AUTHOR'S NOTE: Episode order and air dates are a little problematical with Pros. I've chosen to refer to episodes by order of air date, with each year corresponding to the appropriate year in the story. The exception is that I've placed "Foxhole on the Roof" and "Operation Susie" in 1981. The episode right before "Foxhole on the Roof", "It's Only a Beautiful Picture", aired on 27.12.80, while "Foxhole" aired on 07.11.82. Facing that gap in the sequence, I opted to place two episodes in 1981. The episode following "Operation Susie", "You'll Be All Right", aired on 21.11.82. I've kept that, and subsequent episodes, in the year that they were first transmitted.

---

19 December 1975

"Bastard." Bodie sounded the horn yet again, ignoring the glares of passing motorists and walkers. Eight minutes had already gone by--they'd be lucky to make it to the briefing on time. His plans for grabbing a bite to eat were ruined. All Doyle's fault. That was becoming a familiar refrain, wasn't it? Bloody aggravating sod--he was doing it on purpose.

Swearing under his breath, Bodie climbed out of the car and walked to the entrance of the building. As luck would have it, a blonde pushed open the door just as he reached it. He nipped inside with a smile and a grateful, "Ta, love."

He'd kill Doyle, that's what he'd do. Justifiable manslaughter. Four months as partners--enough to satisfy any court of law that he'd done his best.

Bodie started up the dimly lit stairs, the building silent except for his footsteps. Doyle was arrogant, closed-minded, judgmental, argumentative--Cowley had been mad to team them in the first place. He rounded a corner and started up the next flight. Doyle was adequate at the job, he'd grant him that. Sometimes. But no one could work with Doyle, not long term. It'd be like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.

He continued up a third flight, only then noticing the pine needles on the stairs--nearly blanketing the steps, in fact. Some idiot had been overly enthusiastic. Who'd try to lug a real tree up all these flights of stairs?

Yesterday's disaster only proved his point about Doyle, didn't it? As clearly as he knew how, he'd signalled Doyle to follow Grainger while he took Garrick. It was sheer luck they hadn't lost them like they'd lost Duggan. Which was another sore point. And if he had to listen, yet again, to Doyle's theory that Duggan was still in London, he'd commit GBH. Half the Squad would cheer him on, too.

He followed the trail of needles up the fourth flight. Probably nothing left of the tree to put up. Blind optimism--nearly as bad as Doyle's idealistic intensity.

He exited the stairwell at Doyle's floor, noting that there were no needles in Doyle's corridor. Probably wouldn't survive one glare. Bodie looked around, and located Doyle's flat number. It seemed a cheerless sort of place, all told. He pounded on the door.

"What?" The voice on the other side of the door sounded harassed. Domestic difficulties? Was that why he was late? Bodie started to smile.

"Come out, petal, it's me."

"Bugger off!"

"Don't be like that, Ray, I've been waiting forever for you! Sweetheart." The door next to Doyle's opened and a middle-aged woman emerged. Bodie gave her his most charming smile. She pursed her lips and walked quickly to the stair door. Bodie pounded on Doyle's door again. "We'll be late for Father."

He heard the unmistakable sound of swearing from behind the door but, sadly, no other voice. A moment later Doyle's door opened. Bodie caught nothing more than a glimpse of a hallway inside the flat before the door was slammed behind Doyle as he pushed his way past Bodie. He was pulling on a plaid jacket over his shoulder holster.

"All set, petal?" Bodie asked brightly, following him to the stair door. Doyle shot him a look but didn't answer, instead hurrying down the stairs. Bodie followed more sedately. No sense of humour, that was the worst of Doyle's many faults.

He caught up with Doyle at the front door. "What were you doing up there, anyway?"

"Nothing."

Bodie unlocked the car door and reached across to let Doyle in to the passenger seat. "Well, next time, mate, I'm leaving without you. Got that?"

Doyle looked at him. "If you hadn't smashed my car you wouldn't have to pick me up, would you?"

Bodie gripped the steering wheel as if it were Doyle's neck.

"And, anyway, I don't know what you're griping about. Way you drive we'll be early for the briefing."

Bodie started the engine.

"If you don't get into another smash-up along the way."

"It'll be your side, if I do."

Doyle smiled. "Never doubted it for a moment, mate."

Watching for a break in the traffic, Bodie started to pull out from the kerb.

"Oi. Hold on."

Bodie applied the brakes. "What?"

But Doyle was already climbing out of the car, hurrying to meet a leggy brunette walking towards them. Bodie watched as they talked. He ought to leave the little sod to make his own way to HQ. Cowley wouldn't care that it was Doyle's fault they were late. That was just one of the manifest ills of working in two-man teams. And if Doyle was arranging for a date...or, hold on, maybe it was a more straightforward, less strait-laced transaction. He studied the girl, from stiletto heels to overly made-up face. Nice body, and it looked like she used it. But she was probably a grass; Doyle was boringly predictable. He sighed, regretfully giving up on the idea of scandal.

He couldn't resign, not for another eight months. And he wouldn't go to Cowley asking for a re-teaming--that was admitting far too much. No, he reckoned he could survive another eight months. He doubted Doyle could, though--wouldn't be surprised at all to find he'd already been after Cowley for a new partner. That suited him. He might actually stay in CI5 without Doyle bloodying his side. He wanted to stick it, wanted to stay put for once. Working solo. Not having some bloody ex-copper questioning every bloody decision he ever made.

Doyle slid back into the car. "Got it."

Bodie occupied himself with slipping the car into a minuscule space in the traffic flow. He wasn't playing twenty questions.

"Larry Duggan's location." Doyle's voice was rich with satisfaction.

"You're dreaming. From her?"

Doyle turned to look at him. "Yeah, from her. She's reliable."

"She's a hooker."

"And she knows Larry Duggan."

"And apparently your address." Bodie changed down to pass a slower car.

"We had to meet somewhere."

"Breach of security. Well, that's one way to get out of a lousy building."

"Turn left at the roundabout."

"We're already going to be late for the briefing."

Doyle hit the car door. "Then stop the car and I'll get out! Look, I'm not letting Duggan get away again! You can do whatever the fuck you like!"

"You're the one always wanting to call in everything. Going on your own now?"

A long silence followed. Bodie stole a quick look at Doyle and saw the clenched fists. But Doyle's voice was under control when he spoke. "You want Duggan as much as I do. We lost him, we'll get him. Are you in?"

No accusation, just a question. Bodie thought about it. "Yeah. I'm in."

Following Doyle's directions, Bodie manoeuvred through the traffic. If they pulled this off, they might survive Cowley's displeasure at missing the briefing. And they'd get Duggan off the streets before he set any more bombs. Before they had to hear any more from the older Squad members about how he and Doyle had let Duggan slip through their hands.

"Here, pull over."

Smoothly, Bodie brought the car to a stop by the kerb. "What is it?"

"Duggan." Doyle opened the door.

Bodie allowed himself a tight smile. "I'll call it in, then follow you with the car."

Doyle looked at him, fleeting surprise in his eyes. He nodded and eased out, blending quickly into the flow of pedestrians.

No, they wouldn't let the nutter get away this time. Cowley's words on the subject of botched operations, and failing to call in backup, still rankled.

It was impossible to follow Doyle closely, but they had a system worked out so Doyle would always know where the car was, in case a suspect took to a vehicle himself. After about ten minutes, Bodie's r/t signalled.

"Duggan's gone up into a block of flats."

"Right." Bodie circled to the back of the building, calling in their location on a different frequency to HQ.

"He's out again. On foot. Carrying a satchel."

"Same pattern." Bodie acknowledged HQ's notification that a team was on its way to the flat, and reported that they were following Duggan again. A satchel could easily hide a bomb, or bomb-making materials. Their information suggested the start of another holiday bombing campaign, with Duggan's name looming large.

Just over twenty minutes later, on a sweep past Doyle's position, Bodie saw that his partner was being followed by a man in a dark blue windcheater. He sent a single beep over the r/t, receiving nothing in return. Most likely, Doyle couldn't risk communication, although there was a slim chance he hadn't heard the beep.

Checking his rear view mirror, he saw Doyle turn into a side street. Bodie circled around, parked illegally, and set off on Doyle's trail. No sign of Doyle, or the man following him, on the side street. Bodie jogged down the street, briefly scanning branching streets and alleys, seeing nothing. But he caught a glimpse of dark blue, disappearing into an alleyway, halfway down another street. Bodie broke into a run.

Doyle was in the narrow alleyway, fighting with two men armed with knives. As Bodie approached, one man went down under Doyle's kick, but the other swerved and grabbed Doyle from behind, bearing him down. Bodie launched himself at him, wrenching the man's arm away from Doyle, and slamming it against the wall. The knife clattered as it struck cobblestone, and another blow put the man out of action for the duration.

Bodie turned back towards Doyle and found him already handcuffing the man in the blue windcheater to a street lamp. Dragging his man over to the lamp post, Bodie secured him as well. "Where'd the second man come from?"

"Door over there." Doyle hesitated a moment. "I heard the beep, so I was ready for the one bloke. Then this one jumped out." Another pause, while Doyle glanced away, then back at Bodie. "Thanks."

"You all right?" Bodie cast a quick look over him.

"Yeah. Duggan went in there." Doyle indicated the green door, recessed into the wall. It looked to be a private house.

