The Professionals Circuit Archive - Sunday Morning Off       Sunday
Morning Off

 

by PFL 

 
   

 *Inspired by* Sunday Morning Off*, by Crimson*  

 By the time Bodie arrived, the pub was filled with blue-grey smoke and
the chattering of office workers and civil servants released from their
jobs. He bought a lager and scanned the room, finally spying Doyle and
Murphy at a table near a window. Making his way towards them, he raised
and lowered his glass while threading a path through the crowd. He sat
down on the bench next to Doyle, nodded at Murphy, and took a long drink.

 "Managed to extricate yourself, did you?" Doyle lifted a half-filled
glass to him before drinking.

 "All is well and my virtue is intact." Bodie smiled at him.

 "That would be a miracle. Anyway, it wasn't your virtue at stake." 

 Murphy looked at Bodie. "I heard that Mihailov's daughter appreciated
your heroics." He was leaning back in his chair with the air of a man
about to go on leave.

 "What heroics?" Doyle asked.

 "He's speaking about the assassination attempt I foiled."

 "Don't give me that. All you did was pull Mihailov down. *I *was the one
who spotted the nutter and shot him."

 "Details. Anyway, I was wounded."

 "That was from the gravel in the car park."

 "Vita saw it differently." 

 "She would."

 Bodie looked at Murphy. "He's just jealous because she couldn't see him
next to me."

 "Thank God for small favours. You can have that one, mate."

 "I heard she was a looker," Murphy said.

 Bodie nodded. "Blonde, gorgeous brown eyes, radiant skin...."

 "And yet you're here?"

 "Duty." Bodie injected pathos into his voice.

 "Fear," Doyle said. Murphy glanced at him. "Of her father."

 "Ah."

 Bodie sighed. "He's a trifle old-fashioned." 

 "But his daughter isn't."

 "I see," Murphy said. "And given Mihailov's current high-level status as
a well-known defector...."

 "Casanova here had to rein in his natural tendencies."

 Bodie swallowed more lager. "This job has definite drawbacks."

 "Fortunately, I'm about to escape all that." Murphy looked smug.

 Bodie raised his eyebrows. "For a week, isn't it? Where are you going,
you lucky swine?"

 "Elsewhere."

 Bodie glanced at Doyle, then back at Murphy. "Are you going on holiday
with Julia, then?"

 "Yes."

 Beside him, Bodie heard Doyle snigger, but he kept his own expression
bland. "Ah. Newcastle, is it?"

 "Yes, sod it. How did you know?" 

 Bodie winked.

 Murphy's eyes narrowed. "You didn't go out with Julia, did you?"

 "No. But Doyle did."

 "Her mother is nice." Doyle paused for a moment. "Mind the cat, though."

 "Julia didn't say she'd dated you."

 "You can't blame the girl," Bodie said. "She's probably still blocking
the memory."

 Doyle looked at him. "Thanks, friend." He turned back to Murphy. "It was
a few years ago. We had a nice time, but...she called it quits."

 "Work?"

 "Personali--" Bodie broke off as Doyle kicked him. "You can see why.
Charming manners."

 "We made better friends."

 "Friendship and birds." Bodie shook his head. 

 Murphy looked at him. "You don't mix love and friendship?" 

 "It never works, does it? Look at him and Julia." He gestured towards
Doyle.

 "Look at Murphy and Julia," Doyle replied.

 "And he's going to Newcastle for his holiday." Bodie drank more of his
lager. "I don't know what it is with you two and birds who want you to
meet their families. Don't you know variety is the spice of life?"

 "Or the sign of an indecisive mind."

 "I am a man of robust appetites." Bodie raised his glass.

 "Large, certainly."

 Murphy finished his drink. "Before you two get into it, I'm off."

 "Enjoy yourself, mate," Doyle said.

 "Do let us know if you come back leg-shackled."

 "Ta." Murphy waved at them and disappeared into the crowd.

 "Get you another?" Bodie gestured at Doyle's glass.

