The Professionals Circuit Archive - Perfect Alignment       Perfect
Alignment

 

by Slantedlight 

 
 

 *Graphic by Josey*

 *Written for Discovered in the Mistletoe, on the discoveredinalj
livejournal community.*

 *The sequel is A Crook in the Path*

 ******

There was silence in the office as they waited, but for the scratching of
Cowley's fountain pen across page after page, and the occasional slap of
rain against the windows. December, and by mid-afternoon the day was
already over, the howl and moan of wind all that distinguished it from the
day before. At least yesterday the rain had been steady, predictable;
today it was all over the place, gale-tossed and vindictive.

 Doyle stared glumly through the streaming glass, seeing and not seeing
the room reflected golden-yellow back at him. Was it worth asking to be
re-teamed yet? It was supposed to be a six-month trial, of which they'd
barely survived four so far. Was it really worth risking their necks --
and those of the hapless civilians who crossed their path -- just to prove
a point?

 In front of him -- behind him -- the door finally opened, and Bodie
stepped into the room, pausing only briefly as Cowley looked pointedly at
his watch. He slid onto the chair beside Doyle, beamed at them both.

 "Sorry sir, was..." Bodie paused, raised his hands to straighten his tie,
"... well, delayed."

 Suave bastard.

 Doyle shot him a look of disgust, frowning when Bodie caught his eye, all
but smirking. Marie probably, that new bird in Records -- Doyle'd had his
own aspirations there. The woman had only started work for CI5 this
morning, for god's sake...

 "Amy De Longford."

 Doyle snapped his attention back to Cowley. "The Minister's daughter?" he
asked quickly, before Bodie could speak. "Due to go up to Cambridge last
year..."

 "Disappointed her old man by swanning off to join Greenpeace instead,"
Bodie interrupted smoothly.

 "CND," Doyle corrected immediately, with a smirk of his own.

 "I think you'll find..."

 "Thank you, gentlemen." Cowley managed to glare at both of them. "Miss De
Longford was an active member of both those organisations, before moving
on to the Animal Freedom Organisation, and then the Peoples' Party for
Palestine."

 "Quite the social butterfly," Bodie murmured, quietly enough that Cowley
could ignore him, and Doyle raised an unwilling half-smile.

 "She has, however, recently turned up in one of our own investigations,
albeit in a minor capacity. We were alerted to her presence by Benny,
who..."

 "But Benny's in Drugs..." Doyle said before he could help himself,
confused at the apparent change of subject. Bloody Bodie, distracting him.

 "Indeed he is. He's been undercover on the Kingston case for the past
three months. Miss De Longford turned up amongst a new group of customers
two weeks ago. At first we thought nothing of it..."

 "Poor little rich girl!" Doyle muttered, with little patience for the
moneyed echelons, winced inside again as Cowley looked up at him. Why
couldn't he keep his mouth shut?

 "Aye, there's enough of them about. But then he realised that she and her
colleagues were involved not just as customers, but on the more commercial
side of the venture."

 Beside him, Bodie shifted restlessly in his seat, and Doyle didn't blame
him. This was still not their territory, not what they were trained for,
politician's daughter or no.

 "Benny brought in Matthews, who was able to confirm today that Miss De
Longford has recently become an active member of the Irish Liberation
League."

 This time Bodie and Doyle looked up at the same time, glanced briefly at
each other, and spoke together.

 "Mullan's gang...?"

 "Don't they have something on the go..."

 They trailed off under Cowley's steadfast gaze.

 "Yes, on both counts. Derek Mullan, and they are, indeed, rumoured to
have 'something on the go' -- his people are buzzing about like flies.
Unfortunately we've been unable to find out what that something is, and
we’re running out of time before Christmas. Which is where you two come
in."

 Doyle felt his heart pound a little harder, a little faster. At last,
after all these months, something decent to cut their teeth on. "Sir?"

 "De Longford's modus operandi is to go straight for the leader of these
groups, to use her... various charms and wiles to ingratiate herself as
quickly as possible to a position of trust. So far she's had little
success, which may be why she has continued to move through the radicals
rather than sticking with any one cause. She does, however, rise a little
higher with each new organisation she tries. She's young, idealistic, and
very attractive..."

 "And Mullan will eat her for breakfast."

 Cowley nodded tersely, and eyed them both for a moment. "Aye. But you'll
be going undercover to stop that happening." He rose stiffly. "Wait here a
moment, gentlemen."

 "Now what?" Doyle wondered out loud, but Bodie was ahead of him again.

 "Undercover with Amy De Longford? You know what that means, don't you?"

 "No, professor, what does it mean?" Doyle tried to imbue the question
with as much sarcasm as possible, but it didn't seem to faze Bodie.

 "*Society*!" he said, rubbing his hands together, "*High* society! The
best clubs, the best restaurants, the best *expenses*..."

 "Well, gentlemen?" Cowley asked from the door, hat and coat firmly in
place, "Are you coming?"

 ******

"It's a caravan."

 "Yes Doyle," Cowley looked less than impressed, "it's a caravan. And it
will be your home for the foreseeable future, so you'd better familiarise
yourselves with it as soon as possible. Make sure you have everything you
need to convince De Longford that you've been unemployed and wandering the
continent for several years, and then report to Betty. She'll give you the
final details -- contacts, codes and so on."

 The only thing that stopped Doyle telling Cowley exactly what he could do
with his caravan was the look on Bodie's face. 

 "What do you think?" he asked, as soon as their boss was out of earshot,
"Shall we park up outside the Savoy, or Claridges?"

 "Look this might be the sort of holiday you're used to, mate..."

 "Could be worse -- at least we'll 'ave a roof over our heads."

 "A very small roof. I'm not used to sharing, you know," Bodie shot him a
dark look as he pulled open the door of their new home. Oh yes, Doyle
knew. " Oh bloody hell..."

 The smell of old cooking and musty curtains wrapped tight around them as
Doyle pushed into the caravan after his partner. "Very small" was, in
fact, putting it kindly. 

 "It's alright for you," Bodie continued, "I 'ad plans for Christmas. And
they did *not* include being crammed into this... *oubliette* with you!"

 "Who were you planning on being crammed in with then?" Doyle asked,
gritting his teeth, taking inventory. There was indeed just the one bed, a
small double that filled the far end of the caravan. A beaded curtain --
with half its beads missing -- separated it from the rest of the space: a
length of sideboard and cupboards with a two-ring gas cooker and a sink, a
tiny closet that might just about be described as a bathroom, and a sort
of table affair with orange vinyl benches on three sides.

 "Rowena. And crammed in very nicely too. Her parents have got a spread
over in Bucks."

 "Sure thing, was she?" Doyle asked, as doubtfully as he could, eying the
table. He seemed to remember from somewhere... Refusing to listen to
Bodie's mournful description of Rowena's assets, he slid his hands along
one side, found the catch and...

 "Et voila!" he announced, "La *pied-à-terre*!"

 Bodie covered his face with his hands, and Doyle let himself smile.

 ******

It took them two days, at barely over fifty miles per hour, to track down
De Longford. A wrong lead had them halfway up the M1 heading to Stanwich
before being told the radio room had misheard the location. Gritting his
teeth against Bodie's complaints -- the wind that had nowhere to go but
through your bones, the eternally flat, eternally dull landscape, the
stupidity of squaddies on manoeuvres -- Doyle aimed for the next exit,
swung them carefully off the roundabout and across the overpass, and
raised two fingers as yet another lorry cut them off as he tried to merge
back onto the motorway. Stonehenge it was, then.

 Even so, he might have managed to stay calm if they hadn't blown a tyre
on the caravan as they chugged down a B-road, on what Bodie'd insisted was
a decent shortcut that'd get them to the bloody rocks in no time. And then
discovered that no one at CI5 had thought to check the spare. By the time
Doyle -- who'd lost the toss -- got back from a three mile walk to the
next village to have the thing patched, not only was it dark, cold and
chucking down rain again, but Bodie'd made himself comfortable in the bed,
so that Doyle had to make do with the table.