"Let's go in, then."

"Ah." Doyle tilted his head to look at Bodie, eyes questioning.

Bodie met his gaze, then sighed. "I'll call it in." He pulled out his r/t while Doyle turned to test the door. Retrieving a small kit from his jacket pocket, Doyle set to work on the lock.

Bodie quickly finished his report, checked their prisoners one last time, and joined Doyle at the door. He leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Duggan's an explosives expert, are you sure you want to be doing that?"

Doyle shot him a filthy look, and pushed him away a little. Bodie grinned.

Within a minute the door was open. They drew their guns and entered silently, straining to hear any sound of movement within. They were in a small kitchen with a closed door to their left and another to their right. Bodie glanced at Doyle, then went to the left-hand door. Opening it, he found a walk-in larder. He joined Doyle at the right-hand door and they went through it in perfect formation, finding themselves in a hallway with more doors and a stairway to the left. They checked each of the rooms as quickly and as quietly as possible, finding nothing. Sweat beaded Bodie's neck at the continuing silence, as each room revealed only emptiness.

A minute creak sounded behind him, from the stairs. Bodie dove and whirled at the same time, knowing it was too late. Two shots rang out, and a bullet splintered the woodwork where his head had been. Then a body tumbled down the stairs, ending on the landing with its face up, blood welling from its chest. It wasn't Duggan. Bodie's pulse pounded in his throat. His eyes met Doyle's.

Doyle moved to the bottom of the stairs, covering, while Bodie started up them. All right, no question Doyle was good--would guard his back, as he guarded Doyle's. Still no reason to get carried away into permanency, was there?

There were three doors on the landing at the top of the stairs, all closed. Doyle came up alongside him, signalling him to go slowly with the door. Bodie rolled his eyes but nodded. He wasn't that much of a fool. He moved to the centre door and carefully eased it open.

Doyle saw it first. "Wire!"

Bodie jumped back and to the left, pulling Doyle just as Doyle pushed into him, sweeping them into a small space to the far side of the left-hand door. The centre door exploded out over the landing and the stairs, the noise blasting through them, pieces of wood and plaster falling on them and on the stairs.

Bodie instinctively tightened his grip on Doyle, pulling him close in a vain attempt to shield them both from the debris, pressing back as hard as he could into the wall. His face was buried in Doyle's hair, his arms wrapped around him, heart pounding sickeningly.

The roar died away, the silence that followed broken only by the final settling of pieces of wood. Bodie opened his eyes, still pressed tightly to Doyle. The first sight that greeted him was a pine needle, woven through a curl in Doyle's hair. He stared at it, fascinated.

Doyle spoke, his voice slicing through the ringing in Bodie's ears, mouth pressed close. "Cowley is going to kill us if Duggan's blown himself up."

Bodie started to shake. Doyle pulled away, and Bodie looked at him, seeing an echo of his own laughter flare in Doyle's eyes, the same gleam of an adrenaline high. His lips curved up, and Doyle's smile matched his.

A moment, and then Doyle gestured towards the remains of the centre door, and down the stairs to the body lying there. Bodie nodded, moving into position, his grip firm on his Walther. Doyle took a breath. "Bodie!" He plunged down the stairs, heedless of debris, crouching over the body at the bottom of the stairs.

Bodie waited. One, two, three seconds, and he saw the tip of a gun edge past the broken frame of the centre door, then a hand, followed by an arm. When Duggan's dark head appeared, Bodie lovingly placed the muzzle of his gun against it. Duggan froze.

"Boom. You blew it, Duggan."

From below he heard Doyle's groan and he grinned.

"Put the safety on," he ordered Duggan. "Carefully. Good lad. Now drop the gun." Duggan complied.

Doyle came up the stairs, two at a time. "Fancy meeting you here." With a flourish, he pulled out a second pair of handcuffs and secured Duggan. Doyle slanted a smile at Bodie.

Bodie rolled his eyes. "Yeah, all right. How long have you been waiting to spring the second pair on me?"

"Two months." Doyle's sedate voice was belied by the gleam in his eyes.

Bodie shook his head, suppressing a smile. He gestured for Doyle to precede him into the room Duggan had been hiding in.

They briefly searched the room, and the other two, then escorted Duggan down the stairs to the hallway. While Doyle made sure Duggan was secure, Bodie called in a report to HQ.

"Backup should've been here by now." Doyle began a routine search of Duggan.

"HQ said Farley and Burke are on their way."

"Oh, terrific. Ah, what have we here?" He stood, reading a paper from Duggan's pocket.

Bodie joined him, peering over his shoulder. "Looks like a list of targets."

"With names. Cowley will be pleased."

Bodie looked at Duggan, who was glaring at them. "Yeah. He might even let us play with Larry here, don't you think?"

"Oh yeah." Doyle turned his head. "Sirens."

"About time." Bodie started for the door, then impulsively reached out to ruffle Doyle's hair. He caught sight once again of the pine needle. Gently, he extracted it and held it up for Doyle's inspection.

"What's this, then? Surely not evidence of Christmas cheer?"

Doyle gazed at him, wide-eyed. "Well-known aphrodisiac, didn't you know that?" He passed Bodie, walking into the kitchen to peer out the door to the alley.

"Never needed one, did I?" Bodie joined him, staying by the door to the hallway to keep an eye on Duggan.

Doyle looked at him appraisingly. "Ah, never tried it, then."

"Of course not. Why should I?"

"No reason. It's not for the faint of...heart."

"I'll try anything you try."

Doyle smiled. "I shall keep that in mind. Petal."

They were interrupted by the arrival of Farley and Burke. The two senior agents looked around as they entered the kitchen.

"Need cooking lessons, children?" Burke deserved his name.

Bodie smiled without humour. "Already taken care of." He beckoned them into the hallway.

"Well, well, well." Bodie caught Doyle's eye at the imperfectly hidden astonishment in Burke's voice. Burke sauntered towards Duggan. "It was nice of you lads to give us an early Christmas pressie. I shall enjoy interrogating this one."

Beside him, Doyle stirred, but Bodie touched him lightly on the shoulder, before speaking to Burke. "That's for Cowley to decide of course."

"Of course." Burke nodded, exchanging a look with his partner.

"And, as I remember, you were certain that Duggan had left London. Was on his way to Birmingham, you said. Quite strongly, too."

"That was my information. He must've come back." Burke had lost his smile.

"Stupid was the word he used, wasn't it, Ray?"

"Yeah."

"That's right. You said my partner was 'stupid' to think that Duggan was still in London."

"Bodie--"

"Who's stupid now, Burke? Eh?"

Another voice joined them. "Yes, indeed, who is?" Cowley limped into the hallway, looking around him with grim satisfaction. "Have you searched the premises yet?"

"Not completely, sir." Doyle handed the sheet of paper to Cowley. "But we found this on Duggan."

"Ah." He read over the list quickly. "Well done, both of you. Burke, Farley, you stay and search the house. Report anything you find to me, immediately. Doyle, Bodie, you'll return to HQ with me. You have a meeting to catch up with. Bring Duggan with you."

"Yes, sir."

"But, sir...." Burke faltered under Cowley's stare. "Duggan was our case. Sir."

"Then you should thank Bodie and Doyle for finishing it for you." He looked around. "I'll leave you to clean up here. Don't forget the gentlemen in the alley."

"Yes, sir." Burke turned towards the stairs, while Farley spoke into his r/t, ordering a forensic team and an ambulance.

Bodie exchanged a smirk with Doyle. They collected Duggan, escorting him out of the house and down the alley and street to the car. Cowley went ahead to his own car.

Doyle nudged Bodie. "You didn't believe Duggan was in London, either, you berk."

Bodie looked at him, wounded. "Of course I did. I always believe you."

Doyle grinned. "Liar."

They reached the car, and Bodie plucked a ticket off the windscreen, sighing, playing to Doyle's sniggering. They bundled Duggan into the back seat. Doyle moved to join Duggan, but Bodie stopped him with a touch on his arm.

"I do learn, Doyle."

Doyle studied him for a moment, and something seemed to relax in his face. "Yeah. Well. So do I."

Slowly, Bodie smiled. Maybe permanency had a role, after all. He gestured towards the back seat. "Well, go on then, son. We haven't got all day."

"Oi, who're you calling 'son'? Show some proper respect towards your elders." Doyle climbed into the back seat.

Bodie took his place in the driver's seat, and started the car. "That's why you need the pine needles, eh? Greybeard."

Silence from the back seat. And then Duggan spoke up for the first time. "Pine needles?"

"Shut up," Doyle said.

---

20 December 1976

"C'mon, Ray." Bodie pressed the buzzer a second time, keeping his thumb on it with Doylean dedication. That should do the trick.

"What the hell do you want?" Doyle's snarl was undiminished by the speaker.

"It's me."

"Of course it's you, who the fuck else would it be?" A pause, and then: "It's not work?"

Bodie grinned at the suspicion in Doyle's voice. They'd been on rotating twelves for a surveillance job for five nights. Tonight they were off, although there was always the possibility of being called in.

"No. Are you going to let me in?"

An eloquent sigh came through the speaker. "Yeah, all right. Push."