 "You're feeling generous." Doyle tilted his head. "How did you extricate
yourself, then?"

 Bodie grinned. "I never shag and tell."

 "You often shag and tell."

 "Only you. Nosy."

 "Boaster."

 "Do you want that drink or not?"

 "I thought you were meeting the lovely Daffodil tonight."

 "Danielle. And her flight was cancelled. So, what'll it be?"

 There was a pause, then Doyle said, "Nah, I've had enough."

 "Come on back to my place, then. I've got food in."

 Doyle looked at him, eyes wide but expression unreadable. "Thanks all the
same, mate, but I'm off home." 

 The same answer, every bloody time. "Come on, Doyle."

 "See you tomorrow." Doyle stood. "I'll pick you up in the morning, eh?
You know we're on that obbo with Anson?"

 "Yeah." He picked up his glass. "Bloody cigars." He took a sip of the
lager, then paused as Doyle still stood there. He looked at him.

 "We're due off after the obbo."

 Bodie dropped his gaze to his glass. "Yeah, don't count on it, mate, the
way things have been going lately." He drained the lager. "Plays bloody
hell with my social life."

 "Mine too." Doyle's voice was abrupt. "See you." 

 Bodie nodded and then found himself trying to catch glimpses of Doyle as
he made his way through the crowd to the door. Bugger it. It would've been
a good evening if Doyle had only cooperated. What the fuck was wrong with
him?

 With a muttered curse, Bodie stood and headed out of the pub. He'd go
home, grab some food, and see what was on the telly. Maybe he'd ring
Alison...but the thought didn't appeal. He'd known what he wanted tonight
as soon as he'd heard from Danielle. Bloody Doyle.

 Bodie jammed his hands into his jacket pockets as he walked quickly to
the CI5 car park. It was true Doyle was sometimes possessed by odd
moods--he'd take off on his own, spend a weekend without company. But
lately he'd taken to refusing the extra drink, a trip to the pub, or
dinner. Even after the Wakeman near-disaster, when they were both keyed
up, Doyle had stayed away from him.

 Thankfully, whatever Doyle's problem was, it wasn't affecting the job, or
their performance. There was nothing he needed to go to Cowley about--and
he had no desire to bring anyone else into it, anyway. It was just that
he'd got used to--that he'd been in the habit of--fuck it, they weren't
attached at the hip. He didn't want to be. Neither, apparently, did Doyle.
Fine. Message received, mate. But there were better ways to break a habit
than complete avoidance. Stupid git.

 Frowning, he unlocked his car door, climbed in, and set off for his flat.
He'd call Alison. A night between the sheets should set him right--should
take care of the restlessness he felt. Doyle could take care of himself.

 ******

It was dark when Bodie opened his eyes. He groaned when he saw the display
on Danielle's lighted clock. Four--bloody--AM. He closed his eyes,
prepared to fall back into his dreams. But he was too warm; the bed was
too soft, and the scent that filled his nose was all wrong. He rolled over
onto his back, and when Danielle didn't move, he eased out of the bed.
After going to the loo, he found his clothes and dressed in the light from
the bathroom. 

 "Bodie?"

 He looked up to find Danielle watching him. She seemed to be still
half-asleep and was very appealing--relaxed sensuality, her nudity
partially revealed by the sheet. He moved across to her. "I have to go.
Work." He leant down and placed a quick kiss on her lips.

 "Hmm. I didn't hear the phone." She closed her eyes and reached to pull
up the duvet. "Call me?"

 "Yeah. Thanks, love." He left the room, taking a deep breath of cool air
when he reached the outside. Danielle was lovely, but he didn't think he'd
be seeing her again. He walked to his car. Sod it, he'd been looking
forward to last night; he should be feeling satisfied this morning. He
should be in bed, anticipating sex and breakfast.

