Bodie would see that it was. He had almost refused Murph's
offer of help--Doyle was BODIE's partner after all, and if anyone should
clear out his effects, it should be him...but he had accepted finally,
knowing that he would to get used to working with the other man sooner or
later. It felt strange though, as if he were somehow betraying Doyle.

Face it, he told himself: Ray's dead nothing'll change that. I'm alive,
I've got a job to do and a new partner...

The drove to Doyle's and set work in silence. Murph took the lounge and
kitchen, while Bodie shifted a stack of boxes up to the bedroom. Opening
the wardrobes, he found himself shaking at the thought of handling his
partner's belongings. There were a couple of dress shirts--worn
rarely--and a suit. The rest of the clothing consisted of jeans and
jumpers, comfortable and achingly familiar, still bearing lingering traces
of Doyle--his scent, a curly brown hair or two....

Bodie fought the unexpected tears, and began to pack the first of the
boxes. By midmorning, they had finished, and were ready to load the Capri.
Murph surveyed the empty lounge, and gestured to [the] stack of cartons
they had by the door.

"Should've borrowed the estate," he mused, "there's more here than I
thought."

"no." Bodie's voice was surprisingly loud in the nakedness of the room.
"It's going in the car. We won't even need to make a second run."

"I'll start loading," Murphy offered, "and you can bring the stuff from
upstairs down." Murphy picked up the first box. "Keys, mate?"

Bodie handed them over without a word, and trudged back up to the bedroom.

"Not much to show for a life, is it?" he spoke out loud. "And you had to
go and play the hero, didn't you? Stupid bugger, you should've left it to
me. You never did have any sense, Ray..."

He picked up the nearest box--filled with clothes--and for a moment, he
caught the scent of his partner, rich, clean uniquely Doyle, as he
clutched the carton to him...Back in the living room, he was surprised to
find only one box left: Murph must've sprinted all the way with the
others. His partner appeared, looking a little puzzled. 

"How many more?"

"Just two. They're in the bedroom, I'll bring 'em down."

"Yeah, okay." Murphy glanced about. "Really was a two- man job."

Bodie eyed the cleared floor-space.

"You've done alright on your own." He gave Murphy the ghost of a smile.
"It hasn't been fair on you."

Murphy frowned. "What d'you mean? I'd still be lugging crates if you
hadn't stacked 'em by the door...Bodie, are you okay?"

The colour had drained from Bodie's face.

"I've been upstairs all the time," he whispered hoarsely.

At that point, Murphy began to doubt his colleagues' sanity. He took the
box from Bodie's arms.

"I'll just go and stow this while you get the rest down...."

He listened as Bodie ascended the stairs once more, and shook his head
sadly. Poor bastard! He was taking Doyle's death really badly...

Bodie came hammering down the stairs a few moments later, with the final
consignment of Doyle's effects, and parked them on the landing outside the
front door. He returned to the living room and gazed around. It felt
forlorn, lifeless--empty without Ray. He bowed his head, and whispered a
soft farewell to his former partner. A small part of his mind cried out in
protest--he'll always be your partner: he promised...and I'd gladly give
anything to have him back again, Bodie admitted. With a sigh, he spun on
his heel, and left.

******

In the car, Bodie was content to leave Murphy to his own thoughts, and
when they arrived at Bodie's, they unloaded the Capri in silence. It took
longer than either had anticipated, and several times Bodie caught the
other man looking at him strangely. Murphy accepted the offer of a drink
but declined a meal, and took himself off shortly afterwards. Truth be
told, Bodie guessed, he knows I'm no great shakes as a cook. Given a
choice, Bodie had preferred gatecrashing at Doyle's, too. Now he had no
option but to make do with own culinary efforts. Unenthusiastically, he
searched his cupboards for something he might be able to turn into barely
edible hash. He came up with a packet of rice. It would have to do...and
even I can't go wrong with rice, thought Bodie. Can I? A dollop of
ketchup--well, he was hungry, and he would eat it.

He put on the water and returned to the lounge to re- sort his partner's
things ready for despatch to his [missing] rescue his belated supper. It
was on the hot-plate, keeping warm and it smelled delicious. Bodie
approached it cautiously sniffing. Garlic? Herbs had been added, and there
was a plate warming on the side--He swallowed nervously. If this was
someone's idea of a joke...

"Murphy?"

But Murph was long gone, and the only people who ever had a key to Bodie's
flat were security officer and Doyle....

Bodie dipped his finger in the mix and scooped some into his mouth. It
tasted alright, so he spooned it onto the dish and took it back to the
lounge. The whisky glass on the coffee table was almost a foregone
conclusion.

If this is my imagination, Bodie admitted ruefully, I could hardly do
better for real. He sank onto the dish and took it back to the lounge. The
whisky glass on the coffee table. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes. 

"Well, was it alright?"

"Hmm, smashing, Ray, I--" Bodie shot to his fee, and yelped. "DOYLE!"

There was no-one--he began to search the room for some clue to the latest
trick. When at length he sat down again, he buried his head in his hands
for a long time. It had been so--he would've sworn it was Doyle's
voice...Eventually, he straightened and got on with the task of packing,
listening to the silence in the flat, half-expecting to hear Doyle at the
door, or clattering round into he kitchen.

It was late when he turned in. The raw emotion of the past week had
drained him, and showered wearily before taking the whisky bottle and a
tumbler to bed. He pulled the covers over his head and wriggled about in
an effort to get comfortable. Eventually, inevitable, he fell asleep.

He rolled over and collided with something warm.

"Watch it, sunshine. Nearly gave me a shower."

"Sorry, Ray." Bodie cuddled closer, burying his face against a lean naked
thigh, kissing it softly.

"Lie still, Bodie," Doyle murmured, sinking his free hand in the dark
hair. The other still cradled the whisky glass. "You need to sleep."

"Ray, I--"

"Shush!" Doyle put the drink on the bedside cabinet quickly, and burrowed
down next to him. "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." He laughed
a little. "Didn't think I'd leave you did you?"

Bodie sighed contentedly, and snuggled into his arms.

"No, you always was a persistent sod..."

"I love you, too," snorted Doyle and kissed his brow. "Now sleep."

For once, Bodie did as he was told.

The echoes of the dream stayed with him as he woke. It seemed so real that
he felt bitter disappointment when he realised he was alone--and would
probably spend his weekend that way.

Sod it, he cursed, I'll tidy this lot up, get it sent off, then I'll find
myself a bird and get my leg over. Shouldn't be too difficult. He had
momentary twinge of guilt, but suppressed it, drowning it under the
shower.

He checked the flat over, but it was just as he'd left it the night
before. Nothing had been touched, or moved. Of course it hadn't--it would
be safe to call them to say that their son's effects were on the way by
train: a few pairs of jeans, jackets and shirts, and a handful of
pictures--sketches that had been tossed off during boring night shifts,
and lazy Sunday afternoons... precious little to remind anyone of the
lively--utterly VITAL--Raymond Doyle.

Bodie didn't want anything--didn't need anything--of Doyle's to remember:
He had memories--nothing more--to recall how much Ray meant to him--and a
terrible painful chasm inside that he knew would never be filled...Feels
like my heart's been torn out.

He pulled himself together and loaded the car, moving like a man ten years
older and too tired. On his last trip up to the flat, he phoned Doyle's
mother and explained he was putting Doyle's things aboard the Intercity
Express. Mrs. Doyle was still upset over her son's untimely death, and her
gratitude was punctuated by small sobs and sniffles. Bodie was relieved
when he finally hung up.

He drove the boxes to the station, wending his way through the mid-morning
traffic. By the time he got back, it was lunch time and he was feeling
claustrophobic, from the car, and from the crowd from the station. He
decided to go for a walk down by the river. To go anywhere where he could
feel the wind moving, see the sky, and not remember how it hurt to be
without Doyle. But Doyle had been everywhere with him. Doyle had been an
integral part of his life, the centre of his universe--his little Ray of
sunshine, he'd joked privately. And now--now there was nothing. Bodie
returned home even more miserable than before. His whole world had
collapsed, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. Toyed with the idea of
phoning Murphy, but decided not to. Why ruin someone else's day.
Vindictively, he considered calling Kate Ross, but--no, that wasn't a good
idea either. Could stay home and drink myself into oblivion--and if we get
a call, and I'm drunk, Cowley'll have my hide. So maybe I'll find myself a
nice quiet pub, and pick up a nice randy barmaid and have my end away.
It'd make two people very happy--well, alright it won't bring Ray back,
but it'll keep me occupied.

In the end Bodie showered, changed and took himself off to the classiest
bar he knew to find himself a girl for the night.

Sally had long fair hair and a sweet disposition. She wasn't Bodie's type,
but tonight, he didn't want sophistication, he just wanted comfort. Sally
giggled and joked with him, hugged and cuddled, and Bodie relaxed enough
to invite her back for the night.

They walked up to the apartment, Bodie made coffee, and they snuggled down
on the sofa together, petting and kissing, before progressing to the
bedroom. Between the sheets, Sally was soft and warm. Comforting...Bodie
dozed off quickly, wrapped in her arms, dreaming of sunnier days.

Sally lay wakeful, knowing that something was wrong with her bedmate: He
had needed, and she was entranced by his good looks and cool poise. He
wasn't the most earth shattering lover she'd had, but he was polite, clean
and hadn't come on like he was God's gift to women. He was lying like a
child in her arms, sleep soothing some of the lines, easing the pain that
he wouldn't discuss.

"What's wrong, Bodie? Poor baby..." Sally sighed, and shifted
uncomfortably, hoping to delay the inevitable moment for as long as
possible. When she could wait no longer, she released Bodie and scrambled
out of the bed as delicately as she could, grabbed his dressing gown and
belted it about her for the short trip to the bathroom. Unfamiliar with
the layout of the flat, she pulled the bedroom door to, and fumbled with
the light switch in the lounge, then headed off for the toilet. On her
return, she was startled to see the lonely figure stretching on the
settee.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she apologised.

The stranger gave her a winning smile, blinked his cat- like blue eyes in
the brightness and ran a hand through his ragged curls.

"It's alright, I wasn't sleeping."

"Are you Bodie's flatmate. He didn't tell me he shared. I didn't mean
to--"

The man shook his head.

"I crash out here sometimes. I'm his bodyguard."

Sally giggled and Doyle grinned, shifting up the sofa, inviting her to sit
beside him. "Wouldn't've thought he'd need a bodyguard," Sally declared,
eyes twinkling. "He looks like he can look after himself."

Doyle shook his head again, in mock despair.

"It's all show. Confidentially, I have to do EVERYTHING for him...."

Sally eyes him speculatively.

"Well, he did seem a bit--reserved tonight..."

Doyle sobered. "He's had it bad in the last few days."

"Girlfriend? Sorry," Sally caught her breath, "didn't mean to pry."

"He lost his best mate last week. It hurt him a lot. I promised I'd be
around to take care of him--make sure that he eats and things."

"He never said..."

"He wouldn't," Doyle sighed again. "Very stubborn, very independent is my
Bodie...." He smiled as Sally yawned. "You ought to be in bed."

"Hmm!" she agreed. "I apologise in advance for any racket we make..."

"Won't bother me a bit, love," Doyle assured her. "I'll be out like a
light."

"It's nice to have met you." Sally smothered another yawn. "Sweet dreams."

"You, too," Doyle echoed.

******

Bodie was showered, shaved and dressed when he brought the breakfast tray
through, Sally sniffed appreciatively from her den beneath the duvet.

"Smells good. Have you both eaten yet?"

"Both?" Bodie looked mystified.

"Your mate--the one who said he's your bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?" Murphy?

"The gorgeous one," Sally insisted. Oh, yeah, had to be Murphy. "The one
with the curly hair, and the busted cheek-bone."

"WHAT!" Bodie's face paled.

"He said he was your bodyguard." Sally looked up at him enquiringly.

"Can't be," murmured Bodie. "Curly hair, you said?"

"And blue eyes..."

"Where was he?"

"On the couch, of course. I woke him when I went to the bathroom. Bodie,
what's wrong? He said that he was a friend..."

"Yeah," Bodie said softly. He pulled himself together. "Come on, Sally,
get up and I'll drive you home."

Puzzled, she gave him a gentle smile, and handed back the tray before
commandeering his discarded robe and tramping to the bathroom.

Bodie sat on the end of the bed, in shock. As far as he remembered, he
hadn't mentioned Doyle once the previous evening--and now she claimed to
have seen someone who sounded just like Ray--impossible. Doyle was
dead--he'd seen that for himself, had felt him slipping away even at the
chemist's shop. Doyle was dead, he wouldn't be coming back, and Bodie
didn't believe in ghosts.

He spoke hardly a word to Sally during the journey back to her flat, was
vague about another date, leaving her feeling as if she'd done something
terrible. Bodie went straight home afterwards. One way or another he would
get to the bottom of this. He parked the Capri, and sat behind the wheel
for several minutes, working out a strategy. He would go in, make a
complete sweep of the place, searching for bugs,
microphones--ANYTHING--that could rationally explain his hearing Doyle's
voice, or Sally's seeing him. He would check--double-check--the locks on
the door and windows. Whoever was responsible for this hoax would be found
out, and Bodie swore he would take them apart...

An hour's solid search yielded nothing: no mikes, no spy-holes, no
tape-recorders. Bodie was on edge when he returned to the lounge. There
was a cup of coffee steaming nicely on the table. In a fit of temper, he
threw it against the kitchen door and howled.

"DAMN YOU, DOYLE, GET OUT OF MY LIFE! YOU'RE DEAD! LEAVE ME ALONE!" 

He flung himself onto the couch and buried his head in his hands, crying
like he'd never done before, for both Ray and himself. He was oblivious to
the shadowy figure who stood by the doorway, amid the wreckage of the mug
and the coffee-sodden carpet. Tears brimmed in the blue eyes, but he
waited there until Bodie had fallen asleep before clearing up the mess in
his partner's living room.

The telephone's urgent ringing woke him. Bodie reached for the receiver.

"We're on." Murphy sounded breathless with relief. "I'll pick you up and
brief you on the way."

"Right." Bodie hung up, and scrambled off the sofa. He had just enough
time to make himself look less debauched... In the bathroom, he splashed
his face with cold water, dabbed it dry with the handtowel, and peered in
the mirror. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. Murphy would know and he
angrily rubbed them to bring them into focus...damn bloody Ray Doyle for
getting shot, and curse me for caring...the intercom sounded, cutting
short the tirade. Bodie went to join his partner.