Bodie entered the building, hurrying down the hallway to Doyle's flat. He had it all lined up--two willing birds, him, and Doyle; they'd never tried doubling before. The only question was getting Doyle to go along with it. Stroppy bugger could decide either way. He'd given up predicting Doyle's behaviour, outside the job.

The door was open when he arrived at Doyle's flat, although there was no sign of Doyle. Closing the door and setting the locks, Bodie headed for Doyle's living room--only to be brought to a stop one step into the room.

"I don't believe it."

Doyle looked up from his task, sighing. "Go on, then. Get it out of your system."

Bodie walked slowly forward, admiring the large, full, unadorned Christmas tree that dominated the living room. Breathing deeply of the piney scent, Bodie walked all the way around the tree, stepping neatly over the fairy lights that Doyle was attempting to untangle. "Who're you trying to impress, then?" He glanced at Doyle, taking in the faded and patched jeans and the T-shirt that had bled in the wash.

"You, of course."

Bodie shook his head pityingly. "I didn't realise it was that bad, mate."

"I know I'll regret this. What's that bad?"

"Your libido--or lack thereof. Still, this amount should see you through the year, shouldn't it?" He ran his hand along one of the branches, showering the floor with pine needles.

"Oi! Watch that!" Doyle sniffed. "It'll see me through the week, of course." He slanted a look towards Bodie.

"You'd die of exhaustion, my son."

"But well satisfied."

"There is that."

Bodie stepped away from the tree, eyeing it critically. "You do realise it's crooked?"

"Part of its charm."

"A bent Christmas tree?"

"Goes with the needles."

Bodie wandered back to where Doyle sat and watched the deft fingers at work. "Here, you're going about that all wrong."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. C'mon, shift over." Bodie removed his jacket, laying it over the sofa. He settled himself on the floor and started picking through the wires.

"Trained you about wires in the SAS, did they?"

"Naturally."

Doyle stood up. "Well, in that case, I'll leave you to it."

Hands full of wires, Bodie looked up. "I've been conned, haven't I?"

"If you will walk into it. Do you want a cuppa?"

"I'd rather have whisky."

"You would." Doyle walked over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a glass. "What brought you over, anyway?"

"Your sex life, of course."

"Of course." Doyle brought the glass to Bodie. "Wanted some lessons, did you? Is that why you're dressed like that?"

"Nah. Concern for your well-being, my son. Cheers." He drank a liberal amount of the whisky.

Doyle sat next to a box by the tree, and began unwrapping ornaments. "And what is it you have on your tiny mind?"

Bodie grinned. "A double-date. Tonight."

Doyle lifted his eyes to Bodie's face. "You and Barbara?"

"And you and...a beautiful girl named Diana." Bodie winked.

Doyle looked unenthusiastic.

"C'mon, Ray, you'll love her."

"In case it's escaped your notice, I don't need you setting up dates for me."

"Who said anything about need, eh? Although you have been a bit moody recently, now that I think about it."

"Goodbye, Bodie."

"Oh, come on. Favour to a mate, Ray."

"What's wrong with her?"

"You're a suspicious little devil, aren't you?"

"I'm partnered with you."

"You'll have the time of your life, I promise you."

Doyle reached for another box of ornaments.

"All right, all right. If you must know, she's visiting Barbara for a week and Barbara doesn't want to leave her alone."

"So go out with Barbara next week."

"I'll pay for the entire evening. Meal, drinks, the works."

"That'd be a bit obvious to the poor girl, wouldn't it?"

Bodie injected pathos into his voice. "Doyle, please--it's been five nights. I need my unconjugal conjugals."

"Yeah, and how many days has it been?"

"Ahh.... Three." Bodie smiled.

Doyle shook his head. "I'll think about it."

"Ray--"

"You're supposed to be untangling lights, you know."

"Nearly done." Bodie gestured proudly to the neatly separated wires.

"And then you can put them on the tree."

"Of course."

"You are desperate." The faint beeping of an r/t brought Doyle to his feet. "Damn." He hurried out of the room.

"Tell them we're otherwise engaged!" Knowing how CI5 worked, Bodie placed the fairy lights on the floor and went in search of a flask. No sense in wasting the opportunity to drink surprisingly good scotch.

Doyle appeared a few minutes later, strapping on his shoulder holster. "We're on. Are you carrying?"

"Yeah. Where?"

Doyle grimaced. "Same as before. You're going to have to change, Beau. And what're you doing with that?" He pointed to the flask Bodie was filling.

"Just bringing some pre-Christmas cheer with us."

"Bodie--"

"For after the job. You remember how cold it was yesterday morning!"

"Add a bottle of scotch--excellent scotch--to the bribe, then." Doyle turned towards the kitchen.

Bodie sighed. "Where're you going?"

"Bringing a thermos of tea as well."

While Doyle was busy in the kitchen, Bodie rang Barbara to give her the bad news and to charm her into tentatively rescheduling for the following evening--Cowley and Doyle willing. After ringing off, he went out to his car and retrieved a bag with a change of clothes. Doyle would already fit in with their surroundings on the surveillance job--sloppy sod. Back in the flat, he quickly changed into worn trousers, a threadbare shirt and tattered jacket.

"Did she fall for your act?" Doyle's voice carried from the kitchen.

"What act? She knows I'll keep all of my promises."

"I do wonder where you find them, mate."

"Some of us don't have to go looking. Why're we on, anyway?"

"Burke didn't show. Rather than leave Anson on his own, the Cow called us in."

"Oh, joy. Where's Burke, then?"

"No one knows." Doyle came back into the room, carrying a thermos and a bag. He hefted the bag for Bodie to see. "Sandwiches."

"Good lad." Bodie slipped the flask into a pocket of his jacket. "Has the Cow sent Anson to find him?"

"I didn't ask. You can radio in, if you'd like." Doyle ushered Bodie out of the flat, locking up afterwards.

"No, thank you. I have a very well-developed sense of self-preservation."

"Wise lad. It's like begging for scraps from his table, isn't it? I still don't understand why he won't tell us what the surveillance job is all about!"

Bodie reached the outside door first, opened it, and gestured Doyle to precede him. "Yes, so you've said before. I want to know why we have to fill in for Burke."

Doyle walked around to the passenger side of Bodie's car. "We know the case."

"Yeah, but why put Burke on it in the first place?" Bodie unlocked the car door, climbed in and opened Doyle's door. "Should've left him in files if he's going to be this useless."

"He's been all right."

Bodie started the car, then moved out into traffic. "Since when are you so tolerant? You're usually the first to give someone a rocket."

"He just needs some time to adjust."

"Until when? One of us dies?"

Doyle glared at him. "He's a good agent."

Bodie shook his head. "You're singing a different tune."

"When has he screwed up?"

"He was slow at the Talbot op."

"That was miscommunication with Anson."

"Excuses."

"Yeah? And how long did it take you and me to start working well together? And we weren't adjusting to losing a partner."

"That's exactly the problem--his mind is on Farley and what he's going through. He keeps bringing his name up in the rest room, and on ops, as if...."

"As if--what? As if he's alive? You want him to act like Farley's dead?"

Bodie set his jaw. "He acts as if Farley's not off the Squad. He's paralysed. He won't be coming back."

"Burke knows that. You can't blame him for missing his partner."

"He's got a new partner."

"As easy as that, eh? Off with the old, on with the new."

"He's got a job to do, just like the rest of us."

"And it didn't affect you at all, did it? The way Farley was paralysed?"

Bodie shrugged. "Luck of the draw."

Doyle looked out the window. "Yeah. I'll remember that when it's my draw."

"It won't happen to you."

"Oh, and why's that?" Doyle glared at him.

"Because I'm better than Burke ever was. It won't happen to me, either."

Doyle gave a half-laugh and shook his head. "You're daft."

"No. I'm careful. Mind you, not much chance of any excitement on this job, is there?"

"Bloody surveillance. I wouldn't mind it so much if we just knew who the hell we were watching!"

A much safer topic--sometimes Bodie was grateful for Doyle's one-track mind. "Cowley knows."

"Yeah, fine, but what's the good of that? How can we judge the situation accurately if we don't know what it's about? It's insane."

"Do you want to tell him that?"

Doyle shook his head. "Isn't this where we came in?"

"You know that Cowley only tells us what he wants to tell us. So we do the job and he understands the big picture."

"And that doesn't bother you. Well, it wouldn't, would it? Just another job, isn't it?"

Bodie nodded. "That's right."

"Yes, sir, no, sir, absolutely no questions, sir."

"Better than brooding over it."

"I don't like surprises. I don't like not knowing what I'm getting involved in."

"And you waste energy on it."

"Oh yeah, now what was it you said to me? 'Stay cool'. There's a difference between cool and cold, you know."

"All right, how about this? 'Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence'."

Doyle turned to stare at him. "You can't be serious."

Bodie grinned.

Doyle slouched back into his seat. "And, anyway, all I want to know is what we're supposed to be doing on this job. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

Bodie snorted. "It's amazing you weren't drowned at birth."

Doyle's voice was flat. "You'll have to ask my mum about that."

Bodie's curiosity, already kindled where Doyle was concerned, flared anew. Well aware of certain facts about Doyle--he'd been with the Drugs Squad, he preferred strawberry ice cream, he liked classic cars and bikes, he detested vinegar on his chips--he didn't know why Doyle thought the way he did, or what had shaped him. Experience, however, had taught Bodie how and when to question him about the past, and now was not the time. Later, when Doyle was more relaxed, when he wasn't expecting an assault on his barriers, he'd try.