 Bodie started his car and pulled out into the street after a quick look
over his shoulder. They'd been on the obbo job for nearly three days. He
could still smell the tobacco. The job had blown up in their faces--nearly
literally--when Cowley had sent them into the house. They had expected the
guns they'd found, but not the heroin, nor the suicides--if it had been
suicide. Either way, they were at a dead end, and Cowley had finally given
them their day off.

 *We're due a day off, after the obbo*. He could drop by Doyle's place and
get breakfast--he'd enjoy Doyle's reaction if he showed up this early. But
he didn't make the turning when he could have, and he continued on to his
flat.

 Once home, he took a shower and made breakfast. He had just put the eggs
on when the telephone rang. He hurried into the lounge to pick up the
handset.

 "Yeah?"

 "Good morning." It was Alex from HQ. "You're to pick up four-five and
then Mr Cowley at his home. Straight away."

 "We're off duty!"

 "Cowley's orders, mate." There was no regret in Alex's voice.

 "Have you called four-five?"

 "He's next."

 "Tell him it'll be twenty minutes."

 "Will do." Alex rang off.

 Sod it. He returned to the kitchen, rescued the eggs, and ate them out of
the pan. The bacon he could take with him, but he gave up on the toast.

 Twenty minutes later he pulled up in front of Doyle's flat,
double-parked, and tooted the horn. A few minutes later Doyle emerged,
carrying a cup and an electric razor, looking rumpled, irritated, and
shagged out. He hadn't asked Doyle his plans for their day off. They'd
parted at HQ with scarcely a word between them.

 Doyle opened the car door and climbed in.

 "About time, mate. Cowley's waiting, you know." Bodie pulled out into the
street before Doyle had finished closing the door.

 Doyle sent a glare his way, but didn't answer.

 "Do you know what this is about?"

 "Would I? Since when does Cowley tell us anything?" Doyle's voice was
rough. "And would you slow down, I don't want to spill this tea!" He
slurped from the cup.

 Bodie dropped his speed by a fraction. "It's supposed to be our bloody
day off."

 Doyle let out a half-laugh. "You can tell Cowley that."

 "No, thank you." He glanced at Doyle. "Good night?"

 Doyle grunted, his eyes on the road.

 "Anyone I know?"

 Doyle drank his tea.

 "Or a bit of the solitary vice, eh?"

 "You must've been up early today--clean-shaven as you are."

 "Clean-living, that's me."

 "Your illusions will carry you far, my son." 

 "If you must know, I was at Danielle's. And it was damned inconvenient,
getting that call from HQ."

 "I'm sure Danielle was crushed."

 "Speechless." Bodie cut up a slow-moving lorry in the roundabout. "We
could have doubled last night. Might have been fun."

 "Mmm." Doyle put the cup down and turned on the razor. "*Avoid*
pot-holes."

 Bodie grinned, but he drove as smoothly as he could the rest of the way
to Cowley's house. They exited the car, Doyle still running the razor over
his face. Bodie hung back while Doyle went and rang the buzzer for
Cowley's flat. Doyle leant forward, resting his head against the intercom.
Bodie's eyes took in the well-defined arse presented to him. 

 Cowley's voice issued from the speaker: "Right, on my way."

 Doyle turned around to face Bodie, still running the razor over his face.
Bodie looked away, his stomach tightening. 

 "Any idea what the time is?"

 "I'm trying not to think." Bodie turned and walked back to the car to
lean against it.

 "Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it."

 "Yeah. Be nice to get eight hours sleep on the trot for once, wouldn't
it? Not that you'd use it for sleep, of course."

 "Oh, I would." As Doyle spoke, Cowley appeared in the doorway. "Nothing I
like better than curling up in bed with a good book."

 Cowley walked out behind Doyle. "Glad to hear you've been spending your
spare time so profitably, Doyle."

 Bodie straightened, injecting eagerness into his voice. "Good morning,
sir."

 Cowley glanced at him. "We'll go in my car." 

 They fell in behind Cowley as they walked to the car. Bodie urged Doyle
to the right, to take up the seat behind Cowley. "Where are we going?"