Picking his way through the traffic, Murphy gave him the gist of the
operation: A suspected arms cache at Limehouse. A local bobby had spotted
armed men in the vicinity, and CI5 was called to check it out. There were
half a dozen agents converging on the sinister warehouse, and Bodie and
Murph had one of the landward sides. They crouched down among the crates
and stacks of timber, looking for means of ingress.

"If we split up, and work our way round to each end," Bodie suggested.
"Keep in contact by RT."

Murphy was instantly suspicious: In a situation like this, given Bodie's
recent irrational behaviour, it would be easy for the other man to get
caught in any crossfire, and get himself killed. He seemed okay at the
moment, though, so Murphy gave his consent, bunching himself low and
beetling off in the opposite direction.

Bodie worked his way slowly down the scarred side of the warehouse,
catching faint scents of wood, rotting canvas, and the all-pervading stink
of the river. He left his radio on receive and prayed that Murph would be
safe. Somewhere, he knew from the wolfspaw of cold that touched his heart,
someone was going to get hurt today...

The radio burst into life a familiar voice "Behind you, second roof, brick
building. Sniper!"

Bodie dived for cover just as two shots winged his way, whamming into the
timber where his head had been. He scurried forward, towards the
outbuilding and heard Murph's automatic fire twice.

Too far, mate. Couldn't hit him from there. Bodie moved again.

The rifle fired again, this time aimed in his partner's direction. Bodie
seized his chance, and went sprinting to the doorway, into the warehouse
proper. Catfooted, he trod the stairs and emerged behind the gunman who
was still firing down on Murph. Bodie shot him in the back, and grabbed
the rifle to prevent it falling from the roof.

"Murph," he called into the radio. "You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Fine."

"What do you think? Can't see anymore of 'em. I'm on my way down."

And with a cursory look at the now defunct gunman, he slung the weapon
over his shoulder, handgun at the ready, he returned to the ground.

Two minutes later, the word was given, and CI5 stormed the warehouse. The
entire search took forty minutes, the paperwork would take about four
days, in Murph's estimate. He and Bodie were taken aside by a fuming
Cowley and given a dressing-down for not having captured the gunman alive.
Bodie's own temper flared, and he snapped back at the controller. "What
was I s'posed to do? Politely ask him to surrender his weapon and then
discuss the cricket?"

Murphy gaped at his partner. The only times he'd known Bodie this worked
up were those when Doyle had been in danger.

Cowley simply stared him down.

"Bodie," he said icily, after a long moment, "I'll overlook your outburst
on this occasion. I want a full report on my desk tomorrow morning, from
both of you. Murphy, come with me, and you, 3.7, will go straight home.
If," the older man continued, over-riding Bodie's attempt to interrupt,
"there is a repetition of this unprofessional conduct, I'll have you
back-squadded. Do I make myself clear?"

Bodie lowered his eyes and nodded.

Murphy handed him the car keys.

"Och, get some rest, Bodie," Cowley added with an exasperated sigh. "Come
on, 6.2!"

"See you later, Bodie-mate," murmured Murphy as he turned to follow the
Scot.

Bodie put out his hand, staying him for moment.

"Do you believe in ghosts?"

The question was so abrupt, so unexpected, that Murphy laughed and shook
his head.

"Nah, mate, no such thing." But he was on the point of qualifying his
remark, when he was called off sharply to heel by Cowley. With a grin and
a shrug, he hurried off, leaving Bodie to make his own way back to the car
and drive home.

He paused at the entrance of his flat opening his senses, using the skills
that had once served him in the jungle, but there was nothing no other
thing in his apartment. It was empty of Doyle's lingering presence just as
empty as life without him by my side, Bodie admitted. Oh, Christ, if only
I'd realised...

He advanced slowly to the middle of the lounge, and stopped by the coffee
table, feeling absurd for a moment. But there was no one to see or hear
him, so he drew a steadying breath and spoke softly to the silence around
him.

"Ray? I know you were here. I--" he faltered for an instant. "I'm sorry. I
didn't mean for you to go. I was scared. I didn't understand still don't.
All I know is, I love you. I need you. Come back, Ray. Please come back."

Trembling, he turned slowly, but he was still alone, and the silence fell,
settling again over the room like a shroud. Bodie sighed; I didn't really
expect him to just appear not after the way I treated him. I suppose Murph
was right no such thing as ghosts. My mind playing tricks on me, because I
wanted [missing] he carefully skirted round Sally's encounter with his
late partner and put the rest down to mental aberration on his part.

Shaking himself from his near-trance, he went to make a coffee, before
opening up a sheet of newspaper on the lounge table and locating his
gun-oil. A daily ritual for him, since his brief flirtation as a
mercenary, he was quickly absorbed in the task, lovingly inspecting every
inch of his weapon before greasing it and reassembling it. He finished by
loading and cocking the Browning, wondering idly what it would be like to
put the gun against his temple and pull the trigger. Would he feel the
transition from life to death? Would there be an afterwards? Or would
everything he'd done and achieved, not that THAT amounted to much anyway,
suddenly become as nothing? Bodie wasn't certain he believed in an
afterlife. He certainly DIDN'T believe in GOD: any faith he'd had in a
great creator had been brutalized out of him on his childhood streets of
Liverpool, and trampled to death on forced marches through Angola. No God,
no hereafter, no Ray...

"Careful what you're doing with that, mate it might go off!"

Bodie's head jerked up and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a jeans-and
-tee-shirt-clad figure before his vision blurred with tears.

"RAY!"

When he could see again, he found he was on his feet, his fists clenched
at his side, staring at a very solid- looking and for some reason
horrified Ray Doyle.

"You dozy prat! What d'you do that for?"

Bodie was taken aback by his partner's tone.

"Do what?"

"You bloody idiot! Cowley's gonna love you!"

"Do WHAT?" Bodie repeated, totally puzzled. He looked down at himself.
Same dark slacks, same dark jumper and leather jacket. The automatic was
on the floor under the coffee table. He bent to retrieve it and his hand
passed through the wood, grasping at nothing.

He straightened slowly, white-faced, anger overruling the fear.

"If this is one of your lousy jokes, Doyle--" he threatened.

Doyle stepped up to him, grasping him firmly by the shoulders, and turning
him around.

"Does THAT look like a joke?"

There was body slumped across the sofa, bright blood and brains sloshed
over the fabric, its pale face averted. Tremors wracked the stricken man,
and Bodie instinctively pulled towards him, wanting to help. Doyle held
him for a moment then let him free. Bodie bent over the body, and stared.
He looked alarmed, lost, and totally shocked.

"Ray..." he tried twice to say the name, licking his lips to moisten them.
"That's me...isn't it?"

Doyle approached gently and nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on his
partner's ashen face.

"I'm dead aren't I?"

"Dying," Doyle correct quickly.

"Oh!" Bodie glanced back at the body, HIS body and returned his gaze to
Doyle. He gave a funny little laugh, and he fainted.

Something light and warm was touching his cheek. He wrinkled his nose, and
the caress turned into a definite slap. He moaned, protesting such
treatment which was doing his aching head no good.

"Come on, sunshine, wake up!" Doyle's voice was persistent, a reality
after the dreaminess of the last few days.

Bodie reluctantly opened his eyes, and stared up into Doyle's, which were
full of unshed tears. "Ray?" Bodie reached out, grabbed a handful of
tee-shirt and pulled. There was something comforting in the sudden weight
that knocked the breath from him.

Doyle, however, sought refuge from his sorrow in anger: He swatted Bodie
across the cheek again.

 "For Christsakes, stop mucking about! The ambulance'll be here in a
moment, and we've got to go with it."

"But," Bodie frowned, "I'm dead. Aren't I? So what's the point of the
ambulance?"

"Your body is still alive and breathing on its own. Therefore, you need an
ambulance. So I called one." Doyle slipped free of Bodie's hold and sat
back on his heels. "You're still in shock."

"I've got a stinking headache," grumbled Bodie, closing his eyes. "Got any
aspirin?"

"Stay awake, can't you? Just a little longer, mate..."

Bodie tried to shake his head, but it hurt so much that he simply sighed
and passed out again.

"Bodie, don't you dare..."

When he came around again, he felt much better, as if he'd slept for
hours, though he could only have been unconscious for a few minutes. He
realised he was lying on his own bed. Doyle was at the door, gazing into
the lounge, intent on whatever was going on out there. Bodie rolled over,
stood carefully, and tottered to where his partner leaned against the
doorframe.

Two uniformed men were leaving, bearing the stretcher between them, and
Benny was scanning the mess in the living room.

Doyle turned to his mate.

"Come on, sunshine. We want to find out what the doctor says about your
condition..." And he strode nonchalantly through he flat, out the front
door without opening it. Too surprised for rational thought, Bodie
followed. They easily overtook the stretcher party, and got into the
ambulance ahead of them sitting in the corner, quietly respectful.

"Am I going to make it?" asked Bodie, as they loaded his body.

Doyle shook his head.

"Dunno, mate. Looks bad from where I'm sitting."

What'll happen to you?" Bodie put a trembling hand to Doyle's arm. "If I
live?"

Doyle smiled sadly. "I'll always be around. Ghost usually haunt what binds
them to the earth."

"Huh?"

"They hang round the people they love," Doyle translated. He swallowed,
afraid of the effect his sudden revelation would have.

Bodie's hand tightened on him.

"What do I have to do to stay with you?"

Doyle caught the wild look in his partner's eye.

"Oh, no, sunshine. You can't...not while you've got the chance to live..."

"So all I have to do is die." Bodie smiled. "That's okay as long as we're
together."

"Bodie..." Doyle warned. He was silenced by Bodie's lips.

Gently at first, Bodie kissed him, and as Doyle responded, so Bodie
seduced his mouth, making love with his tongue, probing for the sweet
taste that was uniquely Doyle.

"Wanted to do that since Thursday..." Bodie confessed as he came up for
air.

"You bloody great idiot," Doyle laughed breathlessly. "You didn't have to
shoot yourself to get me. Told you I'd always be around..."

"You made me jump!" Bodie protested. He noticed the beginnings of a frown.
"I was glad to see you. I missed you like hell." He leaned forward to kiss
the bruised lips again. Doyle caught both this wrists, and blew up at him.

"You put a loaded gun against your head! That has to be the daftest thing
you've ever done! Even a rookie knows enough not to do that EVER!"

Bodie hung his head shamefully.

"You were going to do it anyway, weren't you?" Doyle continued softly. He
slid one hand under his partner's chin and tipped his face up. "Weren't
you?"

Bodie swallowed nervously, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Thought about it. Wondered what dying would feel like. I told you, I
missed you. I need you, Ray. I'm no good on my own anymore." He looked at
Doyle then, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

Doyle smiled and hugged him close, nuzzling his neck.

"Don't worry, Bodie, we'll always be together now."

Bodie's body was rushed down to the emergency surgery, and the two agents
followed it all the way in. Midway through the operation, they noticed
Cowley had arrived, and was sitting in the medical students gallery,
watching the proceedings. He looked furious. "Glad I won't be around to
feel the shockwave from that." Doyle remarked, eyeing the dour Scotsman.
"You've really upset him, Bodie. He likes you a lot."

"He wasn't exactly sweetness and light when you copped it," Bodie
countered. "Ran me down for dereliction of duty: I should've been with
you."

"In which case, they would've buried us together, and Cowley could've
bought one headstone for the pair of us," Doyle figured. "Penny-pinching
old--"

"Now, now, Raymond, my love," Bodie chided gently. "Mustn't speak ill of
the living..."

Doyle grimaced, and Bodie laughed.

A second figure had appeared in the gallery, and Doyle grabbed Bodie's
wrist. "Let's go and eavesdrop."

He led them up to the room where Cowley and Bodie's most recent partner
were watching the operation, barging in midway through Murphy's answer to
the older man's question.

"...heard over the radio, so I came straight here. Has the doctor said
anything?"

Cowley shook his head and glared down at the theatre, willing the younger
man to live, and cursing Bodie and himself for a fool.

"I want you to help Benny go over his flat. See if he left a note or
something. I want to know why--"

"Yes, sir."

"--and ask Dr. Ross to pull all his files and bring them to my office."

"Sir."

"There's no sense in your hanging around. You'd better get on, Murphy."

Without a word, the agent turned on his heel and left. Cowley concentrated
on the scene below, and from their new vantage point, both Bodie and Doyle
had a better overall view of the surgeon's task.

"They'll have problem digging that bullet out," Doyle predicted. "You
being so thick-skulled and all!"

"Are you implying," Bodie snorted with a wicked glint in his eye, "that I
don't have any brains? I left enough of 'em on the sofa to convince even
you..."

"I was only wondering," Doyle continued, "how anyone could miss at that
range."

Bodie considered. "You ruined my aim," he accused.

"Ah, then you admit it you WERE trying to kill yourself! That's a bloody
selfish thing to do--"

"I wanted to be with you," snapped Bodie.

"And what about George, and Murph? You're not being fair to them."

"Tough," pouted Bodie. "That's life. Besides which, you started it by
getting yourself shot."

Doyle glowered at him, and turned his attention to the action below.

In the theatre, the surgeon was pulling down his mask, and shaking his
head. Through the intercom, they had been half-following the proceedings,
and now the senior doctor was speaking.

"That's it. We've lost him. Thank you for your help everyone."

There were murmurs from the rest of the team, as they began to clear away
instruments and equipment and beside them, George Cowley's slumped
shoulders told their own story.

"Och, laddie, if I'd only known..."

Bodie stepped forward, but Doyle caught him and shook his head.

"He can't hear us or see us, Bodie. Leave him for now."

Bodie rounded on him, spoiling for an argument, but a look at Doyle's face
made him bridle his tongue. "Where'll we go?" he asked.

Doyle shrugged.

"Back to your place for tonight. My flat's been re-let."

"And afterwards? What about tomorrow?"

Doyle smiled softly.

"Tomorrow can take care of itself. Come on, sunshine. Let's go home,
there's no point in hanging round now." 

He turned his back on the theatre and walked out of the gallery quickly.
With one last glance at the corpse, and a final lingering look at the old
man who was standing with bowed head, Bodie followed his partner.

They hopped a bus back to the flat, and Bodie was pleased to see that the
mess had been cleaned up. They checked the place over as a matter of
course, relieved to find none of Bodie's gear had been touched.

"Not that it'll matter much," Doyle observed. "Not now."