 He spent the night wide awake listening to Bodie's snores, tossing and
turning on the thin vinyl mattress, and clutching his sleeping bag around
him in the vain hope of keeping in some of the still-damp warmth from his
clothes. Grit-eyed, he changed the tyre in the dark, early next morning,
and they spent the next hour arguing over the details of their cover one
last time. By the time they were approaching the small gathering near
Stonehenge, his simmer had come to a steady boil and he considered he'd be
more than justified in turning his dickhead of a partner over to Mullan
himself.

 The fact that Bodie pulled into a lay-by barely ten minutes from their
final destination didn't help.

 "*Now* what?" Doyle asked, tight-lipped with the effort of keeping his
voice in control, professional. He would *not* lose his temper with the
bastard, not before their first undercover op together. They just had to
survive this, do a good enough job that Cowley didn't boot them *both* out
and then he could ask for a re-teaming.

 Without answering Bodie reached into the back seat of the battered Rover
and pulled out their stash. Doyle's eyes narrowed as he sifted through the
contents for a moment, finally selected one of the joints provided by
Supplies, and held it out to him.

 "And what the fuck do you want me to do with that?"

 Bodie looked at him.

 "We're about to go undercover and you expect me to smoke *that*?"
Cowley'd bloody kill them if they blew the op before they'd even got
started -- because they were *high*. "Bodie..."

 "Look, we're going into a camp of layabout bums, undercover as layabout
bums, right?" Bodie snapped at him, "Well you're about as laid-back as
nitro, which means we'll last as long as a glass of scotch in front of the
Cow!"

 "I don't need drugs to relax!"

 "Well if I thought you could manage on your own I wouldn't suggest it,
would I?"

 "How do I know what you'd do?" Wrap up the case while Doyle was dreaming
about flying toadstools probably...

 "Look, we *both* need it. Not enough to incapacitate us, just enough
to... blend in. Alright?"

 Doyle eyed the rolled-up paper dubiously. Not once, no matter what, had
he succumbed to anything worse than cigarettes and alcohol, not even
undercover when he was in the Drug Squad.

 "Doyle, I promise -- it's harmless."

 That brought another unwilling smile to his lips. "You sure you're
playing on the right side?" he asked, watching as Bodie reached into the
pocket of his jacket for matches and lit up. There was a vaguely pine-y,
leather-y smell as Bodie exhaled, and Doyle caught his eye as he took the
joint, their fingers brushing. Oh, what the hell... Bodie was right, he
couldn’t go in like this, and short of either a decent work out or some
available and energetic bird, this was probably the quickest -- the only
-- way he'd avoid killing the next idiot who pissed him off...

 "Will you stop staring at it and smoke the bloody thing!" But there was a
half-smile playing around Bodie's mouth too, and so Doyle used his own
lighter when he realised the joint'd gone out already, closed his eyes,
and took a long drag. He'd be buggered if Bodie had an excuse to accuse
him of... well of whatever. Bodie'd find something...

 He opened his eyes again, became aware, as he waited for it to take
effect, to feel *different*, of being stared at by Bodie's own blue, blue
eyes. He tried to decide what was so odd about them, and then realised
that it must be the lashes. Shouldn't really have such long lashes on a
bloke...

 "There," Bodie was saying, and then in a deep, ponderous voice, "You're
one of us now..."

 His skin stopped prickling all over, and Doyle found himself giggling.
Whatever else his cretinous partner was, at least he had a sense of
humour.

 "Oh yeah, and who else is in this esteemed club then?" He took the joint
back, inhaled again. Bodie'd been right, it *was* relaxing him, even he
could see that... His whole body felt... better. 

 "Well, Betty's our leader, obviously..." Bodie was explaining, very
seriously now, causing Doyle to giggle again. He didn't usually giggle,
that was the drug too then... You'd think he'd've seen more people
giggling with it, but then he'd skived off on his own, away from
temptation, when his old mates had started up, and when he was in the Drug
Squad they were usually past giggling when they realised they were
busted...

 "Not Cowley?"

 "Nah. " Bodie shook his head sadly, "She's tried to get him to see the
error of his ways, but he absolutely refuses a good smoke at work..."

 "Waits 'til he gets home!" they said in unison, collapsing against the
seats in fits of laughter. 

 When he was able to, Doyle wiped at his eyes and sat up a bit straighter,
watching Bodie as he took a last drag and pinched out the roach. He really
*hadn't* needed the drugs. If Bodie'd been like this on the drive down
then he'd have been in a perfectly good mood this morning, flat tyre or
not. Mind you, he did feel more relaxed, which *was* more in character, so
it really wasn't such a bad idea to do this just before they went in...
which they really should do. 

 It was just that he needed something to eat before they did.

 Now *this* he remembered from the lectures, a definite side effect Doyle
thought, as he turned around and stretched into the far corner of the back
seat for that bag of chocolate he'd seen Bodie pick up at the last petrol
station. He rummaged around for a moment, arse upthrust between the seats,
and he wasn't really surprised when Bodie smacked him soundly, so that the
smart and tingle stretched down his thighs, and... and went straight to
his cock, carried on through his whole body, reverberations and echoes...

 "Bastard," he said with less malice than he'd intended, dropping one of
the Marathons into Bodie's lap. Only, as he twisted around again, reaching
out to the dashboard for balance, Bodie's hand stretched out and rubbed
apologetically at his bum, briskly really, only lingering just at the end,
large and warm and... Doyle sat down hurriedly, feeling the drug send a
flush and a heat to his cheeks, and concentrated on tearing open the
wrapper.

 "Right -- we off then?" Bodie asked, turning the key before Doyle could
swallow his mouthful of chocolate and think of anything smart to say.
Didn't matter though. He settled himself more comfortably in the seat, one
foot on the dash, cushioning his head against his arm. What he really
needed was a bit of a kip before they were thrown into it all, but he'd
have to make do with shutting his eyes for just five minutes before they
got there...

 The last thing he remembered was Bodie stopping at the farm gate to chat
to the bloke who'd obligingly opened it for them. Bodie had wound down his
window to speak to him, and a smile crossed the bearded face as warm,
specially-scented air drifted out. The bloke looked him over and smiled at
him too, before pointing back at the small cluster of caravans at the edge
of the field. Doyle heard them talking about Cec -- their reason for being
there -- and had just time to wonder how Bodie suddenly sounded so... so
*Scouse* before sleep finally claimed him.

 ******

He woke to sugar-coated teeth, to clouds rushing across the sky, and to a
cold that make him shiver, despite the two coats that someone -- Bodie
presumably -- had thrown over him. He glanced blearily at this watch. Half
ten -- he'd been asleep for nearly two hours. His neck and back were
stiff, and he winced as he sat up, took in their new home. 

 Bodie'd parked them slightly away from the other vehicles, but close
enough that they were easy to watch from either the car itself or the
doorway of their own caravan. There were only three of them, all simple
things like theirs, grouped close together by a small hummock in a sort of
semi-circle, with a single tepee off to one side. Smoke blew from a fire
in front, over which hung a large silver kettle. As Doyle made the effort
to stretch, someone emerged from the tepee with a mug, wandered over to
the fire and poured himself a cup of tea. Now *that* was what he could do
with...

 He clambered awkwardly out of the car, pausing to stretch high and wide,
and to pull on not only his own thin denim jacket, but Bodie's big woollen
number over it -- Christ but he was frozen -- and then ambled towards the
fire, where the tea-drinker was still standing, eying him frankly.

 "Alright, mate?" he managed through chattering teeth, and nodded
hopefully towards the mug. "Any chance?"

 "Aye, aye," the bloke tipped his head towards a cardboard box full of
cups, spoons, and tins of milk. "Help yourself. We don't stand on ceremony
round here," he added with a wide grin. "Stretch or starve!"