 "A nice trip into the country. Ecclestone Manor."

 Bodie glanced Doyle's way as he climbed into the back seat with him. "Ah,
champagne breakfast."

 Cowley filled them in on the ambush and murder of Arabs at Ecclestone
Manor. Somehow it all tied together--the ambush, the increase in illegal
arms gathering, the guns and heroin they'd found at the site of their
obbo. Bodie listened, offered speculation when called upon, and was all
too aware of Doyle sitting next to him. The tea and the shave had
helped--Doyle looked less...fuckable. Dammit.

 For two and a half days--57 hours, more or less--he'd been trapped in
that grotty room with Anson, those bloody cigars, and Doyle. He'd
concentrated on the job as much as possible. They'd taken turns at the
binoculars, the audio equipment, and the bed. But it had been impossible
not to watch Doyle, not to read invitation in the way he moved or sprawled
on the sofa. It had made him irritable. If they'd been alone, he wouldn't
have had to guard his expression or his tongue. He might have been able to
goad Doyle, to break through that bloody wall he'd erected between them.
But Anson was a sharp-eyed bugger, and Bodie had been forced to be
circumspect. He'd swear Doyle had taken advantage of that. The
cross-grained bastard. Sometimes he had no sense of self-preservation.
Look at what he'd done at Cowley's--under Cowley's eye, no less. Bloody
cheek wasn't the half of it.

 "What are you grinning at?"

 He glanced at Doyle--into eyes that were as familiar to him as his own,
but unknowable, for all that. "Nothing."

 "I thought you were going to ring Alison last night." 

 "Danielle's schedule changed."

 A moment longer Doyle looked at him, then turned away. "Lucky Danielle."
The light on the car phone started blinking. "Call for you, sir."

 "Answer it, Doyle."

 While Doyle dealt with the call--an apparent update for Cowley on a case
being worked by Lewis--Bodie looked out the side window at the passing
countryside. What was Doyle after? Did he think he could ignore Bodie one
moment, then come on to him the next? What was the point? Doyle was the
one calling an end to it. Contradictory sod. If he thought he could play
games--

 No, that wasn't Doyle's style. Bloody-minded and ruthless on occasion,
yeah, but not without a purpose. So what the fuck was he up to? Bodie saw
they were turning into the drive for Ecclestone Manor. After the case,
whatever it turned out to be, he'd tackle Doyle. He'd had enough.

 ******

Bodie walked out of Kabil Kammahmi's residence behind Anson and the lads
escorting Pulman to the cars. Pulman was the only one of the lot they'd be
able to prosecute, but he didn't reckon Kammahmi would have a joyous
homecoming. Presumably he'd been acting under orders from his government.

 The police had blocked off access to the street from either side, and the
only cars left belonged to one or another of the security forces. He
wanted to go home; he wanted to sleep. But Cowley might want them in on
the interrogation of Pulman, and he'd certainly want their reports. Doyle
still hadn't returned from Marge's clutches. Bodie leant against Cowley's
car and settled in to wait. It seemed he'd spent half his life
waiting--army, Paras, SAS, CI5; it was all the same. Hurry up and wait.
Funny how they never told you that when they wanted you to sign up. And
where the fuck was Doyle?

 Almost immediately on the thought, a big American car threaded through
the police barrier, stopping a few yards away from where Bodie stood. The
door opened and Doyle climbed out, closing the door behind him. Bodie
heard Marge's voice but couldn't distinguish the words. Doyle leant down
into the car, bracing his arms on the window. Marge's laugh carried
clearly, and then Doyle kissed her before straightening, his fingers
lingering on her cheek. The car pulled away and Doyle stepped back.

 Bodie pushed himself away from the Cowley's car and moved in on Doyle. "I
see you managed to extricate yourself--virtue intact? Or perhaps that was
that a promise for later?"

 Doyle gave him a slight smile, and turned to watch Marge's car disappear
down the street. "What does Cowley say?"

 "I'm still waiting to hear."

 "Is Pulman gone?"