They arrived at the site of their current base for surveillance, parking two streets over. The building they were set up in was an abandoned hotel, now home to a diverse group of squatters. In general, the residents minded their own business. Bodie and Doyle made their way to the room CI5 was using, relieved the agents on duty, and settled in for another twelve hours of tedium.

Laura Smith lived in a two-room flat across the street, seeming to mind her own business as much as the squatters did. Each day, she left her flat at 0800, bought a copy of the Times, returned to her flat and read it. She ate breakfast, liked sugar in her tea, never rang anyone on the telephone, and rarely ventured from the flat later in the day, except for trips to buy food. She spent her time reading and watching the telly--Coronation Street was a favourite. By 2200 she was in bed, lights out. The routine was mind-numbingly boring, but carefully noted down by successive CI5 teams.

Bodie hated it. He hated every excruciating minute of it. The only thing that made it bearable was the knowledge that, because of Cowley's reticence, Doyle hated it even more. He'd discovered he had immense reserves of patience when Doyle could be baited. The only diversion for either of them was the game of who would break first. That, and talking.

Doyle liked to talk; he could go on at length about the job, CI5, or the state of the world as he saw it. But he rarely said anything to satisfy the curiosity that burned in Bodie. Over a year as partners and he still didn't understand Doyle, still knew little more about his past than a general background and tales of My Days as a Copper or My Days as an Art Student. That Doyle knew as little about him was a given, but Bodie was used to knowing more about others than they knew about him. It was aggravating that Doyle was the exception. And he had the uncomfortable suspicion that he'd said more to Doyle about his own past than he'd intended.

They took the watch in two-hour shifts, Doyle manning the binoculars first, Bodie writing down anything of interest. Their orders were to observe only, absolutely no contact with Laura Smith, and limited contact with HQ while they were on the job.

After the first changeover, Doyle dug out the sandwiches and they ate, as evening twilight gave way to darkness, the only illumination in the room coming from the street. Gradually, Bodie identified the elusive feeling that coiled through him: contentment. This, despite the impatience to be doing rather than observing. He traded stories with Doyle: Africa met by the streets of London. Doyle's voice was a part of the fabric of his life now. And he waited until the intimacy of darkness and shared food and memories gave him the opportunity to probe.

"I wouldn't have reckoned you for a Christmas tree man, Doyle."

"Oh?" Doyle took a noisy slurp of his tea.

"Well, doesn't exactly go with the image, does it? You weren't the cheeriest bloke last Christmas, as I remember."

"We were working last Christmas. It rained. And we were in it."

"I remember you nearly took my head off when all I did was wish you a happy Christmas."

"You were covered with mud at the time, dripping with it. And you were overly enthusiastic."

"The spirit of the season. That's just my point--you haven't got it. So why a tree?"

When there was no immediate answer, Bodie glanced towards Doyle, seeing only his outline in the half-light. He waited. It could go either way now.

"My mum promised me once that I'd always have a tree."

Bodie smiled to himself. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was eight at the time, and it'd been a rough year. My dad was out of work, drinking, and there wasn't much to look forward to at Christmas. Still, being a kid, I thought it'd work out, I mean it was Christmas time, wasn't it? The time of miracles? But each day went by and still no tree, still no talk of Christmas, just the same arguments and...well, it was all just the same. Christmas Eve came and I reckoned it was time to face facts. I can still remember looking out my bedroom window--rain was falling that Christmas too--and I knew there wouldn't be any Christmas for us the next morning."

Doyle fell silent and Bodie forced himself to wait. Doyle often responded best to silence.

Doyle poured more tea into his cup. "Want some?"

"No, thanks." He heard Doyle screwing the lid of the thermos back on and settling onto the mattress that was the only other piece of furniture in the flat, besides the chair.

"I had some money--not much, just a little that I'd managed to collect from doing odd jobs and that. I'd used it up on a couple of presents. Cheap stuff. Bought some perfume for my mum--well, I thought it was wonderful. For my dad I'd got a pen knife, to replace the one I'd broken. And I'd paid the grandmother of a friend of mine to mend Sally's doll. She thought she'd lost it. She loved the silly thing, even if it was falling to pieces. I wanted to surprise her."

"Sally?" Bodie held his breath.

"My sister. Younger sister."

"You never mentioned a sister before."

"She died when I was thirteen." Doyle shifted on the mattress. "Anyway, I thought that I could at least put the presents on the kitchen table. It'd be a surprise for them. So I got up early to do that, and I crept down to the kitchen."

"And you found a Christmas tree."

"Know the story, do you?"

"Your mum?"

"Yeah, my mum. It wasn't much of a tree, really, but it was there on the table. Fairy lights and everything. She scolded me for not believing."

"That's when she told you you'd always have one?"

"Yeah. It was the one thing she stood up to my dad about. You have to have a proper Christmas, she'd say."

"So now you keep up the tradition."

"I reckon that's one promise that'll be kept."

"You'll be off one of these years--can go spend Christmas with your mum."

Doyle gave a sharp laugh. "Not likely. I haven't seen her in over ten years. I don't get along with the bastard she married."

"Oh."

Doyle shrugged. "When my dad died, I thought she'd be free of it. But she got herself right back into the same kind of relationship. Her choice." He put his cup down and stood up. "You finished with the food?"

"Yeah." Bodie listened to the sounds of Doyle cleaning up their dinner. Stubborn idealism. Keeping to the letter of a promise that had been broken in substance long ago. Typical. "Doyle?"

"Yeah?"

"Did your sister like her doll?"

A moment's hesitation, then Doyle's quiet voice. "Yeah. She loved it."

Quiet settled upon them, easy and oddly secure. He'd always had the knack of not needing to talk, but it was rare to find it in another. Once, he'd thought Doyle incapable of it. A lot had changed in a year.

A while later, Doyle replaced him at the window and Bodie went out to relieve himself. Eight more hours to go. Coming back into the room, he stopped when he saw the expression on Doyle's face as he spoke into the r/t.

"Yeah. Thanks." Doyle closed the connection and glanced at Bodie, before returning his attention to Smith's flat.

"What?" If HQ had contacted them, it was serious.

"They found Burke."

"Where?"

"He was at Farley's place. Farley's dead."

"Christ. And Burke?"

"Coming off a monumental drunk. He's fine."

"Is he? What happened?"

"Suicide. The gist of it is, Farley invited Burke over, they got drunk, and Burke passed out. Farley then found Burke's gun and killed himself."

"They're certain?"

"They found a letter from Farley, explaining his intention."

"That poor bastard."

"Farley? Or Burke?"

"Both, I reckon."

"They're both fools, you mean." Doyle's voice was hard. "And there I was defending Burke to you tonight."

Bodie stayed silent, unwilling to discuss it.

"Suicide's not the answer. Farley still had his life, dammit."

"As what? An invalid? Maybe it wasn't enough."

"What do you mean?" Doyle turned towards him, eyes narrowed.

"Stay with the job."

"I am!" Doyle was back on the binoculars. "You reckon he's better off dead?"

Why hadn't he held his tongue? Bodie sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that I understand what Farley must've been feeling. To go from this to that. We aren't the sort for that kind of life, Doyle."

"So you fight it. Do what you can to beat it. You don't just throw it all away."

"Maybe he saw it as going out on his own terms."

"That's how you see it? That's the coward's way--refusing to play because of the cards you're dealt."

"It's knowing when to fold."

"Bollocks, you--" His voice broke off, and then changed in tone completely. "Something's happening over there. Get the camera."

Bodie brought it to him, taking over the binoculars while Doyle primed the camera. "A visitor, eh? Wonder who he is?"

"I wish he'd come into the light, he looks familiar." Doyle began clicking the camera, using the telephoto lens.

Bodie caught a good look at the visitor. "Bloody hell. That's Sherburne, isn't it? Home Sec's office?"

"Odd place for him to be, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes. They don't look very pleased to see each other, do they? Now who's this?" A car had pulled up to the kerb. Bodie watched as four men climbed out and hurried into Smith's building. "What's MI6 doing here? That's Willis!"

"What the fuck's going on?"

"Nothing good, you can count on that." They watched as Laura Smith opened the door to Willis, stepping back to allow entrance to him and his men. It was clear Sherburne was angry, gesturing from Smith to Willis. And then the men with Willis grabbed Sherburne as he lunged for the director of MI6, dragging him away and subduing him. Laura Smith stayed in the background, her body telegraphing tension. Willis spoke to her, she shook her head, then spoke urgently. He moved close to her, said something more, and he slapped her. She fell.

"Bastard." Doyle continued to shoot with the camera, his hands steady even if his voice wasn't.

"We can't interfere." Bodie warned him.

"I bloody well know that!"

Across the street, Smith pulled herself to her feet, nodded, and disappeared from view.

Bodie caught something out of the corner of his eye, and looked down towards the street. "Bloody hell."

"What?" Doyle followed Bodie's gaze. "Shit."

Bodie watched as four policemen entered their building. "Do you think--"

Doyle interrupted him. "It's a raid. They're going to clear out the building. Cowley won't thank us if we lose these pictures."

"Are they working with Willis?" Bodie dismantled the stand that held the binoculars, packing them both into a hold-all.