 Wigan, Doyle decided, after a moment's thought -- or somewhere up that
way, anyway. "Ta," he said, toasting him with the mug. "You've not seen my
mate, 'ave you? Tall ugly bloke driving the car 'e abandoned me in?"

 "Scouser with the fascist hairdo? Yeah, he went to help Mick and Beak get
their van started. They got about ten minutes up the road last night, off
to Rollright, and one of the pedals died. Couldn't do a thing with it."

 "Rollright?"

 "Watch the birds get their tits out," the bloke topped up his tea, waved
it in Doyle's direction, and snorted at his blank face. "For fertility,"
he added, as if that explained everything.

 *Flying toadstools* Doyle thought, nodding sagely. "Cec here yet?" he
asked out loud.

 "Who's asking?"

 "Ray," he managed not to hold out a hand to shake, "Duncan. He said he'd
be here by now. We've got summat for 'im..."

 "Yeah well, you know Cec, probably got distracted on the way up..."

 Doyle was saved from having to answer by a shout from the road, and he
turned to see Bodie approaching in the thick of a small group, half a
dozen of them, one arm slung around the shoulder of a bloke wearing a
purple velvet trouser suit and bearing a distinct resemblance to
Catweazle. Trust Bodie to pick out the most flamboyant one of the bunch --
and he'd be outshining him any minute now, Doyle just knew it. Flash
bastard, he thought, feeling the cold again, not liking the warm, jolly
vision that Bodie made by comparison.

 "Did they get away then?" his companion was asking, cynical and hopeful
in the same breath.

 "Yeah... Bodie 'ad the problem in a jiffy," Purple Velvet called back,
patting him solidly on the chest before letting him go and reaching for
the kettle. 

 Bodie? They were supposed to be *undercover* for Christ's sake... they
*had* monikers they were supposed to be using... 

 Bodie caught his eye, grinning brightly. "'Bout time you woke up,
Goldilocks. Some of us 'ave been hard at it!"

 Doyle felt his face freeze. Relax, relax, you can do this. Stay in
character..."What was it then?" he managed casually, supping his tea, as
if it was the last thing he cared about.

 "Accelerator cable. Piece o' cake. Except that Beauty here refused to
give up her stockings *or* suspenders, so..."

 Doyle looked beyond Bodie, to where a slightly dusty, but strikingly
pretty blonde girl was giving him a good thump on the back. God, they were
all *over* him... Then he took another look.

 De Longford.

 "So he jammed a bit of twig in there, gave 'em a bundle to use for
spares, and now they don't even *need* an accelerator cable!" someone else
said, with more excitement than Doyle felt the repair warranted. He hoped
desperately that Mick and Beak weren't planning to use the motorway to get
wherever it was.

 "Any sign of Cec, then?" he asked Bodie instead, who shook his head.

 "Told you we didn't need to hurry. The Gold waits for all men!" Bodie
proclaimed grandly to Doyle, prompting a chorus of cheers and more back
slapping.

 Oh *Christ*! What was he doing, the Cow'd kill them if they had nothing
left to return to Supplies at the end of this. Well he could put it in
*his* bloody report.

 "Macca's gonna be here today though," De Longford piped up. "He's still
coming, isn't he Andy?"

 "Last I heard," Doyle's companion said. "Told me t'get the beer in,
anyway."

 De Longford turned away, smiling, and pulled the other girl towards the
middle caravan with her -- a tall brunette, who'd had nothing to say for
herself so far, and had even hung back from the general Bodie worship.
Doyle decided he liked her.

 "Just in time for solstice," Purple Velvet said approvingly, and Doyle
watched Andy roll his eyes but let it pass. "You don't get many prepared
to brave a bit of rain to be here. Summer? *Summer's* alright, everyone's
here for the summer..."

 "And a fine summer it was, man," Andy soothed him, as the group broke up
suddenly, scurrying for shelter as if the clear skies were about to burst
into rain. "Like of which we'll never see..."

 "Yeah, but the barbed wire! Nazis put *barbed wire* everywhere. I'm
telling you, it was *Colditz*..."

 Bodie tipped his head at Doyle, and they wandered off to their own
caravan, shoulder to shoulder, apparently amiable. 

 "Why the *fuck* didn't you wake me?" Doyle demanded, spinning around to
face Bodie as soon as they were safely inside with the door shut.

 "Keep your voice down," Bodie said calmly, lighting the flame under their
own kettle and pulling out coffee and milk. "I tried waking you, you were
well out of it. I thought you needed it after last night."

 Doyle paused in his anger. Was that an *apologetic* note he detected? Not
like Bodie... "Did you find out anything about De Longford?"

 "Yeah. She's a talker." Bodie shot him a rueful grin. "I think you 'ad
the best of it, mate. Can't get her to shut up once she's started. 'Macca'
this and 'Macca' that..."

 "Mullan?"

 "*Mc*Mullan to her apparently. Makes 'im more Irish or something she
reckons."

 Doyle snorted, took the cup of coffee that Bodie offered. "*And*?"

 "And nothing. If she's planning on being a criminal mastermind when she
grows up, she's going to have her work cut out for her. As far as she's
concerned..."

 "Or letting on..."

 Bodie tipped his head to that, "...or letting on -- he's a poor
downtrodden lad who's sick of all the fascist violence."

 "'See the violence inherent in the system'" Doyle muttered automatically.

 "'Help, help, I'm being oppressed!'" Bodie responded instantly, and then
he looked up sharply and grinned suddenly, all the way to his eyes. They'd
seen that movie together.

 Doyle found himself grinning back, leaned his shoulders to the wall, hips
pushed forwards. "'S alright if he's the one doing the violence and
oppressing though, is it?"

 Bodie looked him up and down. "I'm not sure she's got a clue about him,
you know. Picked up that he's a bit of a hero maybe, but doesn't really
know why."

 "How can she *not* know what his lot really are? What they're prepared to
do for their *cause*?"

 Bodie shrugged. "She's beautiful and rich, but she's not the brightest
candle."

 "Well she wouldn't be hanging around 'ere if she was, would she?" Doyle
thought for a moment, ran his tongue absently over his lips. When he
looked up Bodie was staring at him again. "So what d'you think *he* wants
with *her* then?"

 "Money? Connections? Her nubile young body? That, Raymond, is the
question, innit?"

 "Stick to the plan then?"

 Bodie nodded slowly. "I've let them know we've been around a bit, managed
to get hold of enough gear that we're looking to make some money off Cec
while the price is right, and that our contact abroad is good for more. I
reckon she'll pass it on to Mullan alright."

 "See if he's still the same greedy bastard he always was." Doyle yawned
loudly, tucked his hands into his jeans' pockets. "What are that lot up to
now then?"

 "Last I heard Vanessa was going to brew up a vat of tea."

 "Oh yeah?"

 "Yeah. From mushrooms. I *don't* suggest you try it." Bodie eyed the bed
consideringly. "They won't be doing anything much for the next few hours.
Might as well rest up for tonight."

 Doyle, barely a foot closer, beat him to the bed, throwing himself down
on it, arms wide open. Bodie stood over him, pouting, disconsolate. 

 And Doyle was a monkey's uncle. "Only fair," he said, "take it in turns."

 "Oh I dunno..."

 Doyle tensed, expecting to be grabbed and dragged, kicking, from the
mattress. Instead the air was knocked out of him as Bodie fell
unceremoniously onto the bed, landed heavily across his outstretched arm.
"Bloody 'ell!" He pulled, found it thoroughly trapped. "Will you get off?"

 Instead Bodie wiggled comfortably, and turned to face him, smirking. "Off
what?" he asked innocently. 

 "Bo-die..."

 "Oh, come on Ray, you're hardly the blushing virgin..." 

 A hand reached out to his jeans, caressing him through the denim, and
Doyle had pushed forward into it before he could help it. He snatched
himself back, appalled, managed to tug free and sat up in a rush. *Not*
with Bodie. Not again.