 "Anson and the lads already took him away. Ah, and here is our fearless
leader now."

 They waited by Cowley's car as he walked towards them, in company with a
police inspector.

 "All right, Inspector," Cowley said. "Thank you for your cooperation. You
may open the street again." 

 "Sir." The Inspector nodded at Cowley and returned to his men.

 Cowley turned to Bodie and Doyle. "We're done here."

 Doyle grimaced. "And Kammahmi just walks?"

 "Diplomatic immunity, Doyle, as you well know." 

 "We didn't need to break into his house, did we, sir? Marge supplied the
information on Pulman."

 "But we also needed solid evidence. A remarkable woman, your Margery
Harper. We might find her useful in other cases."

 "I doubt she'd agree, sir."

 Bodie grinned. "We'll just dangle you in front of her, sunshine, and
she'll fall in line."

 Doyle glanced at him, but turned back to Cowley, eyes narrowed. "Even if
you'd made the connection with Pulman earlier, you'd still have sent us
in, wouldn't you?" 

 "I needed someone on the inside."

 "You showed up very quickly when the alarm sounded."

 "I was in the neighbourhood, yes."

 Bodie's eyes widened. "Wait a minute...you *expected* us to get caught,
didn't you?"

 "As you pointed out, this was a job for an experienced catman." His
glance flickered from Bodie to Doyle and back. "Sloppy, the pair of you.
But it did the trick."

 "Drawing out the opposition," Doyle said. "It would have been nice if
you'd shared that with us. Sir."

 "You might have guessed it. I'll see you two back at HQ." He headed for
the rear door of his car.

 "Yes, sir." Bodie sighed. It would be a long night, on top of a long day.
Was it only that morning he'd been in Danielle's bed?

 Cowley paused by the car door. "As I recall, you two were promised a day
off."

 They looked at him, but said nothing.

 "Very well. Turn in your reports tonight and you may have the next two
days." He hesitated a moment. "It was a job well done, lads. Report bright
and early Tuesday morning."

 "Yes, sir." Bodie spoke for both of them. They stepped aside as Cowley's
car left the scene. Bodie rubbed his hands together. "Two days."

 "After we turn in our reports." Doyle walked along the pavement to where
they'd left Bodie's car.

 "Just for once I'd like to have dessert first."

 "You do. Often. Anyway, sooner started, sooner finished."

 "Yes, but we'll be at HQ. Who knows what crisis might happen."

 Doyle laughed. "We'll be out on our feet if it does. Come on, let's get
it over with."

 They arrived back at HQ to find the building nearly deserted, with only
the regular night crew left. Presumably, Pulman was in a waiting cell, or
perhaps Cowley was already questioning him. The old man wasn't in his
office when they dropped off their reports, but Bodie doubted he'd gone
home. Bodie eyed Doyle's report as he placed his own on top.

 "I would have expected more from you, Doyle."

 Doyle glanced at him as they turned to leave Cowley's office. "I know I'm
going to regret this. In what way?"

 "Your report. Flimsy, it seemed to me."

 "You didn't read it."

 "I'm certain Cowley wanted a full report on Margery Harper and her
potential usefulness for CI5."

 Doyle rolled his eyes. "She pegged you right, that's for certain."

 Bodie grinned. "A lout?"

 "With shifty eyes."

 They headed for the stairs leading to the car park. "I don't know; I seem
to have the advantage here. You attract the old ones, I attract...."

 "Russian defectors' daughters?" 

 He hurried down the stairs behind Doyle. "Beautiful Russian defectors'
daughters."

 "With questionable intelligence and taste. You can't fault Marge there."

 "She's old enough to be your mother, Doyle."

 Doyle laughed. "She is not. You ought to be careful, mate, what are you
going to do when you turn fifty?"

 "Shoot myself." 