"Place was getting filled with junk anyway," Bodie dismissed. He yawned
suddenly. "I thought ghosts weren't supposed to get tired."

Doyle grinned at him.

"Don't you believe it, mate. We have to get our sleep, too. Dunno about
you, but I'm knackered, and there's a big bed next door."

Bodie put his hands on his hips.

"Who said you was sharing my bed?" he teased.

Doyle arched an eyebrow.

"I did." And he vanished through the door.

Bodie laughed and followed him, catching his partner as he peeled off his
shirt. He wrapped his arms around the slender waist, nuzzling at the nape
of Doyle's neck, nipping and kissing. Doyle pushed back, loving the
attention.

"Thought you were tired," he murmured, reaching behind him to pull Bodie
closer.

"Not too tired for you. I want you before I sleep."

Bodie thrust his bulging groin against his partner's buttocks. "Let me?"

In reply, Doyle turned in his embrace, and put his arms around his love's
neck, capturing Bodie's mouth with his own, and plastering himself against
the stockier body

"Ray?" Bodie breathed. He took half a step forward, knocking them both off
balance so that they collapsed in a heap on the bed.

Doyle's hands slid down his arms and up his back, under his jumper,
tickling and arousing him more. He thrust against the writhing body
beneath him, moving his crotch against Doyle's hardened denim-clad one.

"Too fast, love. Much too fast. Let me get at you properly. Take your
clothes off," Doyle panted, tugging at Bodie's sweater.

With a barely muffled groan, Bodie stood and stripped quickly, tossing his
clothes aside carelessly. He eyed Doyle with some annoyance.

"What about you? I can't get at you when you're wrapped in those jeans."

Doyle lay back and gazed up at him.

"Thought you'd like to do it for me. You know, undo my flies, put your
hand inside, touch me up..."

Bodie landed beside him on the bed, and kissed him ferociously, as he
fumbled with the zip.

"Bloody cock-tease," he accused. "You know how to get me going."

The denim parted, and Bodie pushed it aside, delving his hand into the
furnace heat at his partner's groin, fingering Doyle's swollen penis
delicately. Doyle purred at his touch, and wriggled his jeans down,
freeing himself completely.

Bodie kissed his lips, then made a pilgrimage across the lightly furred
body to the throbbing flesh. He licked it, sucked at it, aware that he was
losing what little control he had.

"Do it, Bodie," Doyle implored him.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll do it. Do anything for you..."

"Suck me. Bring me off with your mouth. Feels wonderful, having you down
there."

Obediently, Bodie bent his head and took Doyle into his mouth, steadying
himself with a hand on the flat belly. The other caressed and cradled
Doyle's testicles, weighing them gently, treasuring the feeling of holding
hi lover in his hands.

Doyle arched up delightedly, moaning his pleasure as he came. Bodie
swallowed as much as he could then licked his partner clean, pressing
gentle kisses to the now lax flesh, savouring the taste, the essence of
Doyle.

"Bodie," the voice was barely a whisper. "Bodie, put it in me." Heavy legs
parted, pleading.

"You're dry, I'll hurt you..."

"There's some stuff in your drawer. I put it there, when I tidied up for
you, thought you'd get the message..."

Bodie reached to the bedside cabinet, brushing warm fur as he did so. He
fished out the new tube, and returned to his place between Doyle's legs.
Doyle drew his knees up to his chest, presenting himself shamelessly.
Bodie's fingers were trembling as he applied the gel, smoothing the way
for their loving. Doyle was begging him...He pressed his cock against the
ring of muscle, expecting to meet resistance, and slid in easily in one
move. He stopped, overwhelmed by the sensation of being inside Ray. All
his fantasies since that fateful Thursday were here and now were real.
This was RAY DOYLE, partner, friend, LOVER they were together, as
one...Bode sighed deeply, pushed himself fully, his mind floating
somewhere between Cloud Nine and the stratosphere.

"Bo-die!" The wail came from down below. "Please!"

Doyle wriggled frantically, and suddenly the world exploded as Bodie came
great wracking waves that left him spent, wrung out, flying from surfeit
of pleasure. He groaned aloud, ecstatic and frustrated, and collapsed
heavily...

When he was next aware of anything, it was the tiniest caress of fingers
at his temple, soothing the hair from his damp forehead, tracing the line
of his brow. Bodie moved his head, turning sot that he could kiss the
matted skin beneath him.

"You're conscious then," Doyle's tone was soft, teasing.

"Nghmm!" Bodie buried his face against his lover's body, snuffling
drowsily.

"Was it good for you, too?"

Bodie closed his eyes and went even limper on top of him.

"Yeah, stupid question. Course it was. Could tell by your face you were on
another planet. You comfortable there, sweetheart? Move up a bit so I can
hold you properly."

Reluctantly, Bodie shifted a little higher and was closed in a warm
embrace. Doyle hooked the bedding up awkwardly, and covered them both,
wrapping the duvet round Bodie like a cocoon. He touched his lips lightly
to Bodie's forehead.

"Night, love," he smiled. "Hmmm ngahh?"

"Yeah," Doyle laughed. "Whatever it is--give you anything, Bodie."

Bodie raised his sleep fuddled head, and smiled dopily at him, before
passing out. Doyle closed his eyes and soon he too, was asleep.

Bodie woke slowly to find himself wrapped in strong arms. Doyle had him
securely trapped under the covers and he sighed contentedly. The slight
movement brought Doyle awake, and the lazy smile that greeted Bodie became
a jaw-breaking yawn.

"You've even got beautiful tonsils," Bodie remarked, gazing down his
lover's throat.

"Dunno what you want to borrow," Doyle snorted derisively, "but I'm
broke."

"Who said I wanted to borrow anything?" Bodie pouted with mock hurt. Then
he grinned smugly. "Got everything I need right here." He bowed his head
and kissed Doyle's cheek, which earned him a hug. "Could stay here
forever," he sighed, rubbing his cheek against a hardened nipple. "Must be
heaven."

Doyle gave him a pained look.

"You feeling alright?"

Bodie blinked up at him guilelessly.

"Course I am. Why?"

Doyle grinned.

"S'unlike you to be so--" he searched for the right word: affectionate
soft? "romantic."

"Never made love with you before," he smiled up, a hint of colour in the
normally-pale face. "Never been in love like this before, either," he
admitted shyly, and he lowered his eyes, his courage having deserted him.

Doyle cuddled him delightedly.

"I love you, too. Have done for a long time, but you didn't notice. Did
everything I could to get your attention except grope you, or strip off in
public..." He sighed contentedly. "Was worth the wait though." He kissed
the dark head softly, nosing at the damp hair.

"Glad you feel that way," said Bodie softly, "now we're engaged."

"Engaged?" Doyle chuckled. "When did we get engaged."

"Last night. I asked you to marry me."

Revelation dawned.

"Is that what all the grunting was about!" Doyle laughed openly then. "I
thought it was a sow in labour!"

Bodie bit him, and they began to wrestle, tossing the bedding aside and
revelling in the feeling of skin on skin. Bodie rolled onto his back,
pulling Doyle on top of him, wrapping arms and legs round the wiry body,
before forcing him into a more-than-willing kiss. Gradually, he relaxed
his hold, and Doyle's arms came around him, holding, while slender hips
moved determinedly against his.

"Ray oh, yes, more...Ray please!"

Doyle groped amid the tangled sheets and located the tube. Hastily, he
squeezed gel onto his fingers and lying flat on top of Bodie, he waved his
hand in front of his partner's face.

"Know where I'm going to put this, don't you?"

Bodie nodded, his eyes huge and dark with desire. Doyle couldn't resist
it, and dabbed a spot on the end of the snub nose.

"Doyle!" Bodie squawked. "Get on with it!" He brought one hand up to smear
away the grease, and groped Doyle's rump with the other.

Doyle moved back against it, and struggled to his knees. He rubbed the
lubricant the full length of his throbbing penis, deliberately
provocative.

Bodie watched, fascinated. His own flesh was hard and hot, craving Doyle's
touch, but he dared not move and risk ruining his partner's plans.

Doyle sat back, considering. He was pleased at the slow flush that
coloured Bodie's cheeks.

Bodie was shivering with delight.

"Turn over, Bodie, so I can get at you."

Bodie wriggled onto his stomach, pressing his erection into the mattress.
He jumped at the hand placed on his behind, and caught his breath when a
gel-laden finger probed him. Doyle was teasing him open, pampering him,
making love with his fingers....

"Kneel up, sweetheart, and spread your legs a bit more. That's it, nice
and wide."

Doyle's cock brushed against Bodie's balls, and the younger man swallowed,
taut with anticipation. The thick head nudged against his anus, and he
pushed back as his partner shoved forward, welcoming the invasion.

"Ray!" Bodie whimpered.

"Did I hurt you?" asked Doyle anxiously.

Bodie shook his head.

"No feels wonderful." He laughed breathlessly. "You're so big--"

Doyle moved deeper, grasping Bodie firmly round the waist with one arm,
and gently tortured him with his free hand. Bodie's control went within
five seconds of the first stroke, and he spilled his seed over the
manipulative hand, spattering himself, ashamed he hadn't been able to
withstand the sweet assault. 

Bodie's climax triggered Doyle's, and he flooded the tight channel,
filling Bodie with his semen, gasping love-curses as he came. He fell
free, and collapsed flattening Bodie. He scrambled higher so that he was
covering his lover like a blanket.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" Doyle asked him softly, kissing the
nape of Bodie's neck. Tears were trickling unheeded down his cheeks, and
splashed onto the shoulder beneath him.

"Ray?" Bodie tried to turn over, but couldn't muster the strength. "Wasn't
it--"

"I've never been this high before," Doyle sniffed. "Dreamed about loving
you, but think you might be right about heaven. I love you." He kissed
away the teardrops, lapping at Bodie's shoulder, and rubbing himself
sensuously along the bare back.

"Ray, shift a bit. I want to hold you."

Doyle obliged, moving as if his limbs were made of lead. Bodie rolled him
into his arms, cuddling, and bestowing butterfly kisses all over Doyle's
face, and murmuring soft words that Doyle only half-heard.

"Angel-fish..."

Doyle snuggled up, and allowed himself to be petted to sleep.

"What'll we do for the rest of the day?"

Bodie lounged against the pillows, teasing at Doyle's curls with his
fingers.

"Stay here and make love," Doyle suggested, licking Bodie's nipple. "We've
got a lot of time to make up."

Bodie wrinkled his nose.

"We've got eternity or, at least until they clear my flat."

Doyle looked thoughtful.

"Could go house-hunting."

"House-HAUNTING," Bodie corrected. That earned him an unsubtle nip
mid-chest.

"Let's go to HQ and see when Cowley's going to send them for your gear. He
took his time with my stuff we might still be here on Friday," he added
hopefully.

Bodie caressed the ear nearest him.

"You're not just a pretty face," he grinned.

"Well, with my beauty, and your brains--" They both laughed. "Let's clean
up, and get breakfast."

Bodie looked worried.

"Can we I mean are we allowed to like, when we were alive?"

"Nobody's said otherwise." Doyle shrugged. "When I died, I was sort of
expecting to be called to some place like headquarters, and get lectured,
and told where I'd gone wrong with my life."

"A debrief by St. Peter?"

Doyle laughed. "Something like that, but it was just like it was before,
except I was homeless sort of, drifted, no guide-book, no instruction
manual. I felt like a bloody refugee." He stopped to mouth Bodie again. "I
was worried I knew you'd be lonely without me!"

"Glad you stayed around," Bodie hugged him. "Was lost without you."

"Well, you can consider yourself FOUND from now on."

"We both are," corrected Bodie. "Anywhere you are, there am I."

Doyle pushed himself out of his lover's arms.

"Romance? Poetry?" He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Bodie grinned, and licked his lips.

"Breakfast!"

They hopped the bus to Whitehall, and ambled down familiar corridors,
seeing but unseen. Boyle had grown used to being invisible to the masses,
but Bode was unnerved by it, until he began thinking of the practical
applications. He grabbed Doyle's hand, twining their fingers firmly, and
smiled self-consciously at his partner's look of surprise.

"Well, engaged people hold hands a lot, don't they?" he observed
defensively.

Doyle grinned.

"Death's brought out the romantic in you!" he teased.

"There's no need to be insulting," Bodie pouted, blushing a little.

Doyle pulled him to a halt outside Cowley's office. He tugged Bodie into
his arms and kissed him sweetly.

"They kiss a lot, too."

Bodie relaxed into the embrace, sighing contentedly.

Inside the office, they could hear Cowley flaying some luckless person in
admin.

"Shall we?" asked Doyle, jerking his head toward the closed door."

"Why not? Lead on, McScruff!"

Doyle shot him a look of love, disguised as disdain, and popped through
the door.

Cowley was just hanging up he entered, and Doyle took up a position
between the controller's desk and the drinks cabinet. Bodie crept to his
side, suddenly ill at ease in such familiar surroundings. Murphy was
seated before the old man, his face pale, accentuating the dark circles
beneath the eyes. Bodie felt a surge of pity for him, on the receiving end
of whatever Cowley was doling out.

"Where was I?" the controller asked. "You say there was no note? And that
he gave no indication that he contemplated taking his own life?" Cowley
fixed the younger man with a stare. "You were his partner, Murphy, you
were closest to the man. Your evidence is of paramount importance in the
enquiry."

ENQUIRY!

Bodie and Doyle looked at each other, but Doyle put a finger to his lips,
silencing his partner's would-be outburst: Murphy was speaking.

"He and Ray were really close. Not just colleagues, but friends almost
like brothers. We all of us senior agents knew what Bodie was to Doyle,
but we didn't know if it was reciprocal thing...Bodie's not a man to wear
his feelings where they show..."

"Doyle's death hit him harder than he was prepared to admit?"

"Yes, sir, even to himself. He had been--" Oh, well, might as well tell it
all: Bodie was dead and it couldn't make that much difference now. "He'd
been crying, yesterday, when I went to collect him, and he was behaving
very strangely at Doyle's on Friday."

"In what way?"

"Distracted absent-minded like he was listening out for someone."

"For Doyle." Cowley nodded. "He still hadn't accepted it then... The truth
must have hit home twice as hard on Sunday..."

Murphy nodded automatically, conscious of the fact he had yet to accept
BODIE was dead... He murmured quietly to himself. Doyle moved up behind
him, straining to hear.

"What was that?" Cowley asked sharply.