"Could be. It's routine enough, but the timing...best not to take any chance. It'd be too easy for this film to go astray. Assuming it's important." Doyle stuffed the camera and lens into the bag he'd brought the sandwiches in.

"Safe assumption."

They left the room, running down the hallway to the back stairs, hearing the echoes of police orders and angry protests. They reached the stairs and started down them, only to be brought up short after one flight, hearing voices and footsteps approaching from below. They exited into the hallway, moving quickly into a room at the end. It was empty. Bodie went across to the window. There was a drop, but it was manageable, and it wasn't onto the street. He opened the window and peered out. A copper stood below the window.

"Patrolling the perimeter," Doyle whispered into his ear. "He'll be covering both side and back. We'll have to time it right."

In the hallway, they heard voices and then pounding on doors. There wasn't time to wait.

"We can't stay here. They'll search the room." Doyle looked around, seeking inspiration.

"Unless they find what they're looking for."

Doyle eyed him. "What do you have in mind?"

Bodie was reaching for the flask of scotch in his pocket. "You, my son, are drunk." He poured some of the scotch over Doyle's shirt and jacket. "Open up."

"Dammit, that's good scotch. I--" Bodie poured the whisky into Doyle's mouth, and Doyle choked.

"Ssh. Here they come. Convince them they don't want to search this room."

Doyle glared poisonously at him, but he handed over the bag with the camera, his gun and ID, just as the police reached their room, demanding entrance. Bodie pressed against the wall behind the door as, with a flourish, Doyle flung open the door. Doyle greeted the coppers with drunken glee and staggered out of the room.

"What is it, Jack?" A voice further down the hall.

"Just a drunk--get off me, you bastard!" Bodie winced as Doyle was pushed hard against the wall. Then he held still as the copper took a step into the room. "Nothing else in there." The copper closed the door.

"Well, send him on down and get a move on. You know the orders."

"Yeah. C'mere, you." Bodie heard the voices retreating, Doyle's loud protestations fading as he was dragged away.

Bodie crossed to the window, noiselessly opened it, and waited until the policeman stationed below rounded the corner, out of sight. He slipped out through the window, lowering himself to the ground. He made his way quickly to where they had parked the car, dumping everything into the boot. Then he went back for Doyle.

The scene at the abandoned hotel was chaotic. Bodie eased his way through a gathering crowd of onlookers, searching for Doyle. He finally located him being escorted by a man in plain clothes who wasn't overly concerned for Doyle's comfort. Catching a flash of light on metal, Bodie saw that the man accompanying Doyle carried a gun. He wasn't a copper, then. Bodie followed as the man forced Doyle to a side street and to a car waiting there. As the man shoved Doyle into the back seat, Bodie approached from behind, taking the man out with an efficient blow, and catching the gun as it fell. Doyle slowly climbed out of the car, swearing under his breath. Bodie, seeing his difficulty, put a supportive arm around him, but was pushed off with a muttered grumble. They hurried away, taking a circuitous route to get back to their car. No one followed them.

Unlocking the car, Bodie's eyes ran quickly over Doyle. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Just a little friendly persuasion. That was one of Willis' men." Doyle climbed into the car.

"Did they recognise you?" Bodie started the engine.

"No, don't think so. Did you see what happened?"

Doyle's tone brought Bodie's head around. "No. What?"

"She killed herself."

"Christ." Bodie drove towards HQ. "Why?"

"They'd pulled me out of the building--put me with some of the others they had questions about. I reckon the police were working in conjunction with Willis. Without knowing anything about it, as usual."

Knowing how Doyle could go on about the way the security agencies wilfully kept the police in the dark, Bodie interrupted. "What happened?"

"I'm getting to that. They'd already brought Sherburne out, had him in a car and whisked away as quickly as possible. Willis was approaching us when Smith ran to him. 'What about my family?' she said. Willis just looked at her, and said: 'They're safe. You just keep co-operating.' And he walked away, towards us. She stared at him, and suddenly she had a gun in her hand, pointing at Willis. We all leapt towards her--Willis' men, me, the police. She smiled. And then she shot herself in the head. By the time I got to her, she was dead."

"Gave yourself away, didn't you? Not your typical drunk."

Doyle shrugged, and his voice turned flat. "Yeah, I gave myself away."

Reluctance to get into it made Bodie abrupt. "It was her choice."

"And who pushed her into it? Who was she?"

"Why do you need to know? Leave it, Ray. You're sure they didn't connect you with CI5?"

"No, no time. They were taking me away when you dropped by so opportunely."

"Don't mention it."

"No, I won't."

"Thanks, I mean."

"Luck of the draw, wasn't it?"

Bodie looked at Doyle, who gazed back at him. "Okay. But sometimes you stack the deck."

At HQ they reported in, turning over the film and equipment, and were told to wait until Cowley wanted them. They went to the rest room for food, tea, and gossip. Several members of the Squad were there, the result of multiple ongoing ops. No one mentioned Farley or Burke.

A little over an hour later, Cowley summoned them to his office. He was clearly pleased with the photos, and with their account. As a result, they were given the next two days off.

Escaping towards the door, Bodie was dismayed to hear Doyle speak to Cowley, at his most aggressive.

"Who was she?"

"Who was whom, Doyle?" Cowley peered over his glasses at Doyle. Their photos were spread out in front of him on the desk.

"Laura Smith. The woman who killed herself, in case you've forgotten."

Bodie winced, then moved quickly towards Doyle. If he cocked up their leave....

"I do remember, thank you." Cowley's voice was chilly. He leaned back in his chair, taking off his glasses. "You've taken an interest in her, have you?"

"Yeah. Well, watching a girl for five nights will do that to you."

"I see. And what if I told you she was none of your concern?"

"With all due respect, sir, that's for me to say."

Bodie put his hand on Doyle's arm and was shrugged off.

"I'll tell you who to be concerned about, Doyle, and who to leave alone. However, be that as it may, in this case I have little to add to your knowledge. She was a pawn, pure and simple, in a very dangerous and nasty game."

"Was her name really Laura Smith?"

"I very much doubt it."

"She asked Willis about her family."

"Willis is well known for using everything at his disposal to accomplish his ends."

"And Sherburne?"

"Was apparently selling his loyalties. That information, gentlemen, does not leave these walls."

"What will happen to him?" Bodie entered the conversation.

Cowley smiled. "That depends. Suffice it to say that these photos will help me to have a hand in that. It's best not to leave Willis to deal with everything on his own."

"And that's why you sent us in?" Doyle stared hard at Cowley.

"I heard a rumour, a whisper of something big, involving Miss Smith and MI6. Nothing more. I prefer to keep an eye on the activities of MI6 when they choose to operate in this country. For what it's worth, I don't approve of Willis' methods. Now, if you don't mind, gentlemen?"

Bodie tugged on Doyle's sleeve, meeting resistance at first, before Doyle allowed himself to be ushered from Cowley's office. Neither said anything until they were once again in Bodie's car, driving towards Doyle's flat. Doyle broke the silence.

"She killed herself to prevent her family--wherever they are--from being used against her again."

"It seems likely." Bodie kept his tone neutral.

"It's a dirty business."

"Be glad you're not in it."

"Aren't we?"

Bodie shook his head. "You'd have stopped her if you could. Willis wouldn't have."

"And Cowley?"

"You heard him."

Doyle was silent, gazing out the side window.

Without understanding why, Bodie pursued it. "CI5 isn't MI6, Ray. You know that."

"Yeah. Maybe." After a long pause, he added: "I trust Cowley."

"And when you can't trust him, there's still me."

Doyle's head turned. "Like Farley trusted Burke."

Bodie's lips tightened.

"Tell me the truth, Bodie. Do you think Burke helped him? That he knew what Farley planned and gave him the opportunity?"

"Only Burke knows that."

"Would you think better of him, then? Doing what his partner wanted?"

"Doyle--"

Doyle spoke in a low voice. "I'm not letting you go like that. You might as well know that now. I don't give a damn what you want."

Bodie felt something twist inside him, warmth following in its wake. "I always said you were a selfish bastard."

"I'm serious, Bodie."

Bodie's voice softened. "Yeah. I know you are. Cuts both ways, you know."

Doyle turned away. "Good. So, about this double-date...."

"Decided to trust me, have you?"

"Not in everything. Are you coming in to finish with the tree?"

"Of course. It's a two-man job. You'll love her, Ray."

"You already said that."

"Yes, but I haven't told you the best bit yet."

Doyle sighed. "What?"

"She's a gymnast." Bodie winked at him.

---

21 December 1977

"C'mon Ray." Doyle was the only chance Bodie had to get out of this. The odds were against Doyle finding him in time but, ever a gambler, he was betting everything on it. He'd already blown his one chance for escape. All he could do now was wait, and hope.

Mallory's men were making sure this time--they'd handcuffed his hands behind him and bound his ankles with duct tape. He lay on his side in the dark cellar, helpless, trying not to think about the growing numbness in his hands. He reckoned he was spending his third night as a prisoner, but he couldn't be sure. They had fed him once and brought water twice. After he'd tried to escape, they'd beaten him again, leaving off only when called away by Mallory. He might be gambling on Doyle, but it was a sure bet Mallory and his men would be back.