 "Fuck off!"

 "Ray..."

 "No!" He reached back a hand to push himself from the bed, even if it
meant curling up on the table again, but Bodie grabbed his wrist, held him
again.

 "Alright. I'm sorry."

 Doyle turned back to look at him.

 "I'm sorry, alright?" 

 No. It wasn't.

 "Look, I'll keep my hands to myself."

 Doyle didn't move.

 "I'll kip on the table if you want. You need the sleep more. Go on, get
back into bed..."

 Rotten bastard. "No, it's fine. Just... drop it Bodie, alright?"

 "I said so, didn't I? Get back in, I'll pretend you're me brother, okay?"

 "Thought you weren't used to *sharing*?"

 "Yeah well, there were four of us boys, weren't there."

 The real Bodie? A truce maybe. "Christ, I 'ad one brother, that was bad
enough." 

 "Oh, they were alright. Got three sisters an' all."

 "Back in Liverpool still?"

 "Most of 'em. Shirley's in Australia. Nurse." Bodie yawned, wriggled
around so that he could pull the blankets over himself, and Doyle did the
same, heeling his trainers off at the same time, then tucking the edges
tightly around, making sure it was tucked between them as well. "You're
from Derby, aren't you?"

 "Something like that," Doyle said evasively, as nonchalantly as he could,
letting his eyes close. At least he was finally warm again.

 "Oh yeah?" Bodie didn't miss much, but he gave up easily enough this
time. "The Chatsworth Doyles, is it?"

 "Yeah, that's right," he managed a grin, "now haven't you work to do, my
man?"

 "I'm doing it," Bodie declared. "Goodnight."

 "Goodnight. And remember what you said." Bodie obligingly pulled his arms
closer to his body, tucking in tightly upon himself. Doyle felt himself
drifting off again, was on the edge of sleep when he realised what was
wrong.

 He was disappointed.

 ******

In the end neither of them slept long, waking to thin sunlight shining
across a clear sky and through the side window, directly onto their faces.
It turned Bodie's skin pale gold, smoothed his face until he was softer,
no longer the brash jack-the-lad that Doyle was partnered with. His breath
was soft too, quiet and even. He'd been like this that first time. No
front, just... Bodie.

 Doyle had felt the electricity between them as soon as they met. It was
there in every move they made, every glance they shared. And the way they
*knew*, just knew what the other was thinking. It hadn't taken them two
weeks to become the perfect team. Suddenly the world was more real, he was
more alive -- *they* were more alive. And as usual, just as he always did
-- see it, want it, have it. So he had.

 And they'd been just as good in bed as they were on the job. Every move
the right move, every touch the right touch. Bodie'd been ... gentle.
Surprisingly gentle. Oh they'd tussled and fought and laughed and
competed, but then their lips would meet *here* or their bodies would
brush *there*, and the world slowed down again, pulled out of their way
until it was just the two of them and their breath and their skin...

 No. 

 That wasn't the real Bodie. The real Bodie was an arrogant bastard who
thought he could just fuck Doyle and then carry on fucking his way through
the rest of London.

 Doyle frowned himself awake and sat up, pulling the blankets with him so
that Bodie groaned in protest and reached out to drag them back. 

 "Oh no you don't -- up an' at 'em, sunshine." If Doyle was awake then
Bodie'd better be as well. Awake and focussed. They had a job to do.
Grabbing the bottom of the covers, he yanked them free of both Bodie and
the bed itself, dropping them on the table as he went past to the door. 

 He jumped down the step, Bodie cursing loudly after him, so that Doyle
was grinning broadly as he surveyed the small camp. Amy and Vanessa were
sitting on the step of the middle caravan, Andy and the other two young
lads were smoking *something* in front of the fire, and a purple-clad leg
protruded from the tepee. That was everyone; as mellow a scene as Doyle
could imagine. Satisfied that they hadn't missed anything, he went behind
the caravan to empty his bladder, and then back inside to find something
else to fill it. 

 Bodie was not only still awake but busy setting up the radio, so Doyle
emptied a couple of tins of soup into a saucepan, and turned on the gas
ring. By the time he'd made tea, buttered bread and found spoons, Bodie
had finished and was squeezing past him, hands around Doyle's waist to
keep him in place, on his way to take his own turn out back. Doyle
wriggled when he was gone, wished himself not hard.

 "Not quite what you expect of international terrorists, are they?" Bodie
said darkly when he returned, sliding onto the bench beside Doyle and
pulling the second bowl towards him. They both stared out the window as
they ate, watching the girls laugh together. Purple Velvet emerged from
the tepee, stood briefly still on shaky legs, then wandered over to join
the others at the fire. 

 "I think Cowley's barking up the wrong tree with this one. Mullan's using
it as a cover while he's got his boys to do the dirty work back in town."

 "Could be," Doyle conceded. "I dunno though, I've got a feeling..."

 "Not your bloody copper's nose again -- you sure you wouldn't be more at
home out there, getting in touch with nature and all that crap?"

 "Look, anyone can do detective work, what makes you good at it is..."

 "Whether you've got half a brain or not," Bodie interrupted, "and anyone
with half a brain could tell you this lot don't know a thing about who
Mullan really is." He stood up, dropped his dishes into the washing up
bowl, and stretched. "I reckon our best bet is De Longford -- she'll at
least know what his plans are."

 "Maybe..."

 "Maybe. Tell you what," he ruffled Doyle's hair, "I'll go see what I can
convince her and her friend to...*do* for me, while you report in to the
old man."

 "Bo-die..." But it was too late, Bodie was down the steps and halfway to
the fire before Doyle could stand up. 

 Fucking hell, first Marie, then that Rowena bird, a try for himself in
the middle, and now De Longford *and* her friend? Didn't he *ever* slow
up? Apart from anything else there'd be no woman left who Bodie hadn't
been through... His stomach contracted suddenly at the thought of fucking
a woman straight after Bodie had, of being deep inside her, surrounded by
Bodie's own come, feeling it ease his way, coating his... Christ, *now*
what was he thinking? That wasn't... He raked fingers through his hair,
let out a breath. 

 Bodie was an irritating arrogant bastard, and that was *not* what he
wanted from him. Right?

 He frowned, and picked up the handset to call Cowley -- instant cold
water -- and was patched through almost immediately.

 "Well Mullan's not been seen in town," Cowley mused once he'd made his
report. "If he's going to be with you tonight he could be coming from
anywhere, be bringing anyone with him. It might be he's simply using De
Longford for cover. His mob is certainly on the move here."

 "No clue what for?"

 "Ach Doyle, if I knew I would have said so!" Doyle could hear the
frustration in Cowley's voice, could imagine his fist clenched white
around the receiver. "And since there's barely four days until Christmas
you'd better make some effort, hadn't you?"

 "Yes sir..." But Cowley had hung up.

 To make matters worse, by the time he'd packed the set away, returned it
to its hiding place, and stepped out himself, Doyle was just in time to
see Bodie disappear into the caravan opposite with Amy and Vanessa. Purple
Velvet seemed to have chased the others away from the fire, so he wandered
over and crouched by the small flames, gazed through the smoke to where
Stonehenge itself stood stark against the pale blue sky. 

 "It's smaller than I thought it would be," he said vaguely in Purple
Velvet's direction, not sure whether to expect any sensible response. To
his surprise though, the man's voice was clear, he sounded lucid.

 "Small but perfectly formed. That's where the true power is, you know,
right there in the open where people can see it, not in some dark room in
Westminster."

 Well, almost lucid. "You here for the..." Doyle waved a hand, left his
sentence unfinished.

 "Midwinter, man. More power here than you can dream. In summer it's
diluted, too many people siphoning it away, but now, in the winter... You
wait until sunset tonight, *then* you'll feel the power..."

 Sunset tonight? He glanced at his watch -- yes, the solstice. Longest
night, or furthest sun or whatever it was. But Purple Velvet was still
talking.