 They reached the bottom of the stairs and exited the building into the
car park. Bodie took in a breath of cool air, stretching to relieve aching
muscles in his neck. He was exhausted, yet it was as if the exhaustion was
on the other side of a partition. He was still jumpy from the op, from the
whole day and its various disasters. They'd been in a gunfight, they'd
nearly triggered a bomb in the car, and they'd been captured after
breaking into two homes. He should go to bed, but he knew he wouldn't
sleep like this. He needed to get the op out of his system. He
needed...well, Danielle was out. And he didn't want her. He wanted Doyle.
He wanted what they'd had before--if he could just get past whatever the
obstruction was. Bodie frowned. 

 Doyle was already at his car, which they'd picked up when they'd gone
home to get their gear for the op. If he was going to try again, he had to
make it quick.

 "Ray."

 Doyle glanced back at him, then turned around, the light from the street
lamp falling across his face. He looked wary. 

 Bodie hesitated, feeling an awkwardness that he hadn't felt in years.
"Come back to my place."

 Doyle's expression didn't change. "Spend the night?"

 Bodie looked down for a moment. "Yeah. What's left of it. Why not?"

 "Danielle has an early flight, does she?"

 "I don't know. Doyle--"

 Doyle shook his head. "We're both too tired--and you're not talking about
sleep, are you." A strange smile twisted Doyle's mouth. "Another time,
eh?" He turned back towards the car door.

 Bodie grabbed his arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

 Doyle shook him off. He didn't say anything, just watched Bodie, as if he
were an adversary.

 "Do you think I'm going to keep asking?"

 Doyle's face was unreadable. "No."

 The word sliced into him--the obvious dismissal, of him, of the sex.
"Then stop the games. Do you think I didn't see your act on the obbo, or
at Cowley's?"

 Doyle's eyes narrowed. "Did you?"

 "No wonder Marge was all over you like a bitch in heat, the way you were
behaving--"

 "Leave her out of this."

 "Why don't you just get laid, Doyle? Do us all a favour."

 "At least Marge has guts enough to go after what she wants."

 "Guts or stupidity?"

 Doyle looked at him. "Putting yourself out there on the slimmest of
hopes? Both." He looked Bodie up and down. "But it's fuck-all better than
hiding." He opened the car door and climbed in. 

 Bodie stopped the door from closing. "Wait."

 Doyle started the car, then looked at Bodie, hard-eyed. "If you want me,
you know where to find me." He accelerated, pulling the car door closed at
the same time.

 Bodie watched the Escort until it disappeared, his fist clenched.

 ******

The sky was showing the first traces of dawn when Bodie pulled into a
parking space across from Doyle's flat. There were no lights on in the
flat, but he was certain Doyle was home. He hoped he was alone. He'd look
a right prat if he wasn't. His hand tightened on the wheel. It didn't
matter. It would serve Doyle right, anyway.

 For a moment, Bodie imagined the scene, and felt a smile tugging at his
mouth. A fight would go a long way towards settling him down. But he
reckoned Doyle was alone--possibly even waiting for him. There was no
putting off the confrontation.

 *If you want me, you know where to find me.*

 Well, here he was. And he wished to God he'd had more than a couple
hours' sleep. He'd gone home, determined to put Doyle out of his mind, to
chalk it up to exhaustion and a day with too many near-misses. Doyle was a
fine one to talk about hiding. *He* was the one who'd been evasive; the
one to play hot and cold games; the one to just suddenly stop everything.
And Marge had made a fool of herself over Doyle, made herself the butt of
jokes--*that's* what Doyle admired?

 *Putting yourself out there on the slimmest of hopes*. Yeah, well, that's
exactly what he, Bodie, had been doing. He was the one who'd kept at it,
kept asking, kept being rejected. Doyle could take his bloody mind games
and fuck off. *With* Marge Harper.

 He'd expected to sleep soundly, but his dreams had made him restless and
edgy. They'd been filled with a suffocating sense of impending disaster.
He'd finally jerked awake, heart hammering, hearing Doyle's voice in his
head.