He resisted the urge to move, and grimly fought down his rising panic about being trapped. About being useless.

Doyle would be searching for him. If it had been three days, then he was finally overdue for his check-in. Doyle, however, didn't know about this house. Bodie hadn't thought it worth mentioning.

The cellar stank of dust, mould and mice. He hated the dark. Hated being bound. Hated having to wait while others decided his fate.

It wasn't like the Congo. But, when he slept, the memories stirred, and once again he'd hear Planget's mad whispers in the darkness of their cell, and Nkazi's endless questions with no answers. He'd jerk awake, confused and shaken, and he'd force himself to remember--to believe--that it wasn't 1969, that he'd survived and moved on. He'd banished those ghosts long ago.

What the fuck was Mallory doing, faffing around like this? Was he trying to bargain with Cowley, to buy himself time now that he knew CI5 was onto him? Yeah, he could just see Mallory and Cowley: two old lions circling each other, grey eyes matched with blue. Mallory would soon know that it'd be useless, and he'd salvage what he could from the situation. Bodie would be questioned again, more forcefully, and then he'd become intimately acquainted with a bullet.

Or it was always possible Mallory might sell him to the highest bidder. A CI5 agent was worth quite a lot in certain markets. He had no illusions about the likely outcome of that--Cowley would find out. And then, if all else failed, he'd become just as intimately acquainted with a sniper's bullet.

Doyle wouldn't approve. It wouldn't give him a chance to point out, at great length, all the idiotic mistakes Bodie had made on this op. Starting with volunteering to use his old contacts to go undercover in the first place, and finishing with his miscalculation of Eddie Malone's greed.

It wouldn't do any good to point out to Doyle that the op had been a success up until three days ago. Of course, if he ended up dead, then Doyle might well have some justification for his misgivings. He hated it when Doyle was right.

"C'mon, Doyle."

Undercover work was highly overrated--unless it featured a suite at the Dorchester. And a beautiful bird to seduce--or man, for that matter. He wasn't fussy. Next time, he was keeping his mouth shut; he wasn't going to volunteer past associates. Especially not double-dealing, weasel-faced bastards like Malone. That would be the second item of business when he got out. The first would be a long, hot, cleansing shower.

It had to be the third night, maybe even morning by now. He'd seen darkness out the window before they'd dragged him back to the cellar--how long ago? Three hours? Four? No sounds from above for a very long time. Maybe they'd cleared out, forgotten about him. Yeah, and maybe Mallory had turned himself in to Cowley. Running guns and explosives to some very dubious clients called for a good, if selective, memory. No, Mallory hadn't forgotten him.

As if in echo to his thoughts, he heard footsteps again, crossing the floor above him. At least two sets, possibly more.

His only consolation was that he'd disrupted Mallory's communications thoroughly enough that he wouldn't be able to make good on his shipments to several groups. He'd be scrambling now, and if he escaped Cowley's net then at least he'd be out of England. And if he came back...well, both Doyle and Cowley had long memories.

Yeah, Doyle would go after Mallory. He'd hate it that he hadn't got here in time, if it came to that. It was odd to feel such security in the face of his own death. To know that someone would come after and clean up the mess, dig the rot out, because of him. The SAS looked after their own, but, once an op was finished, they moved on. Soldier mentality. Doyle wouldn't move on, not until he'd brought the whole lot of them to justice.

And that was why he found himself still believing that Doyle might come in time, despite the odds. Stoic acceptance was his way, not Doyle's.

It was a strange thing, this blind hope. Somehow it had crept in under his guard, undermining hard-won pragmatism. He knew very well who to blame. When had Doyle got under his skin? He couldn't understand it--he had a better sense of self-preservation than that. A testy sod at the best of times, Doyle could, by turns, be aloof or attentive, ruthless or kind. He could turn on a friend one minute, and the next be the only one to defend him. And, somehow, he'd just got used to Doyle. He'd got used to having his back watched and his best interests looked out for. Doyle had proven it time and again, hadn't he? Hell, he liked the bloody idealistic fool.

Even here he conjured the memory, sometimes: And if I had shot, from the door. And missed. Who was standing in the window?

Doyle would tear more than a strip off him, if he got out of this. Ray wasn't the least bit subtle.

Suddenly alert, he heard someone descending the stairs to his prison. At last--one way or the other. It was better than waiting.

The door was flung open, light rushing in with punishing speed and brightness. He squinted against it, trying to make out the figure standing there, a black shadow in the centre of illumination.

"You stupid, irresponsible bastard."

And, as quickly as that, astonishingly, desire jolted through his blood, ignited by the sight of a familiar lean figure outlined by brilliant light. He wanted that leanness, was pulled to it with an intensity that shocked him. Bewildered, relieved, and aching, he could only blink, and stare, a smile slowly dawning on his lips.

"Don't give me that." Doyle moved towards him. "You're lucky I showed up at all."

Bodie coughed to clear his throat. "Took your time, didn't you?"

Doyle reached him, checking the handcuffs before moving on to the tape. "Yeah, well, I thought you were enjoying your holiday. No work, solitude, lounging around in the dark." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his Swiss army knife, and set to work on the tape. The gentleness of Doyle's touch was in direct contrast to his voice. Bodie basked in both.

"Very considerate of you, mate. Where's Mallory?"

"With Cowley, I should think." Doyle looked around as someone else came down the cellar steps. "Is that you, Jax?"

"Yes--did you find Bodie?" Jax appeared in the doorway.

"As you can see. Go and get the cutters, all right? And an ambulance."

"I don't need an ambulance."

"Right." Jax disappeared back up the stairs.

"Doyle--"

"Shut up." Doyle leaned in close to him. "It's standard procedure and you know it. How badly are you hurt?" He returned to sawing through the tape.

"Nothing to speak of."

"Then they'll clean you up, shoot you full of something and send you home. Or would you like to complain and slow everything down?"

"No, miss."

"I do have a knife, you know." The tape gave way. "There. Take it slowly."

Bodie gingerly flexed his legs, wincing at the sting in his muscles and nerves. He desperately needed his arms released, and he dreaded it.

"Made a mess of yourself, haven't you?"

Bodie glared at him. "Must you state the obvious?"

Doyle grinned. "Just making conversation."

"What day is it, anyway?"

"The twenty-first."

"Yeah? What's the time?"

"Around seven. Morning."

Early morning on the fourth day--Doyle had been very efficient. He nudged Doyle with his leg. "Thanks, mate."

Doyle glanced at him, opening his mouth as if to speak, but then he looked away.

They heard the sound of Jax returning. Doyle rose to his feet, and met him at the door.

"The ambulance is on its way." Jax came into the room. "Do you want me to do the cutting while you brace him?"

"Yeah." Doyle returned and knelt beside Bodie.

It didn't take long. Doyle helped him to ease his arms back into proper position. The pain hit almost immediately, and he wasn't aware of much of anything else after that. He worked his way through the street vocabulary of Afrikaans, Arabic, Irish, and finally Scouse, before the ambulance crew showed up. Much to his disgust, Bodie was bundled off to hospital, with Doyle maliciously telling him to be a good lad or he wouldn't bring him a change of clothing.

At the hospital, they did exactly as Doyle had predicted: cleaned him up, shot him up, and eventually sent him on his way. The damage was minor, the worst of it being his arms and hands. The pain gradually subsided, but movement revived it, and he was frustratingly clumsy and uncoordinated when he tried to use his hands. He did at least manage the shower, however. Doyle showed up as he finished, bringing his clothes and word from Cowley.

"He's having fun with Mallory--wants you in at eight tomorrow morning."

Bodie, attempting to button his shirt, groaned. Doyle looked unsympathetic, but he moved forward and finished the buttoning himself.

"You're lucky he's not having you dance to his tune tonight."

"Even the Cow has a merciful streak. Buried deep." Bodie finished dressing, then followed Doyle out to his car. The sun had set, taking the meagre warmth of the day with it. An entire day that he'd missed in hospital. Tiny flurries, more ice than snow, travelled the wind, stinging his face. Bodie huddled into his jacket and hurried after Doyle to the car park. At the car, Doyle opened the door for him and he settled into the passenger seat with a sigh.

"Tired?" Doyle looked him over as he started the engine.

"Yes. Where are you taking me?"

"Your place." Doyle merged smoothly into the traffic. "Why?"

"I'm hungry."

"Didn't they feed you on your holiday?"

"Very poor accommodations. I intend to write a letter."

"Well, you will get what you pay for. Do you want to go to the pub? Or to my place?"

"Your place, if you'll have the heat on. Quickly, James." He then had an unwelcome thought. "You do have food in, don't you?"

"Of course. Bit of this and that."

Bodie rolled his head to look at him. "A bit of what and what?"

"Um--yoghurt. Salad. Oh, and mushrooms!"

"Ray, I'm starving."

"And eggs, bacon, tomatoes...."

"That's more like it." He settled back again, content to drift, to soak up the reality of being out of that bloody cellar. But that thought brought with it the memory of Doyle standing in the doorway. His exhaustion was no protection from the prickling of desire in his belly.