 "Walk with me, man. It's quiet over there now, we've got time."

 Doyle allowed himself to be led across the field, towards the stones.
"What time's the sun set?" 

 "Three thirty-two precisely, on the darkest, most powerful night of the
year..."

 "I thought that was Halloween?" he dredged up from some cobwebbed corner
of his mind.

 "Samhain," he was corrected gently. "The end of the old year. But
Midwinter is when the sun reclaims his rule, brings his light back to the
world..."

 Oh, a right fruit and nut case this one. "You come here every year then?"
he asked, trying to steer the conversation in some useful direction.

 "Of course, you've got to..."

 "What about that lot back there? They come too?"

 "No!" At least he was easily distracted. "Andy knows, but he's not a
*true believer*, and the kids are just playing at it, good excuse for some
high old times," he said, with more insight than Doyle would have given
him credit for. 

 "Not even your other mate? Macca? The one who's coming specially for it
tonight?"

 "Him?" Purple Velvet sniffed, "Not my mate -- Andy knows him. I won't get
my hopes up, he's never been here before."

 They were amongst the stones by now, and Doyle let himself be distracted.
They were bigger than they'd looked at a distance, but still not what he'd
call impressive. Maybe if you tried to imagine them being rolled, one at a
time, halfway across the country, and then pushed into place by men, using
sheer muscle power... Vague images from the old movies vied with his own
tangle of thoughts, and he saw Bodie in some sort of loincloth, straining
against ropes wrapped around his arms and across his back, face a
concentration, whole body sweat-covered in the heat...

 "Feel it, man? Feel the power?" Purple Velvet had stopped when Doyle had,
was gazing at him with a light in his eyes, "You *do* feel it, don't you?
The stones..."

 Managing not to laugh out loud -- oh yeah, he was feeling something
alright -- Doyle turned his back, put his hand on one of the stones, felt
its rough-smooth surface. On the other side of the circle a couple
wandered, pausing now and then to kiss, and over by one of the lone, more
distant standing stones someone was taking photographs. But for themselves
and half a dozen ravens flapping from one perch to the next, it was almost
quiet.

 "I tell you man, this *is* England. When the fascists in London are long
gone, this will still be standing, and the people..." Purple Velvet droned
on, Doyle half-listening. This bloke didn't know Mullan, it was another
dead end. Bodie was right, if they couldn't get anything out of De
Longford -- or Mullan himself, if he bothered to turn up -- then they'd
have nothing to show for themselves. And Cowley wouldn't be impressed by
that.

 Abruptly he turned and started walking back towards the camp, aware of
Purple Velvet following behind only when he was brought to a stop by the
man's hand on his shoulder. 

 "Look man -- Goldilocks --" oh, he'd *kill* Bodie for that one, "- is it
true you brought the Gold? Your friend said..."

 "Wally," Doyle interrupted, smiling. "His name's Wally. And yeah, we've
got it."

 "Everyone's Wally, man!" Purple Velvet grinned back at him, leaving Doyle
even more confused. It was beginning to feel like he wasn't even in
control of conversations *about* Bodie.

 But Purple Velvet was looking coy. "And do you...?" He left off,
delicately.

 "We've been known to share the joy, yeah. Later, eh? Sunset?"

 Purple Velvet looked scandalised, "Sunset is for the *pure*. You
shouldn't be siphoning the power, man. It's..."

 "Tonight then," Doyle said hurriedly, "later tonight." 

 He was saved from more promises by the sound of an engine at the gate. An
old Cortina pulled into the field, bright red against the green of the
grass and the pale wash of sky, and roared over to park near the camp.
Andy and the two young lads poked their heads out of the tepee, and after
a moment the door of the middle caravan was flung wide, and a giggling
Bodie emerged, a girl on either side of him. They hovered for a moment on
the doorstep, tucked together and swaying. Doyle looked away, frowning.

 When she saw the car Amy detached herself, running across the grass to
where the driver was slamming the door, throwing her arms around his neck,
and being pushed back for her troubles. She linked her arm through his
anyway, walked with him over to the fire. Vanessa slipped away, ducking
behind the other caravans, and Bodie ostentatiously straightened his
clothes before swaggering, grinning broadly, to Doyle's side.

 "So that's Mullan," he whispered, close to Doyle's ear, so that Doyle
felt his breath, warm against his chilled skin.

 "Large as life and twice as ugly," Doyle agreed, pulling away slightly.
"He's not looking too fond of you, mind."

 Mullan was, indeed, staring straight and hard at Bodie while Amy spoke to
him in a low voice, shaking her head, one hand laid placatingly on
Mullan's crossed arms. And then Andy, who had beckoned Purple Velvet over
to meet Mullan, was talking too, a teasing smile across his face, and
calling out to include them in the group.

 "Bodie! Goldilocks! Come and meet Dezza, the last wandering minstrel!"

 Shooting Bodie his own hard look, Doyle strolled across, preparing
himself to be casual, to be matey with this bomber and wrecker and killer
of families.

 "Ray," he introduced himself more accurately, smiling broadly and
reaching out a hand to shake Mullan's. Mullan stared at it a moment -- oh,
king of all he surveyed, this one -- then took it, crushingly, in his own
for a brief greeting. Doyle made himself accept it, look a bit cowed and
in awe as he was released. At his shoulder, Bodie just nodded, looking, at
least, relatively gormless, Doyle decided. 

 "You're just in time, man, just in time!" Purple Velvet was saying, "You
gonna sing to the stones, man?"

 Mullan seemed to consider him, slit-eyed, before twisting a lip in his
direction, but his voice was surprisingly soft, melodic. "I've me own
ritual to observe at sunset, but this is a night for music, and we should
make sure we rouse the heavens with it."

 Doyle eyed his watch. It was coming up for three, and the sun hung low in
the sky, directly, he noticed, above the stone circle. 

 Purple Velvet saw him looking, clapped him excitedly on the back. "You'll
be with us, won't you, Goldilocks?"

 He rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Wouldn't miss it." One of them would keep the
kids busy, while the other watched Mullan -- not that he was likely to do
anything tonight. He suffered Purple Velvet to ruffle his hair as well --
bad enough when Bodie did it -- before ducking away. The man took it in
good part, punching his arm, before wandering off to the tepee. Andy
pulled a half bottle of Teachers from the cardboard box by the fire, and
set off to the stones, flanked by his two young shadows, and Mullan pulled
De Longford into their caravan.

 And at last they were all business. Doyle caught Bodie's eye, received a
bare nod, and turned towards the stones, knowing that Bodie was settling
himself beside the fire, for all the world as if he just wanted a cup of
tea and a quiet few moments before watching the sunset.

 The sky was coming alive with colour now, pale blue fading to peach and
pink, the horizon stained purple with the oncoming night. He looked about
for the evening star, couldn't see it. Maybe it wasn't even supposed to be
there at this time of year. It was all so far away, Doyle thought, so
distant and pointless and *unhelpful* to the people rushing about on their
own solid earth. It didn't matter where the sun rose and set every day,
not when there were idiots with bombs down here, trying to kill and maim
and cause each other endless pain...

 Andy and the lads had pulled themselves up onto one of the flat stones in
the centre of the circle, and were swigging from their bottle, and so he
slipped unseen into the shadows of the megalith, half listening as their
voices floated -- laughing and joking -- across to him on the chill
winter's breeze. There were one or two other visitors, strangers with
cameras, but the place was virtually deserted. Most people, he thought,
pulling his jacket closer about him, had the sense to be somewhere warmer.

 Something was niggling at him though, and he surveyed the area around the
stones, counting people, tracking their paths, their movement. A shadow
caught his eye, and he tensed automatically, relaxing when he saw who it
was -- the girl, Vanessa -- and then he saw her red nose, red eyes. She
scrubbed at her face when she realised he was there, and ducked her head
slightly, but she didn't leave. 