 Christ. In the car, Bodie closed his eyes, still able to feel the panic
he'd felt when he'd first awakened. *Thanks*. It was Doyle's voice at the
shoot-out, after his gun had jammed and he'd faced the sniper they were
chasing. Bodie had killed the gunman, and watched as Doyle slid down to
the ground. Reprieve could be as devastating as the realisation of certain
death. It had been easy enough to guess what had happened, and he'd felt
the same sick lurch in his stomach that Doyle must have felt.

 *You okay? You get a stoppage? It's always happening with these weapons!
They're supposed to be reliable--

 Hey. Thanks.*

 Doyle had looked at him as he spoke, without fear or hiding. Bodie had
been the one to drop his gaze, unprepared for what he'd seen in Doyle's
eyes.

 Friendship and sex and...love. It never worked; it was better to keep
them separate, better to keep love out of it. He remembered the first
night they'd had sex. There hadn't been anything unusual about the day, no
tension between them. They'd been unexpectedly freed from an op gone sour
and had settled on takeaway, beer, and a game on the box. An argument
about Arsenal's chances had led to wrestling, and Doyle had managed to pin
him. Looking up into that triumphant face, Bodie had tried a surprise
tactic--but Doyle had returned the kiss. Glorious possibilities had rushed
into Bodie's head, drowning any thought of caution. He'd rolled, taking
Doyle with him, suddenly desperate to reach Doyle's skin. Doyle had been
just as desperate--his fingers and teeth leaving bruises. They'd never
made it to the bedroom.

 After that, when they were between birds, or high on an op and dangerous
with it, or whatever the reason, they'd sought each other out. It had been
good, uncomplicated: friendship and sex--until Doyle had stopped coming
round.

 *Stay*. Doyle had asked it of him that last night--at his place. He'd
asked Bodie to stay the night--stay for breakfast, stay through the cold,
clear light of day. Bodie had left, and gone to Danielle's. 

 The sun crested the horizon, spreading light with incredible swiftness
across London. Bodie climbed out of the car and walked to Doyle's flat.
He'd be damned if he let Doyle best him in anything. 

 It took four rings on the buzzer before Doyle snarled a greeting.

 "It's me."

 There was silence on the other end of the intercom, and Bodie found a
smile for that, imagining the look that must be accompanying it. The latch
buzzer sounded, and Bodie pushed his way inside the block. Doyle's door
was open when he arrived at the flat. He walked in, closed the door, and
saw Doyle leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. He was
dressed in jeans, but his chest and feet were bare, and he watched Bodie,
saying nothing.

 Bodie licked his lips. "It's our day off."

 No reaction from Doyle.

 "I want to stay. Today. Tonight. Breakfast through dinner and round
again." He held his breath, muscles braced.

 "Passing fancy."

 "No. I'll come back tomorrow, if it suits you better. Or our next day
off."

 Doyle's eyes flickered, but his expression remained unchanged.

 "I'll make a bloody appointment, if that's what you want."

 Doyle looked down.

 "What the fuck do you want, then?"

 Doyle raised his head. "Acknowledgement." His gaze was steady and direct.

 *But it's fuck-all better than hiding*.

 "I've always--"

 "No. You haven't."

 And the image rose before his mind's eye: on obbo duty after the second
time they'd had sex. Doyle had handed him the thermos, with a smile and a
brush of his fingers along Bodie's hand. It looked casual--innocent--but
Doyle's eyes were anything but. They'd been filled with mischief,
recklessness--and something else. Bodie had been too aware of Murphy
behind them; too aware of the danger that Doyle was courting. He'd turned
away. The sex had lasted five months after that, but he'd never seen that
look in Doyle's eyes again. Until he'd caught a glimpse of it in that
unguarded moment on the rooftop.

 "You want to hold hands in the rest room, do you?"

 Doyle took in a breath. "Maybe."

 Bodie couldn't stop his grin. "I'm mad enough to do it, you know."

 An answering smile quirked Doyle's lips for a moment. "Not in the rest
room, then."

 "Those are your terms?"