Doyle's hands were on the steering wheel--elegant, competent fingers, he knew both their strength and their gentleness. He wanted to feel them on his skin. He eyed Doyle's long legs, clad in jeans as usual, muscles smoothly extending and contracting as Doyle worked the pedals. Always aware of Doyle's attractiveness, of the air of sensuality that surrounded him, he'd never allowed it to distract him. Never allowed himself to focus on it, on what they might make each other experience. Now, he couldn't banish the feeling bubbling within him. It was rather like the anticipation of Christmas when he was a child--the same mixture of desire and dread and confusion. He was well aware the results could be just as disastrous. It only added to the allure.

They arrived at Doyle's block of flats, forced to park three streets away and to walk back. Doyle let them both into his flat, then went straight through to the kitchen. Bodie paused in the living room, stopped by the sight of a half-decorated Christmas tree. The lights were on the tree, along with several ornaments, while others still lay in their boxes, wrapped in tissue.

"I see you have this year's offering to the Goddess of Sex."

Doyle's voice came from the kitchen. "I had to do something while you were off hobnobbing with old friends."

The lecture would be trotted out any moment, now. With this much delay, it'd be memorable. Reckoning he might as well get it over with--Doyle, after all, deserved some recompense for a timely rescue--Bodie wandered into the kitchen. Doyle already had the frying pan out, and the bacon had started to sizzle in it, producing a mouth-watering aroma.

"How many eggs do you want?"

"Three." He moved in close behind Doyle, the better to observe the proceedings, but was sent away with a tart demand to give a bloke some room. He retreated to the table, taking a seat, then waiting with saintly meekness for Doyle to start the flaying.

Doyle busied himself with the cooking.

Bodie frowned, then took advantage. "Fried bread, too, please."

"If you like." Doyle turned the bacon, then reached for the eggs. Silence.

Obscurely disappointed, he tried another tack. "Your tree is bent again."

"It's traditional."

"Whose tradition?"

Doyle glanced at him, face grave. "The Navy's, of course." He turned back to the cooker.

Bodie snorted. He reached out to fiddle with the salt cellar, testing the stiffness in his fingers. His hands were getting better but he'd be useless in a gunfight just now. He set the salt cellar aside.

"Are you going to be able to manage a knife and fork?"

Bodie's look of reproach was wasted on Doyle's back as he rummaged in the cupboard. "Of course."

Doyle pulled out two plates and set them next to the cooker. Then he brought knives and forks to the table, before returning and filling the plates with food.

"Tuck yourself into that, then."

Bodie did, managing fairly well with the cutlery. He glanced over at Doyle and saw he was eating with singular dedication. Bodie detested waiting on the block. "Anything new at HQ? Any good gossip that I missed?"

Doyle chewed while he thought about it. "No." He sliced through a tomato.

"What about the Pearson op?"

"Same as before."

"Jax was working on the Pearson op."

"So he was."

Bodie put down his knife and fork. "For Christ's sake. All right, I give up."

Doyle looked at him inquiringly.

"Look, if you want to yell at me, just do it. Don't drag it out."

"Why should I want to do that?" Doyle returned to his food.

"Because you're a self-righteous little prick, that's why. C'mon, Doyle, I want to enjoy my meal, is that too much to ask? It's been a bloody bad three days."

Doyle eyed him for a long moment. "You delivered Mallory and all his contacts to Cowley. He's very happy with you."

"What about you?"

"Me?" Doyle finished his food and sat back.

Stubborn, irritating, annoying little git. "You were against the plan from the beginning."

"It ended all right, it got the results we needed."

"Oh, and since when is that enough to satisfy you?"

Doyle shrugged.

"So that's it--nothing more to say. You're satisfied."

A slight pause. "Reasonably." Doyle's eyes were cool but they met his.

Stalemate. It didn't make any sense. He rubbed the back of his neck. "How did you find the house?"

"A little bird tweeted."

"Who?"

"Your mate Eddie."

Ah, Christ, he should have thought of that. How else would Doyle have found him?

Doyle spoke again. "You know, I don't believe he approves of me."

"Is he still alive?"

Doyle thought about it. "He might be."

"Then he approves of you."

"He didn't seem to think much of you." Doyle shot the words out, then he looked away.

Ah, now they were getting down to it. Bodie smiled and leaned back slightly, comfortable with familiar ground. "We had a disagreement or two, once upon a time. Apparently my bribe wasn't quite good enough." He waited for Doyle's response.

Doyle merely grunted, then stood up. "Are you finished or do you want more?"

Frustration made him snap. "I'm not a bloody invalid, you know!"

"Suit yourself." Picking up his plate, Doyle took it to the sink.

Bodie sighed heavily. He stood and deposited his own plate on top of Doyle's. He should go to his flat, collapse into sleep. "I could do with a drink, if you're offering."

Doyle barely gave him a glance. "Come with me, my son." He led the way to the living room and went immediately to the drinks cabinet.

Bodie sat on the sofa, eyes on the Christmas tree, mind wearily focused on Doyle. Some convoluted new game? More than likely, and he'd already lost points. So Doyle didn't want to talk about it. Fine. So the sun started going around the moon. Fine.

Doyle walked over to him, carrying two glasses. He handed one to Bodie. "You are allowed to have this?"

"'course. Ta." Bodie drank the scotch, appreciating the burn of it. Deliberately, he relaxed into the sofa. He should be relieved, dammit, not irritated. He didn't want a bloody lecture, did he? Of course not, nothing to be lectured about. The op was over, move on.

Doyle carried his drink to a table near the tree, settled on the floor, next to a box, and then unwrapped more ornaments.

Sipping his drink, Bodie watched Doyle deftly handling the ornaments. Except for the rustle of tissue paper, the flat was silent. In the distance, he could hear the muted sounds of traffic, of other people in their flats around them, but none of it disturbed the tranquillity of Doyle's flat. He breathed deeply, slowly, and gradually the tension, and the remnants of fear, eased away, replaced by a comfortable tiredness. Setting his empty glass aside, he leaned against the arm of the sofa, watching Doyle through lazy eyelids.

Lifting an ornament from the box, Doyle held it in his hand, as if weighing it. He turned his head towards Bodie. Their eyes met, and then Doyle smiled, one of his rare, sweet smiles. Bodie's stomach tightened, and he blinked, struggling back to alertness.

Doyle rose to his feet, and approached Bodie. He handed him the ornament. The smile had disappeared, but Doyle's eyes were intent.

"What is this?" The ornament was light in his hand; he could barely feel it.

"See for yourself."

Carefully, mindful of his earlier clumsiness, Bodie unwrapped the ornament. Inside the tissue was a metal Christmas bell, about four inches high, with a tiny clapper inside that swung but made no sound when it struck. The colours were faded with age and use, blending into each other at the edges, but he could still make out the design--a swirl of Christmas flowers wreathing the bell, gaiety undiminished. He looked up at Doyle.

"That was my sister's favourite ornament. I nicked it when I left home."

He looked down at the bell again, fingering it gently. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Go on, put it on the tree. It won't break if you drop it."

Bodie did as he was bidden, finding a spot for the bell high on the tree, in the front where all would see it. As he placed the bell, Doyle switched off the room lights. And then the fairy lights sprang to life, banishing the darkness. The tree glittered before him, dazzling him, like fire reflected in a thousand coloured diamonds.

Doyle joined him before the tree, standing close, but not touching. His voice was quiet. "I wonder, sometimes, which would be her favourite now."

It seemed, then, the most natural thing in the world to draw Doyle to him. To breathe in the scent of him, overlaid with pine. Simply to hold him, as he'd never done before, as he'd never thought of doing before. And he found that wasn't enough, after all. So he nuzzled Doyle's ear, his cheek, his neck. Doyle responded by tilting his head, granting him access. Inflamed, Bodie eased Doyle to the floor.

Without a word spoken, the only sound their breathing, their hands moved in symmetry, undoing buttons and zips, stroking over heating flesh, seeking more. Bodie's senses, already erratic with exhaustion, overloaded under Doyle's touch, sweeping him away to a world that consisted only of sensation: desire and warmth and a rapidly growing ache that spiralled unbearably through him, until he was blinded by the brilliant light of release. Kaleidoscope images of the day merged and reformed, leaving him blinking and panting, and only slowly becoming aware that he lay on his back, in Doyle's flat, under Doyle's Christmas tree, with Doyle's hand, unmoving now, holding him.

His eyes sought Doyle's, finding an unmet need there, but also wariness. That wasn't right, wasn't needed. He pulled Doyle to him again, slid his hand along his body, easing aside the clothing that was still in his way. Doyle didn't resist him as he pushed him onto his back, as his hands stroked down to Doyle's groin. And as Doyle arched beneath him, he whispered to him: "Don't think, don't think, just feel." His tongue forged a trail down Doyle's body, until his mouth finally engulfed Doyle's cock, taking it deep, his hands controlling Doyle's thrusts. He heard Doyle's voice, wordless sounds, felt him shudder, and tasted him at last, as he surrendered to Bodie's sure touch. All the tension fled from Doyle, leaving him as limp and as exhausted as Bodie.

Well content, Bodie lay beside Doyle, rubbing gently over Doyle's belly. His eyes were caught once again by the Christmas tree--he could just make out Doyle's sister's bell and its silent clapper. Maybe one day he'd tell Doyle of his own Christmases past. Of the trees that were never real, of the presents that always seemed more appropriate for other boys, not for him. Of the boredom and disinterest that drove him out and away from all that was predictable.