 "Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, unable to resist someone that miserable,
and reached out to rub her back gently. Instead of pulling away, which
he'd half expected, she let herself be held, and so he tipped her chin
upwards, brushed her cheek. "What's wrong?" he asked again.

 He thought she wasn't going to answer, but then she said, very softly,
"Amy. And... and *him*."

 Mullan? Had they been looking into the wrong girl? Was Vanessa an old
flame, a jilted lover?

 "It's just... I *knew* he was coming, and I *knew* she'd leave me then,
but..."

 Apparently not. 

 "It's just that it *hurts* when she looks so... so happy to have him
there." She sniffed loudly, reached into a pocket for a handkerchief and
blew her nose soundly. "She's only *with* him to piss off her father,
because he thinks the Irish are... well...*troublemakers*. I know she
likes me more, I *know* she does, I just...She hates *him* so much you
see...But I don't understand why she can't *see*..."

 Slightly bemused by the flow of words, Doyle pulled her closer for a
moment, then held her away, until she looked up, met his eyes. "Maybe," he
suggested, hoping desperately that he hadn't got the wrong end of the
stick, "you should remind her that there are *other* things she could do
to upset her old man..."

 Vanessa blinked once, and her eyes widened, then a slightly tremulous but
hopeful smile crossed her face. "That's... Oh *yes*! I should... Oh I
*knew* you'd understand!" She started away from him, then suddenly turned
back, kissed him soundly on the cheek, and darted off again in the
direction of camp. Well at least he'd made one person happy...

 "Playing cupid, are we?" Bodie appeared beside him from the shadows of
the stones. "Why Doyle, I didn't think you had it in you..."

 "Shut up, Bodie. Where's Mullan?"

 "Headed this way with a bag of flowers and fairy cakes..."

 "You're kidding?"

 "Some ritual he wants to perform to bring the sun back or something,
according to De Longford. Apparently our hard man is a bit soft in the
head..."

 "Well, as long as it keeps 'im off the streets, I suppose."

 "Ah, but who's out on the streets *instead*?"

 "Could be..."

 "Come on, man! Goldilocks, you'll *miss* it!" 

 Doyle looked up to see Purple Velvet striding across the field at an
angle, away from the stones. "Miss what? We're here!"

 "You'll miss the sunset! You've got to see it *through* the stones..."

 Doyle looked at Bodie, who shrugged. Purple Velvet seemed to be heading
for a solitary standing stone not far from the road, almost closer to
their camp than to the circle. By the time they reached him he was
kneeling on the ground in front of it, whispering to himself, and they
turned and looked back towards the stone circle, black now against the
palely lit horizon.

 "Has it gone already?" Doyle asked, looking sceptically at the man on the
ground. 

 In reply Bodie pulled him slightly to the right, so that Doyle was
standing in front of him, feeling the warmth of him all down his back.
Then Bodie's arm reached over his shoulder, his leather jacket brushing
his face, and he pointed.

 A deep orange sun was sinking between the columns of the stones, too
bright to look at, too gaudy and glorious not to. 

 Afterwards, Doyle never knew whether he'd swayed backwards, or whether
Bodie had swayed forwards, but as the sun slipped finally below the
horizon they found themselves pressed together, a single body against the
oncoming night, and neither of them moved. There was a stillness about
them as they stood joined, a quiet, and a *rightness*. He felt Bodie turn
his head, as if to whisper again in his ear, and he leaned in to that too.

 "That was *amazing*, man! There's not been a sunset here like that for...
for *years*! Hey, Goldilocks!"

 They jumped apart as guiltily as if something had happened, saw Purple
Velvet with his eyes shining, a beatific smile on his lips.

 "Did you *feel* it? The *power* of it? Pure and..." He seemed to realise
that Bodie was there with them too, brought his tumble of words to a halt,
and took a deep breath. "So, man, this Gold..."

 "Yeah," Bodie was saying, "I think it might be time. Something to eat,
something to drink, a little something to..."

 "A celebration to see the night through, until the sun rises again!"
Purple Velvet agreed, turning towards the camp.

 "Hey, hang on..." Doyle paused, hand absently on Bodie's arm. He felt
detached, a part of him still with Bodie, not just watching the sun, but
feeling... *something*. And at the same time his mind was racing, fishing
for patterns, making connections.

 The others were wandering back to the caravans, the few strangers heading
off to cars parked along the road, but a lone figure could be seen still
at the stones, apparently crouched low as Purple Velvet had done, but...
As they watched the figure straightened, black against the sky, and swung
something up to rest on his shoulder. A shovel.

 *I tell you man, *this* is England.... *

 *... right there in the open where people can see it... *

 *I've me own ritual to observe at sunset...*

 Mullan set off for the camp, and Amy came running out to meet him again.
This time he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her soundly before they
disappeared into their caravan. Doyle wondered distantly where Vanessa had
got to this time, but his mind was still speeding in a dozen directions,
and he reached out to grip Purple Velvet's skinny wrist.

 "What's Mullan doing with a shovel? You said *flowers*..."

 "Sure, man," Purple Velvet shook himself free, "He was burying them at
the quarters, powerful magic man, powerful..."

 "Why did he have to bury them?"

 "Not for me to know, everyone's got their own ritual..." Purple Velvet
turned again, back to the fire, and the tepee and his long night of
celebration.

 Bodie was looking at him. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

 "It's an icon, isn't it? A symbol of Britain. Think of the publicity
after last summer. And it'd go on forever, every June 21 st someone would
be remembering what it *had been like* when the stones were still
there..."

 "No security, no CI5... no crowds to worry about, no competition from the
other groups..." Bodie was with him, knew exactly what Doyle knew.

 "We've got to find the explosives, now while he's inside with Amy..." he
started, turning back towards the stones.

 "No! We don't know how they're detonated! If it's by remote and he saw us
over there -- all he'd have to do is flick the switch."

 Doyle thought. "It's sunrise, it's got to be. So it's got to be a timer."

 "Are you willing to take that chance? It could be sunrise on remote."

 It could. "We've got all night. Call Cowley, get the Bomb Squad in, pick
up Mullan while he's with the girl, while he's not expecting it."

 "What if we're wrong? We'll have tipped him off."

 "We're not wrong."

 Bodie was staring at him again, as if he could see deep inside to the
truth of everything. "Right then, let's call Cowley."

 To decide was to move, and they raced across the field to their own
caravan, ignoring the surprised looks the others gave them. Doyle left
Bodie on the step, keeping an eye on Andy and Purple Velvet, and set up
the radio impatiently, cursing every lead he had to attach, every second
that delayed them. The results, when he did get through to Cowley to
explain their reasoning, were much more satisfying, and less than five
minutes later he was beside Bodie.

 "We're to take him."

 "Right."

 They walked casually over to the fire, to where Purple Velvet was waxing
lyrical about the sunset, to where the others, cans of beer in hand, but
eyes slightly wild, didn't seem to care. *Flying toadstools*, Doyle
thought again, drawing both his Browning and his I.D., but holding them
low in case Mullan should peer out a window, seeing Bodie do the same.
They waited to be noticed.

 "Goldilocks, man, what..." There -- that moment of realisation in Purple
Velvet's eyes. A kind of disappointment.

 "This isn't a bust," Bodie said quickly, "but if you don't get yourselves
out of here fast, it might be."

 "Ah man..."

 "Look, your friend Dezza just buried your weight in explosives not too
far from here. In about an hour this place will be swarming with coppers.
Do you really want to stay?"

 Andy rose to his feet, pulled out a set of car keys.

 "No!" If he heard the engines Mullan would know something was up. Doyle
snatched at the keys. "On foot. You can come back for everything tomorrow,
but right now you need to get out of here."

 Bodie snicked the safety on his Magnum, and that was enough. In a whisper
of footsteps they were gone, fast across the grass towards the road. 

 "Think they'll keep going?" 

 "They'd better, if they know what's good for them," Doyle suggested,
turning towards Mullan's caravan. The curtains were drawn against the
dusk, but edges of light shone around them. "Oh bollocks."