Murphy looked sheepish.

"Just something Bodie asked me before he went home..." Seeing the
quizzical eyebrow, he shrugged and continued. "I didn't think much of it
at the time. He wanted to know if I believed in ghosts."

"And what did you tell him?" Cowley was looking at him curiously.

"That there's no such thing--" Murph stopped short and glanced round. A
shiver ran down his spine, and Doyle blew determinedly at his neck. Bodie
was almost hysterical.

"MURPHY!"

The younger man shuddered again.

"Sorry, sir. It was just a draft."

Doyle stepped back to Bodie's side and kicked his partner to sober him.

"Hmm!" Cowley considered for a minute. For one awful moment, Bodie
wondered if the old man had guessed could see... "I want you to take
Benny, and clear Bodie's flat. I want to have it re-let by tomorrow."

"Where'll we put his gear, sir? He doesn't have a family well, not one he
talks about..."

"It'll go into storage, until I can contact Doyle's family..."

"MY FAMILY!" Doyle rounded on his lover. "My family?"

"Well--" Bodie looked indignant. "You were my best mate and I always
thought that I'd go first..."

Doyle raised his eyes to the ceiling, and sighed.

"Being dead's DEFINITELY made you sentimental."

"Yes sir," Murphy agreed, as he rose. The he paused, and looked at Cowley
sadly. "I can't help wondering if I couldn't done something to stop him.
If I--"

 "No, lad, you're not to blame." Cowley rubbed a hand over tired eyes. "I
was the one. I should've hauled him over to Kate Ross as soon as it
happened..."

There was no answer to the sorrow in the controller's voice, and Murph
gave him a half-hearted smile before leaving. Cowley went to the drinks
cabinet, to fetch himself a whisky. Serious now, Bodie put out his hand to
touch the old man, but once again, Doyle prevented him, and slid his arm
around his partner's waist.

"Don't sunshine," he whispered. "I know you're hurting for him. So am I,
but there's nothing we can do."

"There must be SOMETHING," cried Bodie. "I've got to tell him it was an
accident. I don't want him to keep blaming himself for my mistakes, Ray!"

"Come away, Bodie," Doyle insisted, tightening his hold. "It won't do you
any good."

Reluctantly, Bodie conceded, and he allowed himself to be pushed through
the door, and hauled down the passage to the restroom, where Murphy and
Benny were talking.

"...book out the estate, get some crates, and take his gear to the storage
people."

"Could you hold off going over until after five?" asked Benny. "I'm
waiting on one of marks to phone said he had something big for me. If he
hasn't called by then, he's probably been offed, and is shakin' hands with
our lads, God rest 'em!"

Murph was pondering the likelihood of either Bodie or Doyle getting to
heaven.

"Benny, d'you believe in ghosts?"

The other agent met his anxious blue eyes, and blinked.

"I believe," he replied simply.

"Why? I mean, have you ever seen one?" Murphy was genuinely intrigued.

"Nope, but just because I haven't doesn't mean they don't exist. There's
too many reported cases for there NOT to be something in it."

Murphy looked pensive for the moment, unconvinced.

"Benny if I die, I promise, I'll come back and haunt you specially!"

Benny laughed. "Thanks, Murphy, you're all heart!"

Bodie and Doyle beat the others back to the flat, and made a start on
packing Bodie's effects. They used the boxes that Bodie had put aside in
his closet, but ran out of the enthusiasm for the task before reaching the
lounge. Grinning, Doyle took his partner into the bedroom and set about
seducing him, stripping and scattering their clothing across the floor,
before making love to him with his mouth and fingers. Unused to the
exertion, Bodie fell asleep afterwards, and Doyle cat-napped comfortably
beside him, basking in Bodie's body heat.

The sound of the front door opening brought Doyle to full awareness. He
checked the alarm clock by the bed. Almost six o'clock. Bodie was lying
face down, submerged in the duvet, still unconscious. Outside, in the
living room came the muffled thud of boxes as they hit the floor, and
Murph's quick reply to something Benny had said.

Doyle dressed hurriedly, and went to take up a position by the doorway,
eavesdropping unashamedly.

"Is it possible to hear a ghost without seeing it?" Murphy was asking.

Benny shrugged.

"People--psychics, mediums, do. Why?"

Murphy looked uncomfortable.

"Because," he glanced round automatically, "I could've sworn it was Ray
Doyle who yelled that warning about the sniper."

"Maybe he did," Benny replied with mischievous grin. "They do say it
happens, you know. Ghosts haunt whatever binds them to the earth."

"Huh?"

"The people that matter to them; friends, loved ones and we know how Ray
felt about Bodie..."

Murphy snorted.

"Seems to me it's a waste of time." Murphy surveyed the lounge, his gaze
coming to rest on the stained sofa. "I never thought he'd do anything like
that...." He shivered suddenly. "To think that he was alive, that I was
the last person to talk to him--"

"Feels like we're intruding, doesn't it?" Benny agreed. "Like he's going
to walk in any minute, and ask us what the hell we're doing."

"Shut up, Benny."

"Can still feel his presence."

"Benny, can it!"

The lights flickered briefly, and Murphy's head jerked up sharply. Doyle
noted the wary expression on the pale face and stared in disbelief: Murph
afraid? Not the man who climbed mountains for a hobby, who could stare
down an armed gunman...Not our Murph!

"Bloody cold in here," Benny grumbled. "S'like a flippin' morgue..."

"Shut up, Benny," Murph ordered through gritted teeth.

"And it's too quiet--"

In the bedroom, Bodie rolled over and gave a low groan.

The two agents looked at each other.

"This place is empty we've got the only keys," Benny reminded his
colleague.

"Shut up, Benny, there's probably a logical explanation--"

"Like, it's haunted--"

Murph hit him hard, sending the other man crashing into the wall, almost
unconscious. The noise roused Bodie, who grabbed up his clothes, and was
past Doyle in an instant, dressing as he surveyed the scene. Murphy was
glaring down, white faced, at the luckless operative, whose lips had split
on impact with Murph's fist. He gave a low whistle of appreciation and
laughed.

Murph froze at the strangely familiar sound. All his instincts told him to
run and logic stating that it couldn't possibly be it because it went
against his personal creed Murphy turned around slowly. Bodie was standing
behind the couch, grinning.

"B- Bodie!" He stammered. "But you're dead!"

"That's no excuse for hitting a fellow operative," smirked Bodie.

He glanced at Doyle, who had crossed the room, and was now kneeling by
Benny.

Doyle was shaking his head.

"He's going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow," predicted Doyle
drily.

Murphy jumped at the second voice.

"Ray! Oh, Jesus, this isn't real!" He gaped at the scruffy figure on the
floor. "You're both DEAD, for God's sake."

"I think he's in shock," Doyle peered over his shoulder at his partner.

"Which one?" asked Bodie helpfully. "Neither of 'em looks too bright."

Doyle glanced up at the tall agent, and sighed.

"Why don't you go and sit down, Murph, and Bodie can make us coffee while
we wait for Benny to come round."

"The sofa's pretty clean," Bodie informed him sweetly.

For some reason, Murphy began to laugh.

Benny came to. He was lying in the recovery position on a bed that smelt
of sex. His shoes had been removed, as had his holster and gun. He vaguely
remembered being hit.

He could hear voices through the half-open door. Murph had probably
dragooned some other poor bastard into helping clear Bodie's stuff... He
raised his head cautiously, and concentrated on the conversation drifting
through the flat...

"It was an accident--it went off in my hand," Bodie insisted.

"And now, I'm lumbered with him for eternity," Doyle concluded. He caught
the gleam of amusement in his lover's eyes.

"Didn't you know it's plain stupid to put a gun to your head, whether it's
loaded or not, even with the safety on?"

"Precisely what I told him," Doyle said. "Mind you, he's got the brains of
a rockin' horse!" He leaned to ruffle the dark hair affectionately.

Bodie grinned gleefully.

"What d'you expect? Most of the decent stuff soaked into the cushions--"

The caress turned into a clout.

"You are DISGUSTING!" Doyle told him, with mock severity.

Murphy laughed at the expression on Bodie's face, as Doyle stacked the
mugs. He left Bodie and Murphy discussing the Limehouse job. Benny
appeared at the bedroom door, unnoticed.

"We searched that place splinter by splinter, but it's my guess they moved
the cache to several smaller safe- houses..."

"You shouldn't be discussing the case, Murph, it's..." Benny's voice
trailed off, as the man on the settee turned to look at him.

Bodie was smirking.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost, mate. Come and sit down." He
patted the space beside him. "S'okay, someone's cleaned up all the
gore..."

Benny sidled nervously around the end of the couch and sat.

"Four coffees," Murphy called out to Doyle, "and make 'em strong!"

Benny was rubbing his tender jaw.

"What are you doing here?"

Bodie looked affronted.

"I live here."

Murph stifled a grin.

"Not anymore you don't!"

Doyle ambled through, laden with coffee-mugs, smiled nonchalantly at
Benny, and said, "Oh, welcome to the land of the living." He set the
drinks down on the table and went to join the other's on the sofa.

Murphy took note of how close the two ex-agents were sitting to one
another, Doyle's denim-clad thigh brushing Bodie's corduroyed one. There
was an air of contentment about them, which he put down to their having
adjusted to their new state of existence.

"Benny's wondering why we're still around," Bodie sagged back against the
sofa closing his eyes.

Doyle looked thoughtful, as he reached for his coffee.

"Dunno. I mean, I stayed because someone had to keep an eye on you." He
glanced fondly at his other half. "But we still don't know why we're both
here."

"Unless it's Cowley," Bodie grunted. "Hadn't thought of that before." He
sat up, and opened his eyes.

Doyle considered, and Murph nodded in agreement.

"The Cow's got a soft spot for both of you. He was really upset yesterday.
He had us over this place three times, looking for a suicide not--"

"It was an accident!" yelled Bodie, half-rising.

Doyle put a restraining hand on his thigh.

"Sit down. They know, but you'll have a job convincing the old man."

"All we could actually do is point out there was no note, and that you've
had other partners shot--you never tried anything like it before."

"They weren't Ray," Bodie spoke without thinking, and hastily qualified
his statement. "I got used to having this annoying little bugger around,
that's all..."

"Ah," Doyle sighed dramatically, "what it is to be cherished!"

Bodie glared at him.

"Where will you go now?" Benny asked. "We've got orders to clear this
place tonight--the new tenants are moving in tomorrow. You can't stay here
and haunt them."

"Doesn't seem quite right," Murphy agreed, "especially when you don't know
them."

"It's a bit sudden," protested Doyle. "Bodie hasn't even been buried yet!"

"By the way," Bodie demanded, "when is it?"

"What?" Benny queried.

"My funeral."

"Friday morning. Murph and I'll be going pay our last respects and so on.
What about you two?"

The ex-operatives looked at each other.

"Don't want to miss your own send-off, do you?" Doyle stated, with a wry
expression.

Bodie smirked.

"We'll be there in spirit!"

Murphy howled, and set Bodie off, and soon both men were helpless with
laughter. Doyle put on his we-are-not- amused face, and scowled at them.
Bodie did his best to appear suitably chastened, and dabbed at his eyes
with his sleeve.

"Still doesn't solve our accommodation problem," Doyle reminded them.
"We're staying here for the night, but after that..."

"Safe-houses," suggested Benny. "If you come into headquarters, you'll
know which ones are likely to be vacant, and you can move in any time."

"Brilliant!" yelled Doyle.

Bodie pouted. "And what happens if there's an eleventh hour call, and we
have to shift?"

"It's better than living on the streets," Doyle observed.

"And it's warm and dry," added Murphy.

"So's the crematorium, but I wouldn't move in there!" snapped Bodie.

Sensing that they would get nowhere with Bodie in this mood, the others
finished their coffee, and allowed Doyle to usher them out: Bodie went off
to bed to sulk.

Doyle hurried back, and stripped, diving in beside him. He slid his arms
around the rigid figure.

"It wouldn't be for long," he cajoled.

"Only for an eternity," Bodie grouched, refusing to give in.

"Most of the safe-houses have double-beds," Doyle remarked seductively. He
pulled Bodie close, and kissed naked shoulders.

"So?" Bodie wriggled, enjoying his partner's method of persuasion.

"We'll look around for a flat, that has a king-sized bed, and large shower
then we can play around as much as we like..." Doyle pressed himself
against Bodie's back, coaxing with his whole body. "You'd like that,
wouldn't you?"

"Something else I'd like right now," mumbled Bodie, and he pushed back,
reaching to hold the wiry body to him.

Doyle grinned, nipped Bodie's ear playfully, and gave his lover what he
wanted.

Murph and Benny came to collect Bodie's things the following morning, and
offered them a ride to HQ before driving down to the storage depot.

Walking the old corridors hand-in-hand, they discussed the easiest method
of transport, now that neither them was entitled to a car.

"Hopping buses--already done that," said Bodie.

"Takes too long. Tube's better," Doyle decided, "or plain old Shanks's
pony."

"Ray, what about people seeing us. Murph saw me immediately, but he didn't
know you were there till you went to see Benny." There was a note of
puzzlement in his voice.

Doyle stopped to consider for a while.

"I think it was because you WANTED Murph to see you, but I didn't at
first."

"So all I have to do is decide I want to be seen?"

"Well, it helps if your victim is in a receptive mood..."

"Murph said he didn't believe in ghosts," protested Bodie.

"DIDN'T being the operative word. Think we've made him a believer now."
Doyle winked at him, and started walking. "Come on, we've got to see man
about a house."

The duty-room had a list of accommodations held by CI5 for use 'by
permission, or persons considered at risk or imminent danger of
assassination, or kidnapping'. Both men pored over the information and
decided on a flat in Soho.

"Just as long," grumbled Bodie, "as some flamin' diplomat doesn't turf us
out while we're doing a bit of delicate negotiating of our own."

Doyle shook his head.

"Life couldn't be THAT cruel!"

Friday morning was dull, and grey: Ideal funeral weather, thought Murph as
he parked his car behind Cowley's red Granada. He glanced across at his
companion, who was smiling lopsidedly.

"Do you suppose they'll come?" asked Benny as they got out.

Murphy chuckled.

"Can't see them passing up a chance to watch his exit!"

They walked together up the path, talking softly. Ahead of them were
several other squad members, also dressed sombrely, as befitting the
occasion. They filed into the church where a fortnight before they had
paid their last respects to Bodie's partner. Two deaths in two weeks in
one family....