 "I won't be convenient."

 "You never are." He took in a breath. "That...acknowledgement...goes both
ways."

 Doyle nodded.

 "And I've terms of my own."

 He watched the wary look return to Doyle's face and was glad of it. "Go
on."

 "Did you ever ask yourself why I...hid, if you want to call it that?"

 Doyle frowned. "Shame?"

 Bodie raised his eyebrows.

 "Disinterest." 

 "You're not that modest."

 "Not that certain," Doyle returned swiftly.

 "That makes two of us."

 Doyle straightened and took a step towards Bodie, but stopped as Bodie
moved away. "You seemed certain of your welcome when you came in."

 Bodie shook his head. "Hope." And with a slight smile, he let the words
escape: "A little desperation."

 Doyle frowned. "You know I--"

 "My terms, Doyle."

 "What, then?"

 "Everything. I want a real go. Not casual, not convenient--deliberate.
You and me."

 "What the-- Bloody hell." Doyle scowled. "Why all the evasion, then?"

 "Maybe I haven't got Marge's courage."

 Doyle stalked to him. "You have." He looked intently at Bodie, as if
seeking to see inside him. "What do *you* want?" Bodie saw the tension in
him, and heard it in his voice.

 "I could have lived with it as it was." Bodie reached out to rub his
fingers along Doyle's cheekbone. "But you can't. And I can't meet your
terms unless it's real--everything--no holds barred."

 Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, leaning in to Bodie's touch. "Are we
mad?"

 "The slimmest of hopes."

 "We live on that every day." Doyle's eyes met his. "Like faith that your
partner will come in time."

 Bodie looked at him, seeing more than skin and bone, more than the allure
that had held him all these years. He was disaster and deliverance all in
one; death and life. Was it any wonder Bodie had hidden from him? Hidden
from himself? He read a similar fear behind the determination on Doyle's
face. It was deadly, what Doyle wanted from him; what he wanted from
Doyle. They'd need courage indeed, and they still might fail. But it was
worth the risk. There was no other man he'd concede it to.

 "We've never made love in the sunlight." He whispered the words.

 Slowly Doyle smiled, and took him by the hand. He led him to his bedroom,
where the light flooded the room, where there would be no chance of
hiding. 

 At the bed, Doyle briefly met Bodie's eyes before turning away.
Astonished, Bodie recognised the nervousness. He could see it in the tense
line of Doyle's back. His own nerves calmed in the face of his partner's
need. He placed his hand on Doyle's shoulder and gently brought it down
along his side, stepping closer as he did so. Doyle turned to face him.
Bodie kissed him deeply but without urgency, relishing the touch of
Doyle's hands on him as they worked their way under his jumper. He stepped
back, and raised his arms, allowing Doyle to remove the jumper. He undid
his zip and slid off his trousers and pants, straightening again to stand
before Doyle. No barriers. He saw Doyle swallow, and he smiled.

 "Last chance."

 Doyle took off his jeans. And when he raised his head, Bodie caught his
breath: there was mischief, recklessness, and love in his eyes. Bodie went
to him.

 "*Were* you trying to drive me mad on the obbo with Anson?"

 Doyle smiled. "Maybe."

 Bodie's hands closed on his shoulders. "It worked."

 "That's fortunate, given that it's mutual." Doyle kissed him. "And you
weren't even trying, you bastard. Don't know what Anson must've thought."

 "I don't care." He urged Doyle onto the bed, and they met in the centre,
face to face, Bodie straddling Doyle's legs. He pulled Doyle towards him,
but met resistance.

 "Love and friendship don't mix?"

 Bodie sighed. "You're going to hold that over me for years to come,
aren't you?"

 "Nah." Doyle leaned forward. "I'm going to make you live it." Their
mouths met.

 The warmth of the newborn sun fell across Bodie's back, but it was
nothing to the warmth he found in Doyle's arms. It was Sunday morning.
They were alive and together, and at peace.

 -- THE END --

 *March 2007*

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