 "What?"

 "Door opens outwards doesn't it?"

 "Ah..." Bodie caught on, "If he's got it locked..."

 "Which he will have."

 "...which he will have... We should have kept one of the kids to call him
out here."

 "Too late now."

 "Well I can't do it, he hates my guts."

 "He's a man of taste. If you could manage to keep your trousers up every
now and then you might find life easier, you know."

 "Doyle..."

 "Oh, shut up Bodie. Let's get this over with, eh?"

 In the end it was almost disappointingly simple. Doyle knocked, mentioned
the Gold, and Mullan's head was out the door and in the sights of two
handguns five seconds later. Bodie dragged him out and against the side of
the caravan, leaving Doyle to go and break the news to De Longford.

 "Bloody hell!"

 "Ray?"

 "Get up here, Bodie!"

 There was a scuffling at the door as Mullan was pushed inside first, arm
twisted behind his back, gun still held close, and then Bodie was there
beside him, seeing the same chaos, the same damning evidence that Doyle
was.

 Amy De Longford was tied up, unconscious, on the bed, and the table was a
mess of bomb components and dismantled guns. 

 "Someone's been a naughty boy, haven’t they?"

 Doyle shook his head, "Santa's not going to like him." He climbed over
the bed to De Longford, felt her pulse even though he could see her
breathing, checked her pupils. Just doped and shagged out probably, never
even knew what Mullan had done. He pulled the ropes away, arranged her
more comfortably on the bed, then turned to look scathingly at Mullan.
"Enjoy picking on kids, do you?"

 "She knew what she was doing," Mullan said in his sing-song voice. "No
one's that innocent."

 "Not after you've finished with them anyway." He busied himself wrapping
the rope around Mullan's wrists, pushed him to the floor and stretched it
to his feet as well, so that he was tied uncomfortably, half-crouched.
Served him right.

 Bodie was going through the bits on the table. "Timer, definitely." He
turned to Mullan. "Sunrise?"

 "Fuck you, you fascist bastard."

 Bodie just smiled. "Now, now, where's all that Age of Aquarius bollocks
you were spouting earlier, eh?" 

 "It'll be a new age one of these days alright, when the Irish are free
and..."

 "Yeah well, thing is not all the Irish see it like that, do they?" Bodie
snapped back, sounding strangely harsh after his calm a moment ago. But
then Bodie'd been in Belfast not all that long ago, hadn't he. "You
can't..."

 "Save it, Bodie," Doyle interrupted, "'Es never going to understand that
there's more than one side." 

 "Yeah." Bodie looked at him strangely, turned away. He glared at Mullan
for a moment, before pulling a pair of striped tights from the floor by
the bench and gagging him tightly. "If you can't say anything nice..."

 They left Mullan fuming on the floor, stepped outside. It was almost
completely dark now, the untended fire a smoulder of orange, stars sharp
in the still-clear sky.

 "What about the girl?" Bodie asked, as they breathed in the fresh air,
started to come down from the sudden adrenaline-filled rush.

 Doyle stuck his head back around the door, ignoring Mullan. She hadn't
moved. "She'll be alright for a while," he decided, "Probably sleep for
hours. Long enough for us to call Cowley, anyway."

 Bodie nodded, staring at the ground, then he looked up, and a smile
crossed his face, slow and warm and for both of them. "I reckon we did it,
sunshine. We got the villain, we got the bombs and we got the girl. First
time out!"

 They had. They actually had. Doyle found his own face relaxing, his own
smile wide and joyous. Working together, just like it used to be. They'd
done it. "Shall we check in with Cowley? Get all that embarrassing praise
over and done with?"

 Bodie sighed dramatically, clapped him on the back and let his hand rest
there, pushing him in the direction of their caravan. "I suppose one *has*
to put up with these things..."

 They leaned together over the radio, heads close so that they could both
speak if they needed to, straining to hear Cowley over the noise of the
helicopter once they'd been patched through.

 "We've got Mullan, sir."

 "Aye, and about time too!"

 "The bombs are on timers, buried near the stones. Probably set for
sunrise. Do you want us to..?"

 "No! Leave that to the professionals! Where’s the girl?"

 "Unconscious. She'll be okay. She doesn't seem to have been involved."

 "Well that's something, at any rate. Keep an eye on Mullan, we'll be
there shortly." There was a click as transmission was cut off. 

 They looked at each other. 

 "Well..." Bodie began.

 "Well."

 "Yeah, well that *was* embarrassing. You could practically hear him
getting all emotional about it."

 "It was the way he said 'Aye'" Doyle agreed, "Could tell he was pleased
as punch."

 "Rotten bastard."

 "Rotten *old* bastard."

 Ah well. *They* knew they'd done a good job, and eventually even Cowley
would admit it. He had to.

 "We could always get Mullan to show us exactly where he planted the
stuff, before they get here," Bodie suggested.

 "It's pretty dark out there," Doyle said doubtfully. He supposed they
could use headlights from the cars, but... "Besides, he practically
ordered us to leave it alone."

 "Yeah, suppose so. Come on then, let's go see what that toe rag *will*
tell us..."

 But when they got back to Mullan's caravan, the door was open, Mullan was
gone, and so was the girl.

 "Oh fuck!"

 "We didn't hear a car -- how far's he think he'll get without a car?"

 Doyle raked fingers through his hair, staring first at the bed where De
Longford had slept, then at the table with its dregs of wires and
electronics. "He's finishing what he started," he realised abruptly.
"Those timers can be re-set, can't they?"

 Bodie's head jerked up, caught sight of the components on the table.
"Yeah."

 And then they were out of the caravan and racing over the ground, guns
drawn; too fast, too much like flying to worry about a mis-step or a
stumble. The world was black on dark on night, silent but for their own
breath, their own footsteps. 

 They slowed as they neared the circle, and Doyle felt Bodie's hand tap
his shoulder. They split up, moving carefully around the stones, peering
through each gap. Mullan had to be here somewhere... unless... had he been
wrong? Was he even now flagging down some lone car?

 Then he saw the long bundle atop one of the flat stones in the centre of
the circle -- the altar stone, Purple Velvet had called it -- De Longford,
tied again, and properly out of it this time, or else Mullan was a fool.
Served her right -- it had to have been her untied him...

 There. A tiny light moving about on the far side of the circle -- closer
to Bodie than to himself. Even as he thought it a gunshot rang out,
ricocheted off one of the rocks somewhere. Not Bodie's Magnum. Damn,
Mullan must have spotted him. The light had gone, and Doyle strained to
see something -- anything.

 He resisted the urge to cut through the centre of the circle -- Mullan
was bound to spot him if he did that -- and carried on the way he was
going, stepping slightly more quickly now that he knew where Mullan had
*been*. Another shot rang out, the same gun. Where the hell was Bodie? He
hadn't heard a cry, surely that meant he was alright?

 A tall figure appeared in front of him, backing around a stone, and he
slipped further into his own shadow, willing the man to take one more step
clear to where he could get a decent sight on him. *Where was Bodie?* But
Mullan stepped forward again instead, disappearing, and firing once more
at something -- someone -- unseen.

 Holding his breath, Doyle peered cautiously around the other side of the
standing stone to where Mullan should be. Sure enough there was the muzzle
of a gun tucked against the lighter grey of the stone, fingers just
visible holding it. He was barely six feet away, so close Doyle could
almost reach out and grab him, but it was all wrong from this angle, all
too easy to have him slip away again...

 And then he saw Bodie, the other corner of a triangle, knew the moment
that Bodie had spotted him. That was it. If he moved *that* way it would
draw Mullan out, draw his attention, and one or the other of them would...

 He pushed himself off from the stone, called Mullan's name as he fired
and rolled all at once. A bullet streaked through the air above him, there
was another shot loud in the cold night, and he came to a stop against the
altar stone itself. Paused. 