Murphy was surprised to see that the building was crowded: Bodie had been
popular with his workmates in CI5 but there were people whom Murphy had
never seen before in his life. He and Benny found themselves a place in
one of the rear pews and scanned the occupants. Benny caught this sleeve
and whispered.

"Can't see them yet, can you?"

"They'll be here," Murphy assured. "They're probably with the body."

Benny chuckled.

"I just can't believe it. I mean, we were--"

A tap on his shoulder shut him up, and made both agents look round. Jax
was in the row behind, looking very solemn.

"This is a funeral, Benny. It's no laughing matter."

Benny hung his head suitably chastised, and Murph jumped into the breach
between the.

"Who are all these people, Jax? I know that Bodie had a few mates but
this...looks like half of London turned out to see him off."

"Cowley's idea. A lot of them are Bodie's old army pals. His unit was
going on block leave when they heard through the grape-vine..." He pointed
to aloof-looking individual who was standing beside the controller. "His
old CO, Major Nairn. Sergeant McKay is one of the pall- bearers..." Jax's
voice faltered. "It doesn't seem possible...I can take Ray getting shot in
the line of duty but Bodie committing suicide--"

"HE DIDN'T!" Murphy and Benny spoke together.

Jax frowned at them.

"There was no note and Bodie's methodical enough to've left one," Benny
said quickly.

"And if he'd meant to off himself, he'd've done a cleaner job of it. Bodie
didn't commit suicide." Murphy snorted indignantly. "I should know, he was
MY partner!"

"Wish they'd hurry," murmured Benny, turning to scan the crowd again.

The door opened at the end of the aisle and the whole congregation rose as
one as the pall-bearers carried their burden towards the alter.

Murphy knew Macklin and Jack Crane, and placed the stocky SAS Sergeant.
The fourth took a moment longer: Benny Marsh had lost weight since his
days behind bars. He looked miserable...

The coffin was placed slowly on the trestles, and it suddenly became a
very serious affair. They stood, and sat as directed by the priest, and
listened to a potted history of their fellow agent in dutiful silence.

"Bloody hell, you WERE a busy little sod!"

Murphy zeroed in on the voice which came from a pew on the far side. Bodie
and Doyle had arrived, and both were on the only unoccupied bench in the
whole church.

Bodie was going a very fetching shade of pink, and he caught Murph's eye,
mouthing a message see you outside, next hymn.

When the assembly stood, two minutes later, Murphy plucked at Benny's
sleeve, and they eased their way from the narrow seat, bolting for the
exit with as much dignity as they could muster. For some reason he could
never explain, Jax followed, under cover of the chorus. Outside, he
glanced round, and heard Murphy interrogating someone.

"--kept you?"

"The bus was caught in a traffic jam."

A third, familiar voice joined the conversation.

"Then Goldilocks here gets us on the wrong line and we end up in bloody
BRIXTON..."

"Look, I said I was sorry. You reckoned it'd be dead boring anyway
funerals always are..."

"At least I had the decency to be on time at yours!"

Jax knew those voices...he walked towards the blind side of the church.

"You didn't miss much," Benny was assuring the late- comers. "Major Nairn
got up, said a few words..."

"None of them complimentary, I'll bet," chuckled Doyle drily. "Did you
really do all those things?"

"That was only the operations they knew about. I could tell you
stories..." Bodie stopped. "No, your hair's curly enough, sunshine!"

Jax rounded the corner and stopped, gaping at the scene before him: Benny
was leaning against the church-wall, and Murph was pacing the tiny strip
of lawn. Doyle was stretched out on the grass at Bodie's feet, in danger
of a dig in the ribs.

Jax swallowed, choking back the sudden tears.

"Would somebody please tell me what's going on?"

Bodie was getting bored. They had been at the flat in Soho for less than a
week, and he was getting restless. Doyle couldn't help but notice, and in
an effort to alleviate the situation, he suggested they drop by
headquarters to have a chat with Murph, or Jax, or Benny.

Jax and Benny were out, busy on an undercover drugs case, and Murphy was
up to his neck chasing the latest IRA cell to hit the city. There had been
several house- raids already, all drawing blanks as far as clues and leads
went: Murph and the rest of the lads were almost at the point of
exhaustion.

"I think we should give 'em a hand," Doyle told his other half.

Bodie's eyes were aglow, the challenge of the hunt, the thrill of the
chase. Doyle was delighted to have found a way to keep his lover happy.

"We'll call on young Murph tonight," Bodie decided, "and offer our
services."

"Not ALL our services," Doyle grinned, crooking a mischievous eyebrow at
his partner.

Bodie leered and kissed him.

"Just the public ones. He can go and find his own bit of stuff for private
functions."

But Murphy wasn't at home, and they took themselves to HQ to check the
duty-board.

"House-obbo, Mile End," Bodie announced glumly. "Shall we call in and
relieve the monotony for him?"

Doyle's grin was answer enough.

They caught the next bus up from Trafalgar Square, and grumbled about the
traffic, and about the crowds on the public transport. Bodie sighed
exasperatedly and leaned back against Doyle, closing his eyes.

"There has to be a quicker way of getting--"

"BODIE!"

The note of alarm in Doyle's voice brought him to full attention
immediately. His eyes snapped open. They were standing in a doorway down a
dark alley off the main thoroughfare.

"Ray! What happened?" he gasped. "Where are we?"

Doyle edged forward to the end of the alley-way and looked around. His
face broke into a grin. Bodie followed him closely.

"This is Mile End," Doyle informed him. "How the HELL did you do that?"

"Do what? One minute I'm on the bus, waiting for the conductor to walk
through me, the next--"

"What did you do?"

"I leaned against you, and closed my eyes."

"Then what happened?" Doyle interrogated him ruthlessly. "Think, Bodie!"

"I told you I thought there had to be a quicker way of getting here."

"Well, let's try it!"

Bodie was lost.

"What?"

"Doing what you did teleportation, or whatever it is now!"

He pulled Bodie against him, and they both closed their eyes. This is
STUPID thought Bodie. 

"There has to be a quicker way of getting to CI5 HQ." Doyle chose
randomly.

Totally idiotic, Bodie continued, and he opened his eyes, but stayed in
Doyle's arms. They were still standing in the alley.

Doyle was furious, and released him to start pacing back and forth, one
hand buried in his ragged curls.

"What else Bodie? There has to be something else. What did you think when
you did what you did?"

Bodie's face coloured a little, something that Doyle had no difficulty
noticing despite the gloom between the buildings.

"Was wondering what Murph'd say if I turned up holding your hand, or
cuddling you."

"MURPH! Of course, you home in on people, not places. Who'd be at
headquarters this late?"

"Oh, Betty, Benny, maybe...Lucas, or Mac--"

"Betty. Come on, sunshine, let's try again." Doyle grabbed him firmly
round the waist and closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were still
facing each other, and the alley-way was darker.

"SHIT!" Doyle squealed in frustration.

"Ah, Ray, don't worry..." Bodie pulled him close and hugged him, wishing
he knew just what it was that had caused the first shift. He closed his
eyes and sighed cuddling Doyle unashamedly. For a moment, Doyle relaxed
against him, but then he felt the wiry body stiffen, and push away from
him. He opened his eyes...

They were standing in Betty's office and the door to Cowley's room stood
ajar, giving them a partial view of their boss seated at his desk, working
through a stack of folders. Out of sight in his office, they could hear
Betty moving around.

"How did you do that?" Doyle demanded in a furious whisper.

"I didn't do anything!" protested Bodie.

"Did you say something, sir?"

They both jumped, hearing Betty's voice on the other side of the door.

They both jumped, hearing Betty's voice on the other side of the door.

"She can hear us!" Doyle breathed. "Christ!"

"No, Betty, that will be all for today, thank you."

"I've prepared the minutes for the Minister's meeting tomorrow, and Sir
Evan Wallace is still requesting that you join him for lunch at his club."

"That pompous auld..." Cowley sighed, and smiled sadly. "Aye, I may as
well. Am I free tomorrow?"

"Between twelve forty-five, and half-past one, sir."

They heard the smile in her voice.

Bodie murmured softly to his partner.

"Did you really with Betty, I mean?"

Doyle assumed an expression of superior dignity.

"A gentlemen never tells." The gleam in his eyes gave him away.

"Trust you, randy little sod--" and Bodie made to swipe him.

The door moved slightly under the secretary's hand and Bodie grabbed his
mate to haul him back, only to find there was nowhere to hide.

"I'll put it in the diary, sir," Betty was speaking, her eyes on the
controller as she left Cowley's room. Pulling the door shut behind her,
she turned, and stopped gaping at the two figures who were standing beside
her desk, like a pair of overgrown school-boys.

"Hello, Bett, love," smiled the more dishevelled of the two.

She swallowed nervously, and found that her knees had gone weak.

"Ray? Ray Doyle?"

"Yeah," he grinned sheepishly. "S'me. Nice to see you again--" his voice
trailed awkwardly.

"What are you doing back here? I mean, oh, heck I--damn it, Ray--" She
reached for the edge of her desk for support, and the next minute found
herself sitting in the chair, with a cup of coffee being urged on her by a
smiling Bodie. Doyle draped himself on the corner of her table.

Betty's fingers brushed against Bodie's as she accepted the drink, and she
was startled by their warmth--weren't ghosts supposed to cold and
clammy...? The tears she hadn't shed before began to flow. Bodie picked up
a handful of tissues and offered them, a multi-coloured posy from one
unsure of his welcome.

"Oh, thanks, Bodie." Betty accepted them gratefully, and dabbed at her
eyes. "It's just such a shock seeing you both--"

Bodie looked up, eyes glinting with mischief, and ran an appraising glance
over his partner.

"HE'D be enough to frighten Macklin into fits--" he teased, knowing full
well Doyle wouldn't let the insult pass.

He didn't, and in a moment, Betty was in the middle of a strangely
familiar verbal battlefield, enjoying every second of the affectionate
sparring. It was ended abruptly by the intercom. Betty reduced her grin to
manageable proportions before answering.

"Have Lucas and McCabe left yet?" Cowley asked.

"They went off-duty ten minutes ago, sir."

"Get hold of them, and tell them to get to Mile End. It looks as if we're
on to something..."

Bodie and Doyle looked at each other, and nodded. Betty was picking up the
phone, and caught the fleeting message that passed between them.

"You CAN'T!" She said indignantly.

Bodie winked at her.

"Can't we?"

He grabbed Doyle's arm, and pushed him through the door.

"Just watch."

"And don't forget to call Lucas and Mac," Doyle added.

Betty shook her head impatiently, and glanced down to dial the number:
when she looked up again, they had both vanished.

Murph gazed at the house as if he were mesmerized. He had been sitting in
the same place for three hours before two men arrived. One was carrying a
briefcase that looked extremely heavy, and both were armed with
ill-concealed hand-guns. Murph's new partner, Williams, had put a priority
call through to Cowley, requesting more men. Probably get the top team,
Lucas and McCabe but they would have to contend with city traffic.

Now, as he watched, Murphy gasped and swore as two more figures ambled
nonchalantly down the road, laughing and chatting to one another. Fifty
yards from the target house, they went into a familiar stance, flattening
themselves against the walls, and edging forward cautiously. Murphy
strained to watch, his expression a mixture of relief, amazement, and
worry.

"I just don't believe this," he muttered quietly.

Williams came to Murph's shoulder, still masked from general view by the
lank curtains of the room.

"The Old Man's sending back-up. Lucas, Mac, and the night shift when they
get in." He spoke quietly, reflecting the mood of the evening at that
moment. "Wish old Bodie and Doyle were still alive.."

Murph stopped himself in time, and smiled. If you only KNEW...they're out
there now, though God only knows what they're playing at.

Williams went to sit on the bed, and checked his weapon, while Murph kept
an eye on the house opposite. Bodie and Doyle had disappeared.

The RT bleeped, and Williams acknowledged.

"Any movement yet?"

Murphy shook his head, and his partner relayed the message.

"We don't know how many, or who. Two armed for sure the rest we'd have to
guess at--"

"Lucas and McCabe will be with you in two minutes. Move into position
Williams, up front with Murphy, the others at the rear..."

Williams confirmed their instructions, and punched Murphy's shoulder
lightly as he went out.

"Good luck, mate."

"See you in the bar," grinned Murph.

"And if you're there first," added a familiar cheeky voice, "you get 'em
in!"

Murph recoiled sharply from the window.

"Bodie!" he squawked.

The other agent was smirking manically.

"What're you doing here?"

Bodie's gaze rested on the front of the house.

"Thought we'd come and give you a hand. Ray's keeping tabs on them.
They're at the back of the building, and they're armed to the teeth..." He
proceeded to give Murphy the details he needed. "And," Bodie concluded,
"they are Irish."

A moment later, Murphy was moving into position, not too far from
Williams. Bodie stayed with him.

"I think we can manage without you," Murphy smiled. "Thanks for the info,
though, mate."

Bodie looked uneasy.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to stay. I'm not happy about this
one, I'll have a word with Ray..."

"Keep your head down," Murphy advised him, automatically.

Bodie looked amused.

"You, too, sunshine," he murmured before vanishing.

Only afterwards did the other agent realise what he'd said, and he stifled
a laugh at his own forgetfulness. He settled down to wait, and glanced
across at Williams to find his colleague watching him curiously.

Bodie appeared a minute later.

"You'd better do something, Murph, 'cos they're about to move."

"Cowley," the other man protested, but Bodie had pushed his ex-partner's
thumb onto the transmit button of the hand-held and giving orders to close
in. He shoved Murphy in the direction of the front door...

The wood panelling split under the lethal kick. Murph and Williams burst
into the house microseconds apart. Williams made for the first door on the
left, but his partner yelled.

"S'clear! They're all out back--" and Murph went haring into the kitchen.
Williams automatically followed, and they were there, ready to help Lucas
hold the five men they found in the room.

"There should be six of them," growled Murphy.

"One of 'em took off. Mac's gone after 'im," Lucas told them.

"Williams, you stay and keep Lucas company, we'll go after the last one."

Murph dashed into the scrubby garden and looked round.

"That way." Bodie pointed towards the back lane.

Murph sprinted to the fence and vaulted over it, and Bodie raced straight
through it, earning himself a look of annoyance from erstwhile colleague.
Doyle was half- way up the road, waving at them frantically. They hurried
to him.

"What is it?" Bodie's voice was taut with worry.

"Mac's been hurt. The Mick turned on him he's up here." Doyle led them
into an alley that smelled of dog and tom-cat.

McCabe was lying in the recovery position, his head pillowed on his
jacket. There was a vicious looking would on his left temple, and a
bruising on his jaw.

"What about you, sunshine?" Bodie asked.

Doyle wrinkled his nose.

"Went straight through me," he snorted, laying a reassuring hand on his
partner's arm.

Murphy was kneeling by McCabe and speaking into the RT when the man on the
ground gave a low moan and tried to move.

Doyle was down with him in a moment, on Mac's blind side, holding him
still with one hand.

"Stay still, mate," he ordered softly. "The ambulance is on it's way."

Mac mumbled incoherently and passed out again.

The radio bleeped.

"6.2. Go ahead."

"6.2., report to Alpha One immediately. Out." The Scot's anger was
tangible even over the buzz of background static.

"Oops," said Bodie. "I think the Old Man's annoyed with you, mate!"

"No thanks to you, I suppose," Murph sighed, eyeing Bodie ruefully.

Bodie smiled sweetly in return and shrugged.

"Either you follow orders or you catch the gang. Cowley'd understand that.
He's just narked 'cos he missed the action."

Murphy had to admit that Bodie was probably right.

The wail of the ambulance in the distance reminded them that they should
be on their way soon. Murph got to his feet, knowing he would have to see
Mac safely aboard before answering Cowley's summons. Bodie went to the
street to wait and when the vehicle came to halt, he escorted the crew to
their fallen colleague.

Doyle elected to go with McCabe to fill in the details at the hospital,
and Bodie arranged to meet him there as soon as he and Murph were finished
at the house. The ambulance wandered off down the road, leaving Murph and
Bodie standing. Bodie gave his ex-partner a shove and they jogged back to
the building. 

"You'll need an arms expert to go over that lot," Bodie told him. "If you
can keep the Cow out of my hair, I'll have a look before the forensic
blokes move in. Then I'll have a chat with a few old friends.."

Murphy slowed to a walk.

"Why are you doing this? I'm grateful, but why?"

Bodie stopped completely, considering the question.

"Don't know." He started to walk again. "Or, maybe I do. We've lost so
many good men in the past through having to wait and go through
'appropriate channels' red tape, civil rights for the offender that used
to piss me off. In the jungle it was straight forward: you got them before
they thought about getting you. That was Cowley's ideal fighting fire with
fire, using criminal methods against criminal minds... We're just trying
to give our side a bit more of an edge..."

Murphy grinned. 

"It's more subtle than going in mob-handed."

Bodie laughed outright.

"Why d'you think he teamed me with bionic golly? Ray's my conscience: I'm
his vengeful alter ego. We complement one another workwise, that is," he
added hastily.

"Bodie the philosopher or is it psychiatrist yet?" teased Murph. "Ray's
bad habits have rubbed off on you."

Bodie looked insulted.

"I bloody well hope not!"

They had reached the house, and Bodie gazed at it almost longingly before
he spoke.

"Shall we?"

Murphy punched his shoulder lightly and led the way in.

Williams was in the hallway waiting for him, a buffer between his partner
and the controller. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the other figure just
as it darted up the stairs, and then Murph was in front of him, asking
where he could find Cowley.

Williams jerked his head towards the kitchen. Where else would the Old Man
be but up-front with the rest of the team. Murphy brushed by him, and
Williams frowned. He cast a steady look up the stairs again, wondering who
Murphy's shadow had been. McCabe had been taken off to the hospital, so...
Without realising, he counted the steps silently, gun held at the ready.
He moved cautiously from the door to door, peering through cracks,
listening intently, scanning each room in turn. The door to the main
bedroom was open, and Williams' approach would be masked by the noise from
downstairs.

He was crouching over a pile of packages long thick parcels rifle-sized.
All Williams could see was a dark haired muscular figure in a leather
jacket and black slacks. As he watched the man straightened, and spoke.

"I'd put money on those being part of the Limehouse shipment, Murph."

"And what would you know about--" Williams stopped as the figure turned to
face him. "FUCKIN' HELL!" The gun which he had brought to bear, wavered
and dropped.

"Bodie? What's going on?"

Bodie grinned at his disquiet.

"Come to give you the benefit of my experience. Course," he continued, "if
you don't want me around, I'll go and haunt someone else instead."

"No don't go," Williams spoke hastily. "It's just--" he laughed
nervously--"never expected to see you." He stowed his gun in its holster,
and came into the room slowly. "Murph knows?"

"Well, he would," Bodie chuckled, "being my partner."

Williams plucked up the courage to move closer, and ran an appraising eye
over his erstwhile colleague. 

"Must admit, you look happy enough for a dead man."

He put out a tentative finger, and touched warm solid- seeming muscle.
Prodded the arm. Bodie slapped his hand hard.

"Rude to poke."

"S-sorry. I've never met a ghost before," Williams excused himself.

"Well, get used to it," Bodie told him. "We'll be hanging around a lot
from now on."

"WE?"

"Doyle," Murph announced from the doorway, "and Bodie have decided to help
us unofficially, of course."

"DOYLE!" Williams shook his head and laughed. "I should've known. Where is
he?"

"Went with Mac to the hospital," Murph pushed himself off the wall, "Have
you had a look at this lot yet?"

Bodie shrugged.

"See what forensics make of it." He met his former partner's eyes. "Was it
bad with Cow, I mean?"

The slight change in Murph's expression told him his friend wouldn't
discuss it in front of the other man. From below, Cowley's voice demanded
Murphy's presence and that of his partner.

"See you later, mate," he promised, as he turned to go.

Bodie watched them descent the stairs, and smiled wryly.

Bodie went to collect his partner from the hospital. Doyle was hanging
round in the waiting area, fretting visibly. Bodie was instantly alert.

"Is it Mac?"

"Mac's okay. He's in a private ward, probably be out tomorrow."

"Then why didn't you come back to the house?"

"Couldn't," mumbled Doyle, face colouring slightly. "Had to wait for you
to collect me."

"You don't need me to--" Bodie stopped, and gawped at his partner, amused.

"Don't start," Doyle warned him. "We can't all be smart arses like you!"

"You still don't know.." Bodie chuckled. "I don't believe it!"

Doyle fumed under his partner's jeering.

"I'm warning you, Bodie," he glared up, raising his fist.

Bodie did try badly to conceal his humour. He placed one hand over
Doyle's, and risked a quick touch of his lips to the curls.

"And you can cut that out, as well. If anyone sees us..."

Bodie grabbed his wrist, and hauled him to his feet. He put his arms
around the slim waist, and kissed Doyle on the lips.

"Bodie, you friggin' berk--" Doyle struggled free, glaring about him.
"You--" They were standing in Murphy's living room.

"Well?' asked Bodie smugly. "Murphy wanted to see us later, so here we
are. He'll probably be a couple of hours yet you know, reports to write,
then going to see Mac--what SHALL we do to amuse ourselves while he's
away?" He quirked an enquiring eyebrow.

"I ought to punch you through the wall," snapped Doyle, trying to retain
his anger. He seized Bodie round the waist, and crowded close, capturing
Bodie's mouth with his.

"I think," Bodie decided, when they surfaced for air, "that I'd like to
make love to you..." He tugged Doyle down to the couch, and relieved him
of his clothing. His own joined Doyle's on the floor seconds later, and he
set to work with a will, pleasuring with hands and mouth. He left his
lover writhing and incoherent as he entered, burying himself deep in the
tender-hard body beneath him. Doyle's squirming finished him, and he came
fast, wringing out every last drop for the man under him, then falling
forward to lie deadweight on the slender-slick check[chest? Cheek?],
vaguely ware of Doyle's legs locking over his, to hold him between parted
thighs. He buried his face against Doyle's warm neck. He was asleep in a
moment, relaxing solidly on top of his lover.

Doyle clasped his arms around Bodie's ribs, shifted to make himself more
comfortable, and hoped they would have time for a nap before Murphy came
home: Cowley would want a detailed report of the operation as soon as
possible meaning Murph would be stuck at Headquarters for at least an
hour, while he and Williams collated their stories, and checked their
spelling. Doyle smiled at the thought of escaping the one aspect of the
job he hated--the PAPERWORK. Bodie was lying warm and heavy on top of
him... Doyle closed his eyes and fell asleep, dreaming contentedly...

The sound of the key in the door woke him but he couldn't move: Bodie had
effectively pinned him to the sofa, and he was stuck. Doyle tried shaking
him awake, but with a grunt, he shifted only a fraction of an inch before
snuggling down again. The front door was opening. Christ if Murph caught
them like this--Doyle closed his Eyes. I wish we'd gone back to the
safe-house. We could've done it in a proper bed, and nobody would've
walked in on us... He opened his eyes, and stared up at the familiar
ceiling. Bodie was still out cold nothing to do but brazen it out, thought
Doyle, as he turned to face the door...of the safe-house bedroom.

He blinked and gazed about as much as he could, given that Bodie was still
hampering his movements. He'd DONE it! They were lying in the double bed
they had shared since Bodie's eviction. Doyle looked at his hands, still
firmly grasping the pile of clothes on Murph's floor. He had done it!

Grinning, he gave Bodie an almighty push which sent him to his own side of
the bed, waking him. Doyle rolled to the edge of the mattress, and sat up,
wincing a little as he did so; Bodie had had him well and truly, and he
was painfully aware of the ache in his lower back and the tenderness of
his behind. A shower would take care of the worst of it... He glanced
fondly at this lover, who was sprawling on the bed, exhausted and
vulnerable to anything Doyle wished to do to him. For a moment, he was
tempted to rape Bodie as he lay, but a look at the angelic face--Doyle
smiled and crawled to his side. He buried his face in the curly hair at
Bodie's groin, and worked his way up the pale body, leaving a trail of
kisses from crotch to throat. Bodie heaved a sleepy sigh and smiled.

"Hello, lover," he greeted Doyle with eager hands and gentle mouth. "Isn't
Murph back yet?"

"Yeah, he is, so I had to get us out of there fast."

Bodie took in his surrounds.

"This isn't Murph's!"

Doyle looked smug.

"No, it's not. Come on, mate. Let's get showered, and we can go back and
talk to him..."

Washed and dressed, they returned to Murphy's apartment, 'letting'
themselves into the lounge. Murph was in the kitchen when they appeared,
and one second was long enough to tell that there was something wrong.

"Alright, what happened? What did the Old Man say to you?" demanded Doyle.

Murph waved them to the sofa.

"I've been suspended."

"WHAT!" Both men looked at him in disbelief and horror. "Why?"

"Cowley had already taken a verbal statement from Lucas when we got back.
He wanted to know how I knew there were six armed men in the house, when
Williams had just told him we didn't know how many there were." He
chuckled mirthlessly, "I couldn't exactly tell him that you'd ambled up
and whispered to me. I'd've been laid out on Kate Ross' sofa by now..."

"We didn't think..." Bodie began softly.

"Murph, if there's anything we can do..." Doyle added.

The younger man shook his head.

"But thanks for the offer." He eyed his companions carefully. "How goes it
with you two?"

"What's to say--we're living in constant fear of eviction. There's an
African heads of state visit soon, isn't there, so we'll probably be made
homeless again," Bodie told him.

"I'm sorry, mate," Murphy commiserated. "I would've suggested moving in
here, but it'd be too crowded, and you'd have to fight for who gets the
couch."

Bodie and Doyle looked at one another, and Doyle grinned.

"If we thought you meant it, we'd be over in a flash."

"I wouldn't even argue about the sofa, he can have it," Bodie agreed.

"As long as neither of you snores," Murph smiled, "it's settled."

"When can we move in?" Bodie asked eagerly.

"Looks like you already have," Murph replied, as Doyle leaned back
carefully, and closed his eyes.

"What about getting a bottle or three in, to celebrate?" suggested Bodie.
"We can leave the older generation to catch on his beauty sleep--"

"I thought ghosts didn't need anything as mundane as food and drink,"
laughed Murphy.

"Nobody's told us otherwise yet," Doyle responded, opening his eyes
lazily. "Mind you," he continued with a meaningful glance at his partner,
"it's force of habit with SOME people."

"Wine, women and song the spice of life," Bodie protested in suitably hurt
tones.

"For a ghost?" Murphy raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Well, maybe not all three," Bodie conceded. He ruffled Doyle's curls
affectionately. "But I'm still drinking and I'm still singing!"

Murphy laughed as he got to his feet. He recovered his jacket from the
back of the armchair, and jerked his head towards the door.

"There's a wine shop round the corner..."

Bodie stood up, smiled down at Doyle who swung himself into the space left
by his partner, and grinned at their colleague.

"We'll have to owe it to you, mate..."

Murphy came to in the small hours of the morning, bladder bursting, and
decided to make the brief sortie to the bathroom, praying that he wouldn't
disturb his guests. He negotiated the obstacle course in his lounge, aided
by the reflection of a street-lamp, relieved himself and then decided it
wouldn't do any harm to check on his lodgers. Doyle was buried under a
blanket on the settee, but God only knew where Bodie was... Perhaps he's
gone out for wander... Cautiously, he approached the sofa to peer at Doyle
in the half-hearted glow. The light was throwing his face into shadow, but
as he drew near, the sleeper shifted restlessly, and Murphy had to smile:
Bodie had obviously prevailed upon his partner's inbuilt sense of justice
to let HIM have the couch for the night. In which case, where was Doyle?

The covers shifted again, as Bodie moved, causing him to mumble in his
sleep. A hand appeared and shoved the edge of the blanket back.

"Can't breathe," Doyle complained drowsily, and he buried his face at
Bodie's chest, as one large hand came up to tangle in his sweat-damp
curls.

Murph couldn't help smiling as he watched them settle down. He gazed at
Bodie's face, noting that the worry lines had eased in sleep, and how he
had Doyle wrapped protectively...it crossed his mind that Bodie may've
been lying--that he might have contemplated suicide after Doyle's death
but Doyle would've stopped him, of that Murphy had no doubt...

"Still, you got what you wanted in the end, Ray..."

Murphy backed away slowly, and returned to his own room.

Bodie had taken himself off for a walk the following morning, which left
Murph free to speak to Doyle about the sleeping arrangements.

"It doesn't bother me, what you two get up to. You're both over
twenty-one. But it'd get a bit embarrassing if I walk in with a bird and
you two are having it away on the sofa."

"You want us to leave?" asked Doyle.