 Someone was moaning, and there was whimpering from the stone above him,
and then there was a rush of movement and he himself was grabbed, dragged
upright with his back to the rock.

 "What the *fuck* do you think you're playing at?" Bodie's face was close
to his, his eyes a shout, his hands tight on Doyle's shirtfront. Doyle
pulled himself free, tried to shove him off.

 "I knew you had me covered..."

 "What if I'd missed?" Bodie didn't move further away, didn't let him up,
in fact he leaned in towards Doyle, so that his breath was a hard pant on
Doyle's face, so that Doyle's very skin seemed to reach out towards him. 

 *Alive. *

 Get a grip, Doyle. "Bodie..."

 "If you *ever* do anything as *stupid* as that again..."

 "Bodie! Listen!"

 Helicopters, low in the sky, approaching fast.

 "Is she alright? Oh god, is she alright?" Another voice cut between them,
pulled them apart. Vanessa, appeared out of nowhere and bending over the
shivering figure on the altar stone. 

 Doyle got to his feet, started pulling on the ropes binding De Longford's
feet, as Bodie untied her hands. De Longford was in shock, but Vanessa was
there before either of them, cradling her close, letting her clutch
tightly at her arms, and sob. 

 A brilliant light crossed over them for a moment, and Doyle scrunched his
face to it, waiting as the helicopter landed, listening to the shouts of
the men racing towards them.

 "He tried to *kill* me!" De Longford wailed suddenly, making him jump
despite everything else. "He was g-going to blow me up!"

 "Shhh," Vanessa hushed her, "it's all over now, you're safe..."

 Light flooded the circle again, their night world become huge shadows and
a Scots voice. "Bodie! Doyle!"

 "Here sir!" he called, feeling Bodie's silence heavy beside him. Yeah. It
was nearly all over.

 Mopping up was surprising short and sweet this time, unlike the times
they'd been called in to do it for some other team. Mullan was hauled off
with a bullet in his leg and another in his gun hand, the bombs found with
very little trouble and dismantled there and then. The caravans were gone
through, evidence bagged, and De Longford and Vanessa were bundled into a
corner of the helicopter, protesting their innocence of everything, and
their worries and their fears. Maybe they'd even grow up a bit after this.

 Finally Cowley stopped shouting at them for the pig's ear they'd made of
things and stood glaring at them in the harsh light of the helicopter's
beam. "And I want that vehicle and your reports back in London by five
tomorrow, d'ye hear me?"

 "Yes sir." 

 Christ, what a way to end an operation. Doyle felt his shoulders sagging.
It wasn't fair, they'd done okay. They'd *done* it, hadn't they? Saved
this bizarre bit of England for all the hippies and tourists of the
future? He scowled as Cowley turned away from them, kicked at the grass in
lieu of anything other than Bodie to punch. He'd probably get a chance to
do that later.

 "Oh and lads?" Cowley paused, half-turned back to look at them. "It was
well done in the end. There might be a drink in it for you, back at HQ."
And then he was off again, and the helicopter was lifting into the air,
and they stood, alone, in the middle of the dark circle.

 They walked back to the caravan in silence, Doyle's head a whirl of
thoughts. It hadn't worked after all. Bodie hadn't known what he was
doing. They'd get back and he'd ask to be re-teamed. He couldn't keep
doing this, not wanting Bodie so badly, not watching Bodie want everybody
else at the same time, and treating him like the village idiot.

 So when he'd followed Bodie into the caravan, waited while Bodie flicked
on their small battery-operated light, he wasn't surprised to find himself
grabbed yet again, swung around so that his back was to the thin cold
wall, and Bodie's eyes hard in front of him. Might as well get it over
with.

 He was surprised when Bodie kissed him. He was surprised when the kiss
turned from savage to sweet, and he was even more surprised when Bodie
broke it off, but lingered for a moment, gasping, forehead pressed to
Doyle's. Then Bodie pulled away, caught his eyes and stared into them. A
challenge.

 Right, once and for all. Two could play at that game.

 He reached up and slid one hand around Bodie's neck, pulling him back
again, lips on lips, mouths open, then upped the ante by sliding his other
arm around Bodie's waist, forcing them together, body against body.

 Bodie was as hard as he was.

 Doyle felt hands over him in their turn, pulling at his jacket, at the
buttons of his shirt, at the -- oh god -- at the zip of his jeans. They
stumbled towards the bed, gasps turning to moans, a trail of clothes
behind them.

 Something red caught Doyle's eye.

 "Bodie?"

 Bodie mumbled something against his throat, fingers twisting suddenly at
his nipple, so that Doyle whimpered. No. Mustn't... be distracted from
this.

 "Bodie?"

 "Mmmn?"

 "Bodie... gerroff a minute." He managed to wriggle away from that mouth,
to get one hand to Bodie's chest, and push him gently back. Not too far. 

 "Bodie, why are your toenails painted red?"

 "Because..." Bodie paused to breathe ticklishly into his ear, "Because
the girls wanted to... this afternoon..." He leaned down and bit gently at
Doyle's neck, rubbed again at a nipple, pressed them closer together.

 "What, in the middle of... oh god, do that *again*... while you were..."

 Now, just when Doyle didn't want him to stop, it was Bodie who pulled
away. "No. Not with you here. Not while I still want you."

 "You want everyone ... and you were..."

 "Jealous, Ray?"

 "Fuck off, Bodie," he managed between breaths, wanting to mean it.
Just... not quite yet...

 "No. There's *two sides to every story*, Doyle. Admit it, we're a team,
whether you like it or not."

 Doyle found himself whimpering again, his eyes closing, as Bodie slid a
hand around his arse, both hands... "Mmmn?"

 "I'll take that as a yes then, shall I?"

 He opened his eyes again, caught Bodie's gaze and held it, though he
gasped as Bodie slid a finger slowly down the cleft in his buttocks,
paused briefly before reaching up to caress his balls.

 "I'm going to make you come so hard..." Bodie murmured, lowering his
eyes, brushing his lips across Doyle's again, reaching out with his tongue
to lick them, letting his fingers slide back in the opposite direction, to
pull his arse apart just slightly, *just* enough to make Doyle catch his
breath again.

 He let it out on a hard, quick sigh, but then he tensed, and opened his
eyes, and caught Bodie with them. And issued his own challenge.

 "You first."

 In the dark of the longest night of the year their bodies slid hard
together, breath was gasped, and breath was sighed. There was skin, and
sweat, and the heat of Bodie's mouth around him, and the feel of Bodie's
cock against his own tongue, between his own lips. There was so much
pleasure it was almost painful, but even the twist of teeth on his
nipples, of a finger, of two, up his arse, was better than anything he'd
ever thought possible. 

 Just when Doyle thought he could stand it no longer, when he thought he
had to come or die, he put his hand on Bodie's chest and pushed him away,
and they lay, gasping for breath, side by side. After a moment he turned
his head to look at Bodie, to find him looking softly back at him.

 He couldn't do it, he couldn't. He didn't care who won. He wanted this
man more than anything else in the world, and if he didn't have him right
now...

 Bodie rolled onto his side, facing him, and with his body screaming
frustration Doyle met him halfway. He reached out a hand, intending to
wrap it around Bodie, to kiss him to kingdom come, to... Instead, he found
his hand grasped and held, his gaze caught and held, the electric
stillness between them calming, quieting. 

 "Together?" Bodie whispered, and Doyle could hear him, barely breathing.

 Yes.

 "Together." He reached for him then, hands and mouth and cock, but
slowly, so that every inch he touched meant something, sent shivers down
his spine, or heat through his groin, or sweetness to somewhere he'd never
known existed. It built up inside him, the sweetness, until there was
nowhere for it to go, nothing for it to do, but to burst out in a blaze of
fire and light and glory that seemed more than just coming, more than
heaven itself. 

 They lay finally, quietly, under the covers, in perfect alignment, and
outside the sun rose somewhere over the stones.

 -- THE END --

 *December 2006*

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