"No, I don't. What I'm suggesting is a two-bedroom flat, so that we can
all get our oats in private. It's been on the cards that I'm due for
another change of apartment, anyway, so if we could fix it with the admin.
People..." Murphy's voice trailed off, as Doyle's grin grew broader.

"You leave that part of it to me, Murph," he beamed. "I'll pull a few
strings, see what we can come up with..."

When Bodie got back, Murph retired to the kitchen to give them time to
discuss the proposal, and when he brought the coffee through, he knew that
Bodie had agreed to it. All they had to do, Bodie pointed out, was sneak
the plan past Cowley...

Doyle went into HQ later that day, hoping to catch Betty during her lunch
hour. He timed it to perfection: Cowley had just left for his appointment
with Sir Evan Wallace, and most of the squad was out on the streets
sniffing hard, being alert, as Cowley had intended they should be. Betty
was typing up some letters on the forthcoming security seminar when he
arrived.

She looked up, startled, and smiled as she realised who had parked himself
on the edge of her desk.

"Betty, love," he began, "I need a favour..."

She listened in silence as he explained the problem. When he'd finished,
she regarded him gravely.

"I can't make any promises, Ray. But I'll do my best."

"Bett, you're wonderful," Doyle told her. "We'll owe you one."

"Mr. Cowley's away this weekend, at the seminar, I'll put the requests
through on Friday. Can I reach you at Murphy's?"

"Bodie and I'll be in every day. We're helping Williams and Murph follow
up on the IRA cell."

"Lucas is doing that while his partner's off sick."

This was news to Doyle.

"I thought they said that McCabe was being released today. Surely, he'll
be fit enough for office duties?"

Betty sighed.

"Apparently, there was some disagreement between them when Lucas went to
collect him this morning, and Mr. Cowley's split them up as a temporary
measure. Lucas swears that his partner was hallucinating."

"Why?" asked Doyle, with a feeling of foreboding.

"McCabe says that Lucas was with him in the ambulance, and Lucas denies
it. Neither of them, is prepared to admit they might be wrong."

Doyle heaved a sigh, and his hand went to the ragged curls.

"That's my fault I went with Mac. I gave the hospital all his details, not
Lucas." He made his decisions. "When Lucas comes in, ask him to wait, and
I'll have a word with him. He may as well know about Bodie and me...
Where's Mac?"

"He's in the canteen, waiting for Mr. Cowley to get back."

"I need a witness. Is Williams around?"

"Try the duty room," suggested Betty.

With a smile, and one brief chaste kiss for her cheek, Doyle vanished.

McCabe had his nose buried in the racing form when they walked in. He
looked up, acknowledged Williams with a curt nod, and returned his
attention to the horses. Williams bought himself a cup of coffee from the
vending machine, and came over to sit with the other agent. Doyle took up
station behind McCabe. 

"How's the head?" Williams asked.

"Fine." Mac was lying, and all three of them knew it.

Williams took his cue off Doyle.

"I heard you and Lucas had a difference of opinion."

"If we did, it's none of your business."

"You could've been mistaken, you know about Lucas in the ambulance,"
Williams wasn't making a very good job of this.

"He's the only one on the squad with curly hair, except for Jax--" snapped
the other agent.

Doyle was leaning over McCabe now, studying the paper.

"Four o'clock at Towcester Beyond Belief Looks good," he mused aloud.

McCabe shot out of his chair, and turned, wild-eyed. Doyle had the paper,
and was going through the list of horses.

"Celtic Lord, that's one for Cowley Jolly Piper, oh-- Guardian Angel--" he
looked up grinning. "How d'you fancy that one, Williams?"

"Gambling's a mug's game," snorted the other agent.

McCabe was staring at Doyle.

"What about you, Mac?"

"Ray?"

"Which horse d'you fancy?" Doyle watched him carefully, despite the
banter. He signalled to Williams to catch him as the young operative's
legs failed him.

McCabe found himself parked in a chair, and a cup of coffee being thrust
into his hand.

"Ray?" he tried again. "It's not possible--you're dead aren't you?"

"Dead, but not departed," Doyle told him. "It wasn't Lucas in the
ambulance with you yesterday, it was me..."

"But why?"

"Someone had to go with you," Williams said.

"Williams, you can see him, too?"

"So can Betty, and Jax and Benny--" added Doyle. "You're not going mad."

"Yeah, but I don't believe in ghosts.." Mac's voice faltered.

"Neither did Murph," grinned Doyle. "He's changed his mind now though."

McCabe's eyes darted from one to the other, wondering if this were some
kind of trick the other agents were having at his expense.

Doyle heaved a sigh: this was going to take longer than he'd thought...

McCabe never got to see the controller that afternoon. By the time Cowley
returned from his lunch engagement, Doyle and Williams had, if not
convinced him entirely, coaxed him into playing with bated breath to see
if it would be accepted. Lucas slowed the car to a comfortable crawl in
the city traffic.

"It was Doyle who went up with you, wasn't it?" Lucas asked quietly.

"You mean you can see him as well?" Mac squeaked.

"I haven't seen DOYLE," he admitted, "but I was in Betty's office when
Bodie came in and plonked his backside on the edge of her desk. Scared the
shit out of me, I can tell you!"

"What happened?"

"He gave me a bollocking for getting Murph into trouble with the Cow,
called me an ungrateful bastard, amongst other things then he told me that
he was going to follow up on those arms we found at the house in Mile
End--"

"But we'll have to make the formal arrest, because, officially, they are
civilians now," Mac grinned, "as well as being dead."

Lucas laughed. "I never gave that a thought." Then he added ruefully, "I
was just so bloody glad to see him."

Betty was smiling ever-so-sweetly as she took the call from Sir Evan
Wallace. Yes, she would inform Mr. Cowley immediately the security meeting
had been brought forward to Thursday, which would necessitate the
controller travelling out to the venue that evening... She hung up, made a
note of the time she took the message, and then telephoned administration
with Murphy's request for accommodation, mentioning Cowley's name in
hushed and reverent tones.

An hour later, she was told there was a two-bedroom apartment that the
department had just acquired. It was already partially furnished.

Cowley came in like a whirlwind, took the news about the re-scheduled
seminar with a swift nip of whisky, and swept out, ordering Betty to
re-structure his own diary for the remainder of the week: the least
important meetings could be dropped altogether.

"What about 6.2, sir?" asked Betty. Murphy had been due to see the
controller on Thursday morning.

"Tuesday, between the Junior Minister, and the Home Secretary," Cowley
decided. There was nothing else he could do until Murphy chose to answer
the questions honestly...

As soon as the controller was away, Betty rang Murphy to tell him the good
news.

"How soon can we move in?" he wanted to know.

"Any time you like," Betty replied.

Murphy relayed the information to his two lodgers, who were hovering
nearby.

Bodie and Doyle looked at each other grinning like a pair of Cheshire
cats.

"No time like the present," suggested Doyle.

"And if we move in tonight, we can have the house- warming on Saturday,"
Bodie added hopefully.

"Ah," said Murph. "Actually, I can't tonight..."

The other two smirked knowingly.

"Who is she?" Asked Doyle.

"Her name is Sally...and I'll be spending the night at her place, so you
two can have the bed tonight." He picked up his jacket from the back of
the armchair, and left.

"Well, you heard what the man said," leered Bodie. "I feel like an early
night. Coming, love?"

"Just as soon as I get you between those sheets," promised Doyle, "so
shift!"

Saturday night. The guests began arriving at seven, each one bringing a
bottle or cans, or both. Doyle had the brainwave of filling the bath with
cold water, and leaving the drinks there until they were needed. Bodie had
'acquired' two crates of lager, and Betty had liberated a bottle of
Cowley's favourite. They were preparing for a riot, albeit a friendly one.

As more people arrive, Doyle found himself detailed as gofer fetching
booze and towels when the inevitable accidents occurred. Bodie slipped out
for a while, returning with a couple of bottles of champagne, which he
stowed in a hastily drafted pedal-bin-cum-ice-bucket, winking at his
partner, and mouthing "For later!"

Anson and Williams, both on stand-by, and therefore expected to remain
sober, had lager thrust into their hands repeatedly.

"I mean," argued Bodie, "what the Old Man doesn't know won't hurt him, and
we can sober them up before they go back on duty."

"If he says anything, I could always go and haunt him for week," offered
Doyle. "Think I've got a length of bike-chain somewhere that I could
rattle.."

The flat was filling rapidly, as more agents and their girl-friends, or
wives came by. Sally was flitting about, socializing, and she waved across
the room at Bodie. Doyle appeared at her elbow.

"Hello again," he beamed.

"Hello, yourself," she giggled. "I see Bodie's here. He's looking happier
than he did the last time I saw him. What happened?"

"Think he fell in love or something." Doyle was almost yelling above the
racket from the record player and the general hubbub of the party.

"Oh, good," Sally smiled. "I expect you'll be best man if it's serious."

"It is," Doyle replied, "and I am!"

Sally eyed Bodie ruefully, and full of party spirit, they both laughed.

"Tell him congratulations from me."

They drifted apart, and Doyle barged into Lucas and McCabe who were taking
bets on which of them could drink the other under the coffee-table...

By one o'clock, the alcohol had been in full flow, and everyone was
well-oiled. The guests had thinned down to mainly squad members and Betty,
all of whom were in on the conspiracy about Bodie and Doyle's return.
Bodie had managed to locate more beer and was cheerfully handing it out to
everybody...Lucas trawled up and whispered in Bodie's ear, which earned
him a crooked eyebrow and dopey grin.

Bodie's voice carried above the din of the party.

"OI! Attention, everyone! Lucas has just bet me that his partner can walk
across our lounge ON HIS HANDS!"

"DEAD EASY!" cried a familiar dissenting voice. It provoked a heated
discussion.

"Not when you're as pissed as Mac is!" yelped Williams, who was much the
worse for wear himself.

"If it's so easy, Mr. Doyle, why don't you show 'im how it's done!" And
the call went up, from Doyle's supporters for him to perform.

"Let's make it a race," suggested Bodie, with a wicked gleam in his eyes.
Doyle caught the look and winked at his lover.

"Yeah!"

"Great!"

"Somebody open a book!"

"Who's nicked the ash-tray?"

"Who's gonna referee?"

"Murph can!"

"FIX! It's Murph's flat!"

"Betty!"

"Yeah, Betty!"

And Betty found herself hustled forward, to be made arbiter of the race.
The crowd parted, leaving an alley- way from the front door to Murphy's
bedroom, where Sally who was totally squitty was propped against the
doorway, giggling at nothing in particular. Betty wasn't that much better,
but at least she managed to keep a straight face as she brought the two
protagonists under starters orders.

"Ready? GO!"

Mac surged forward and staggered, nearly colliding with his partner, who
was yelling encouragement, oblivious to the female presence in the room.
Doyle put on a show of keeping up, and Bodie grinned, confident that his
lover would win.

They were neck and neck when the clearway narrowed to single lane past the
coffee-table, and McCabe reached it at the same moment as Doyle. Eager to
uphold the honour of his team, and himself, he jostled aside, which caused
an outcry from Murph and Bodie in protest at the blatant abuse of the lack
of rules. Doyle, however, kept walking straight through the obstacle to
the delighted cheers from the spectators... According to witnesses
afterwards, McCabe was trying to emulate him, when he struck the corner of
the table head on. Luckily, the furniture didn't suffer under the impact,
and Mac was well-anaesthetized, so the overall damage was negligible...
Doyle went on the complete the course, collapsing in a heap at Murph's
bedroom door, followed closely by Sally, whose legs would no longer
support her.

The crowd surged around them and milled about as Bodie distributed even
more cans and bottles to the squad members. Doyle wove his way over,
smirking unashamedly. Bodie draped a companionable arm round the bony
shoulders, and gave him an affectionate squeeze. Doyle responded with a
gentle touch, disguised as a punch, to his lover's middle.

"Soon," he promised. "We must be almost out of booze by now."

Bodie shrugged.

"Dunno. What's left in the bathroom?"

"I'll go see," Doyle offered, liberating a stray can from his partner's
cache, and toasting him with his eyes. He ambled off in the direction of
the bathroom.

That was how he heard the insistent buzz of the intercom, over the raucous
row of the party. Still flushed with success, and high on the heady
atmosphere, he was chuckling as he answered.

"Yeah?"

"COWLEY."

"Come on up, sir!"

He pushed the door release, and returned to the lounge to announce the
boss' late arrival.

"Great! Oi, break out a bottle for the COW!" chorused several voices.

Bodie waylaid his partner on the way to open the door.

"Think we should make ourselves scarce, mate. If he sees us things might
get worse for Murph..."

Doyle agreed. "Where?"

"Bedroom."

Doyle executed an about-turn.

They were not a moment too soon. Williams answered the door, and admitted
their controller, whose looks would've annihilated his men, had they been
sober enough to appreciate it. He strode into the melee, glaring about
him. The noise level rapidly abated, as he progressed through the stacks
of cans and empty bottles that littered the living room.

"Williams, you are stand-by, are you not?"

Williams hastily put down the half-finished drink and stood, waiting for
the fall.

Cowley swung his laser-like gaze on Lucas and McCabe, who was half-hidden
by the handkerchief he had pressed to his forehead.

"What happened to you?"

"Tripped over the er coffee-table, sir," Lucas explained hesitantly,
praying that nobody would mention HOW he had fallen... Suddenly sobered by
their chief's appearance, the race seemed ludicrous to him now.

Several more agents came in for individual attention, but Cowley still
couldn't find the one he was searching for until Murphy and Betty came out
of the bedroom together. Betty took one look at the older man, and cowered
away in drunken silence. Murphy stood his ground.

"Murphy, as I understand it, you were suspended from active duty on
Monday. You are aware of the term 'suspension' and its requirements?"

"Yes, sir."

Only too aware that he had changed his place of residence without
statutory notice, or formal checks for security of said new accommodation.
He was fraternizing with active-duty colleagues, as well as being the
cause of a number of them being drunk. Cowley had every right to be angry.
Murphy had visions of the cause of a number of them being drunk. Cowley
had every right to be angry. Murphy had visions of the dole-queue looming
on Monday morning, and wished he was a million miles away, or dead--
anything rather than face Cowley...

"You will report to me at eight o'clock Monday morning."

Cowley flicked a look at Betty then let his eyes rollover over the other
agents, admonishing them severely without a word, before, before turning
on his heel and leaving them amid the wreckage of the party.

They heaved a collective sigh of relief as the door closed behind the
controller and Betty slid an arm around Murph's waist.

"We'll be better in the morning, you'll see."

She didn't sound very certain, but Murphy smiled bravely, and announced
that he thought they ought to call it a night.

"D'you want us to stay and help clear up?" asked Lucas.

Murph glanced at McCabe, who looked distinctively green about the gills,
and shook his head.

"Bodie and Ray can do that tomorrow today." He gave Betty a gentle push
towards them. "Make sure she gets home safely--we just put Sally to bed in
there--" he jerked his thumb at the master bedroom,"--and we haven't got
enough room..." He kissed Betty on the cheek lightly.

Everyone else was gradually trooping off, and eventually, Murphy was left
alone in the living-room, surveying the aftermath. With a heartfelt sigh,
he set the locks, turned out the lights, and picked his way through the
debris to the bedroom, where he collapsed on the mattress beside Sally...

Doyle put out a hand, and met thin air. Bodie had gone. He sat up
gingerly, a wave of drowsiness washing over him... The party atmosphere,
he guessed, and he smirked remembering how well it had gone. Hope Cowley
wasn't too mad at us, he mused, as he eased into his underpants, he can be
a real killjoy sometimes...

Bodie was in the bathroom, washing up the empties in the bath.

"We'll have to find somewhere to dump this lot," he told Doyle, as he
began to fill the empty crates. 

"OH?"

"Well, I borrowed them from one of the pubs a few streets away. Didn't
think they'd miss 'em, but if he ever found out!"

There wasn't much of Sunday left by the time Murph surfaced. Bodie and
Doyle had tidied the flat, removed the evidence, and were cosily curled up
on the sofa, when Murph brought the untouched breakfast tray through the
kitchen. Doyle eyed him with mock severity.

"Wasteful pup!"

"Don't shout," begged the younger man, wincing as he faced the daylight.

"Cor, Murph, you look gorgeous," teased Bodie.

Murph smiled half-heartedly, and Doyle relented enough to get him some
aspirin while Bodie made the coffee.

"Gimme an hour or so, and I'll feel less dead," he promised.

The others laughed softly.

"Actually, mate, you'd probably feel better if you WERE dead. Doesn't hurt
as much after the initial shock wears off."

"How I wish!" Murph proceeded to tell them about the controller's arrival.
He concluded, "Think I'll just crawl into bed, forget about the world..."

"...and let the world forget about you," Bodie nodded in agreement. "Look,
we caused all this trouble, we'll come in with you tomorrow. You can't
take the blame for what we did..."

"Thanks." Murphy closed his eyes against the pain in his head, and felt
his way back to the bedroom.

Doyle watched him go, and shook his head sadly. "Poor little sod," he
sighed.

"Yeah, best thing he can do is sleep it off--" Bodie grinned lecherously.
"Which means we can use the couch to have it off..."

With a filthy laugh, Doyle took him up on his invitation.

Monday morning was wet and grey, and all three men were suitably subdued.
Sally had recovered from her hangover, and they arranged to drive her to
work before going to face Cowley.

"We'd better hurry, Murph," Doyle warned. "Traffic's getting heavy."

They piled into the car, Bodie and Doyle in the back, Sally in front, and
Murph driving. The engine turned over, and they eased into the stream of
cars that was wending its way cityward.

"I know it was a hell of a party," smiled Sally, turning to look at Doyle,
"but did I really see you walking through the coffee-table?"

"Was he on his hands at the time?" asked Bodie.

She nodded.

"Then he did," sighed Bodie. "Bad habit he picked up from somewhere..." He
shot Doyle a glance, and winked.

"Jealousy will get you nowhere." Doyle retorted disdainfully.

Bodie had just opened his mouth to deny the charge when Murph swung the
Escort sharply round the corner. There was dull thud, and suddenly the car
was rolling over and over flung across the street by the force of the
blast...

When they could think properly again, Murphy found himself with his arms
round a sobbing Sally, being ushered away from the tangled and burning
wreckage by a stony-faced Doyle.

Bodie was closer to the car, shouting at the gathering public to move
back.

"The tank's about to blow!" he yelled, blinded with fury, grief and the
smoke. There was another dull WHUMPH! and the fuel ignited, scattering
more metal on the road and pavements. Above the noise of the fire, and the
racket of the forming crowd, Doyle could hear the wail of the police
sirens, and he whistled at Bodie who came jogging over.

Bodie eyed his friends critically.

"We're okay," sniffed Sally, regaining some semblance of control.

"Christ," breathed Murphy, as he gazed at the Escort, "we were lucky."

Bodie's eyes met Doyle's gravely.

"Yeah, mate," he agreed quietly. "DEAD lucky!"

Cowley raised his head at the knock.

"Come!"

The door opened and the young dark-haired agent approached his desk.
Murphy was looking pale, he noted.

"You're five minutes late," he said, gesturing the other man to sit.
Murphy obeyed, rather hesitantly.

"May I ask you a question first sir?" Murphy's eyes were anxious.

If it would help to clear him suspicion...

"You may."

"Do YOU believe in ghosts, sir?"

Cowley stopped, and blinked. He took off his glasses, pinching the bridge
of his nose. Don't say that Murphy was about to [missing]

"Murphy, I want to know how you knew about the men in the house. I've had
the reports from Lucas and Williams, as well as the transcript of your
radio conversation with central.."

Murphy met the older man's eyes as he spoke.

"Bodie told me, sir."

Cowley started involuntarily.

"Bodie died last month."

Murphy nodded.

"I'm aware of that, sir, but he was the one who passed on the information
about the gunmen..."

Cowley glared at him the storm gathering, thought Murphy. I didn't think
he'd believe me when the intercom sounded. Betty seemed upset.

"There's an Inspector Flynn from the Anti-Terrorist Squad to see you,
sir."

"I'll meet him downstairs." Cowley rose and scowled at the agent before he
left the office. "We'll resume this discussion on my return."

The controller hurried to the reception area, where Flynn was pacing
anxiously.

"Derek, what's this about?

The other man rubbed his eyes, and ran his hand through greying hair.

"Bad news, I'm afraid. The PIRA cell has struck again. Car bomb in
Chelsea, about ten minutes ago. Number of civilians injured, cut by
shrapnel two people dead," he paused. "One of them was a CI5 agent."

Dear God, no. Cowley went a shade paler.

"Who?"

"Gregory Murphy. He and his girlfriend--"

"That's impossible, Derek. Murphy's upstairs in my office..." the old
man's voice trailed off, as Flynn shook his head.

"We were given positive identification by another of your men, who was at
the scene in seconds. The dead man's partner as it happens..."

"BODIE?"

Flynn nodded.

"He's convinced it was an under-vehicle device, but forensics have to
confirm... George, wait."

Cowley had spun on his heel, but he checked himself, glancing back at the
policeman.

"Have all the reports sent up to me as soon as possible. I'll be in my
office all day...and Derek?" He smiled warmly. "Thank you for telling me
about Bodie."

The policeman was nominally dismissed, and Cowley headed back to his
office, his mind reeling. Betty looked up as he dashed in, then rushed out
again.

"Where's Murphy?" he demanded curtly.

"He's gone to the Ops room, sir," she replied, puzzled.

"Was he alone?"

Betty shook her head.

"Benny and Jax went with them him, sir."

"Aye," murmured Cowley, as he neared the operations area, and virtually
crept to the door, his hand poised above the handle. He could hear a
familiar voice, giving orders. Silently, he entered, and stared at the
scene before him.

They were all there Ray Doyle, in his tatty bluejeans and tee-shirt;
Murphy in his slacks and poloneck and masterminding the operation...

Bodie looked up, and smiled guiltily as he noticed the controller.

"Oh, morning, sir, I er--"

"Well, now.." Cowley spoke softly, caught somewhere between annoyance and
joy at the sight of the unholy alliance before him. "I hope you have a
good explanation for all this, 3.7."

Bodie looked to his partner for help.

"Don't look at me, sunshine," grinned Doyle, "you're the one he asked!"

EPILOGUE:

Bodie lay back on the sofa and sighed contentedly. Doyle slid down beside
him, jostling for room with a wriggle of his backside. An arm slipped
around his waist, and Bodie's hand burrowed under the denim to touch warm
Doyle-flesh. He looked up hopefully, and was rewarded with a kiss.

"Out here or in a bed," Doyle offered.

Bodie considered a moment: Sally and Murph might be back at any minute,
and while he knew that Murphy was aware of what went on in the next room,
he didn't like the idea of their flat-mates walking in and catching them
in what was essentially a private and intimate situation. Doyle was a bit
of an exhibitionist when it came to flaunting his body. Bodie reflected
that HE must've been blind not to see the way Doyle showed himself off
under his nose when they were alive...

"Sweetheart?" Doyle was frowning. "Something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, love. Come here lie on top of me..."

Doyle obeyed, and Bodie held him close, petting and cuddling, being hugged
and kissed in return, enjoying the simple peace and the warmth of a
kindred soul. Doyle sighed happily, as he teased his hands up under his
partner's sweater, stroking hot skin.

"Made up your mind yet?" he asked.

"About what?" Bodie sounded as if he was drifting towards sleep. Doyle
tickled him awake.

"Cowley's proposition."

Bodie smiled lazily as he recalled the offer the controller had made that
morning.

"I'd like you to stay on at CI5," he said, when he had heard them out.

Doyle shook his head gravely.

"It's not that easy, there are certain complications." At Cowley's
quizzical look, he got up and began to pace the length of the ops room. "I
mean, we don't even know why we're still here, or how long we'll stay
around..."

"And we have limitations," Bodie continued, catching Doyle's mood. "Though
we can move things, touch them and hold them, we can't de-materialize
them. We can't use guns, we haven't tried driving cars yet. If we came
back we couldn't work as field agents--"

Doyle took up the conversation again.

"Plus the fact that as we are legally dead and non- corporeal you'd have a
job reinstating us!"

Cowley surveyed them once more: Bodie was leaning on the table watching
him and his partner alternately. Murphy and his girl-friend were sitting
together in one corner, still looking pale with shock.

"Special operatives."

"Doing what?" Doyle asked suspiciously, catching his other half's eye. If
there was any paperwork involved, Cowley could stick the job.

"Observations situations like Mile End, where we need to know what's going
on inside and can't bug the place. Interrogation, following up leads no
paperwork." The controller smiled. "Even I'd be hard-pressed to explain
how three dead men managed to file reports."

"What do we get out of it?" Typical Bodie, playing the mercenary.

"Job satisfaction." Cowley was appealing to the man's nobler instincts,
which, despite Bodie's protests, he knew had existed before. "Knowing
you'll be helping fellow agents to stay alive by giving us the edge over
opposition..."

"Would we be entitled to accommodation?" Doyle was getting to the
essentials, and the others pricked up their ears, half-hoping.

Cowley looked amused.

"If you agree to stay on, it could be arranged. Murphy would have to lose
the flat he's in at the moment, of course, but I'm sure we could convert
one of the safe- houses. Well, gentlemen?"

Bodie looked at his partner, and Murphy.

"Can we have time to think about it?"

Cowley nodded, "You'll know where I'll be, when you've made your
choice..."

"Well?" Doyle nudged Bodie back to the present. "Are we going to keep
working for the old bastard?"

"Do YOU want to?" Bodie asked.

"I asked first. Come on, Bodie..." Doyle wriggled on top of him.

"I like the Old Man a lot, Ray... I'd like to stay with the squad. We'd be
helping our friends, going into situations that need information rather
than armaments..." He faltered, watching the glow in Doyle's eyes. "If you
want to leave, though I'll stay with you."

"I make that much difference to you?" Doyle pushed himself up to where he
could study his partner's face clearly.

"Told you," said Bodie huskily, "I'm lost without..." His voice trailed
off. There was an almost pleading expression on the handsome features.

I can't ask him to leave: a choice like that is no choice I'd be dividing
his loyalties Cowley or me it would break him...and truth to tell, I'm
quite fond of the old sod myself..

"We'll tell him in the morning," Doyle decided, "but we'll make sure he
knows we're to work together, or the deal is off. I didn't mind your
partnering Murphy while you were alive, but now we're not, ours is a
permanent relationship..."

Bodie dragged him down into a sweet kiss, and writhed beneath him,
unsubtly hinting at what he wanted. Laughing, Doyle held him close, and
willing them into the bedroom next door, he began to strip his lover
slowly...

"Reckon we should knock?"

They were standing in Betty's office outside the controller's door.

"I'd like to see you try!" snorted Doyle. "I've got a better idea--" as
the secretary came in. "Betty, would you mind announcing us. Er, he IS
expecting us."

Betty looked a little doubtful, but pressed the intercom anyway.

"Send them in."

Cowley was browsing through some files, when they emerged. He noted their
expressions: they had come to negotiate, and if he wasn't careful, he
might lose them again. Leaning back, he waited. Doyle got straight to the
point.

"If we come back, we'd like your assurance that we'll work as a team."

"That's fair enough. We can have the same arrangement as before," Cowley
allowed. "Murphy has agreed to carry on, and I've talked to his young lady
into helping out as his partner. Now, about accommodation..." He began to
skim through the folders on the desk, "I understand that you were staying
with Murphy when he was killed. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to
continue the arrangement while I find you something suitable. You can take
over one of the safe-houses as a temporary measure." He looked up to see
the glance that passed between his two operatives.

"That's no problem," Doyle hastily assured the older man.

"When do we start, sir?" Bodie was eager to escape the keen gaze.

"Seems like you already have," Cowley allowed himself a smile. "Murphy
says you were going to have an assessment on the arms recovered from Mile
End..."

He extricated himself from behind the desk, and crossed to the drinks
cabinet. His hand hovered over the whisky bottle, hesitating for a moment.

"Do you--"

The younger men grinned at one another.

"We have been known to indulge--" admitted Bodie, and he knew that the
Scot was thinking of Saturday's party.

"Aye, stupid question." Cowley poured out three measures and the agents
came to take their drinks from him.

"A toast to renewing your contracts," he suggested, fixing them with his
gaze, still unable to believe he had them back. "Welcome home." He saluted
them with his glass.

Doyle raised his and added, "To a successful partnership." He caught the
expression on his lover's face. "What is it, sunshine?"

Bodie couldn't resist it, and grinned at both of them.

"To Team Spirit!!!"

Cowley took the price of the missing bottle of Glenfiddich from their
first pay-cheque.

-- THE END --

*for Gervaise*

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