Doyle's eyes opened and he looked up at Bodie. "You stupid bastard. I could kill you."

Delight and relief made him grin. "I thought you just did."

Doyle sat up, arms braced behind him, and he took a long look at Bodie. "I didn't enjoy the last couple of days."

"If it's any consolation, I'm bloody glad you arrived when you did."

"Don't leave me guessing like that again. Either we're partners or we're not. I won't play Tonto to your Lone Ranger."

"No. That was my fault." His eyes dropped but he rubbed Doyle's thigh with his fingers, soothingly. "I should've warned you about Eddie."

"Why didn't you?"

Bodie shrugged, at a loss. Finally, he said, "There are a lot of ghosts."

"For me as well."

That brought his eyes up, and he saw his own mixture of curiosity and reluctance reflected in Doyle's face. What price to satisfy curiosity? "So...we'll deal with them when they come around, all right?"

Slowly, Doyle nodded. "Yeah, all right." He sat up straight, pulling the rest of his clothing off, before stretching languorously.

Bodie watched him with pleasure. In the soft illumination of the Christmas tree, Doyle's hair was darker, and shadows played along his body, highlighting and concealing.

Doyle turned towards him and he saw the gleam of white teeth. "I can see why you go through so many birds now. Go off like a rocket, don't you?"

"Cheek!" Bodie sat up slowly, his muscles protesting. "You're lucky I got it up at all."

"I think you have that backwards, mate."

"Wait until tomorrow and I'll show you backwards."

"You're spending the night, then?" The wariness was back.

"If I'm invited." Bodie held his breath, waiting through Doyle's silence.

"I didn't expect this."

"There's no need to analyse it to death, is there?" It was an uncomplicated business, wasn't it? More gently, he said, "Nothing's changed, Ray."

"Hasn't it?"

"No. It's just fun, a good way to unwind. Between friends."

Doyle was still for a long time, gazing into the distance, his face unreadable. And then his mouth curved into a small smile. "It is that." He nodded, and with one smooth motion he was on his feet.

Bodie stood as well, watching as Doyle collected his clothing and then carried their glasses to the drinks cabinet. He wasn't taking anything for granted. "Ray? Is it all right if I spend the night?"

Doyle shrugged. "If you want. We'll have to leave earlier, stop by your flat."

Bodie nodded. He'd had enough of solitude. Doyle switched the fairy lights off, leaving the room in darkness, except for the faint light through the curtains at the window. Bodie stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Doyle was beside him, then, a light touch on his hand. "Come on, let's go to bed." He followed Doyle across the room to the hallway. "I'm taking a shower, do you want me to leave you some hot water?"

"Is that a hint?"

"Up to you."

Bodie reached out and rubbed his hand along Doyle's back. "If we take it together we can both have enough."

Doyle stopped walking and Bodie bumped into him. "Have you seen the size of my shower? Wait your turn, Butch." He started forward again.

Bodie sighed for lost opportunity, and followed Doyle into his darkened bedroom.

---

22 December 1978

Bodie struggled to get free of Kubiak, to find any purchase at all to throw him off. But he was pinned, and the arm around his throat was drawing tighter, arching his neck back. It wouldn't take long; he had to move, had to find a way to break the hold, or--

And suddenly the terrible pressure, and the weight, were gone. He gasped and coughed, struggling to move but only able to curl onto his side. Dimly he heard a shout and then the sound of a splash. Forcing himself to his knees, he looked around. He saw no one, but the splashing sounds were still coming from the canal. He crawled to the edge of the canal.

Doyle was in the water, one arm around Kubiak, keeping him afloat. "Well, don't just sit there like a gob-smacked idiot. Help me get him out of here!"

Bodie sat back on his heels. "What are you doing here?"

"Saving you. Here, grab him."

Obediently, Bodie leaned forward, reaching for Kubiak, who put up no resistance as Doyle pushed and Bodie pulled him from the canal. Kubiak lay on the concrete like a beached whale, coughing and shivering. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, Bodie made sure Kubiak was secure before he turned back to the canal to give Doyle a helping hand. Doyle came up onto the towpath, streaming water and cursing.

"The fucking idiot couldn't swim. He tried to throw me into the canal! It's bloody freezing. What the fuck were you doing letting him get the drop on you, anyway?"

Bodie dragged Kubiak to his feet. He still looked like a beached whale--pale and blubbery and distinctly unhappy. "Did you bring the car?"

"No, I swam here." Doyle pushed wet hair out of his eyes. "It's over there." Bodie started off, pulling Kubiak with him, leaving Doyle to trail along behind. "I got a call from Cowley telling me to pick you up from surveillance. This isn't the approved way to conduct surveillance, you know."

"I thought you were still on escort duty for Palmer." Bodie spied Doyle's Escort and altered his course accordingly. The sky had just been beginning to lighten as he'd followed Kubiak, now true dawn was chasing the last of the night away. He could see his breath in the cold air--Doyle had reason to complain.

"All done. He left early."

"How'd you know where I'd gone?"

"I didn't. I was on my way to the obbo but I couldn't find a good place to park. I was walking back to find you when I saw you getting clocked by him. Who is he?"

They'd reached the car and Doyle unlocked the doors. "James Kubiak." Bodie opened the door and pushed Kubiak into the back seat. "Cowley was hoping he'd turn up to visit his bird. When he did, I called it in, and Cowley told me to bring him in."

Doyle leaned against the side of the car. "Ah. Is that what you were doing?"

"Before you interfered, yes." Bodie plucked the car key from Doyle's fingers and went around to the boot.

"I do apologise, mate. Somehow I missed it that you had everything under control."

Bodie pulled out a blanket from the boot, then closed it. He walked back to Doyle. "I'm getting used to it." He unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around Doyle. "It's a good thing this is your car. You smell terrible."

"Gosh, thanks. You can always take the tube." Doyle climbed into the passenger seat, while Bodie walked around to the other side and let himself in. He started the car, and Doyle turned the heater up to high.

It took less than fifteen minutes to reach HQ. They escorted Kubiak inside, receiving barely a glance from Fred at the security desk.

Doyle touched Bodie's arm. "I'd like a hot shower. Do you think, if you really try, you can manage it from here?"

Bodie sighed.

"Well, it's a long way to the interrogation rooms. There's no telling what might happen."

"Shut up, Doyle."

The door behind them opened, and Bodie glanced around to see one of the new agents walking into the building, exchanging a greeting with Fred.

Doyle grinned. "Murphy! Just the man we need."

Bodie looked at the ceiling, then back at Murphy's imperfectly hidden look of astonishment.

"Doyle, Bodie." Murphy stopped a few feet away, his nose twitching.

"That's him." Bodie nodded towards Doyle.

Doyle narrowed his eyes and smiled. "The lad here needs some help with his prisoner. He's more tricky than he looks--already beat Bodie once."

Murphy looked from Kubiak to Bodie, eyebrows rising.

"Yeah, all right." Bodie tugged on Kubiak's arm to get him moving. "You just keep in mind, Murphy, I was there when you found Peterson at the Lion."

At Doyle's interested look, Murphy hurried forward to take Kubiak's other arm. They whisked him down the stairs to interrogation, leaving Doyle behind.

After informing Cowley of Kubiak's whereabouts, and finding himself dismissed, Bodie went to the locker room in search of Doyle. He might have made a fool of himself this morning, but he couldn't regret it when it'd brought back the Doyle he was familiar with. Recent experience warned him, however, that Doyle might have changed again by the time he caught up with him. He didn't know--or care--where this quiet, strange Doyle of the last few weeks had come from. All he did know was that if this was some new game of Doyle's, he didn't intend to play it much longer.

No one was in the locker room, but he could hear the shower running. Bodie pulled a chair out from the table in front of the lockers and sat down to wait. Weariness tugged at him, pulling his shoulders and head down, and he sighed. At the very least he had the excuse of needing a ride home. And how long had it been since he'd needed an excuse to wait for Doyle?

Since Marikka. Yeah, all right, so he'd been a fool there, but that didn't explain Doyle's brooding. Or the awkwardness that had grown between them. It couldn't be anger--if Doyle was angry he lashed out, he didn't bury it. Doyle hadn't said a word about Marikka, hadn't said much of anything once it was over. Bodie hadn't known how to reach through to him. He'd been relieved when Cowley had sent them on separate jobs.

If anyone had a right to be angry about what had happened with Marikka, it was Bodie, wasn't it? What was Doyle playing at? One minute his partner, the next a stranger. He'd accept an invitation to the pub, refuse an invitation to spend Christmas Day. And when they were alone together, off the job, Doyle was silent. Not unfriendly, just...aloof.

Bodie heard the shower shut off. Doyle appeared in the doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist, another on his head. Doyle halted for a moment when he saw Bodie, eyeing him, then he moved forward slowly, stopping in front of his locker. The smell of soap and shampoo reached Bodie, reminding him of other scents.

Doyle towelled his hair, his assessing gaze meeting Bodie's.

Holding himself still under Doyle's scrutiny, Bodie maintained the contact, waiting until Doyle's eyes dropped before allowing himself the freedom to examine him. His eyes travelled over Doyle, observing the flex of muscles in his chest, lingering over puckered nipples, and following the pattern of hair down to concealing cotton. He ached to touch, to feel Doyle moving beneath his touch, pleading and demanding all in one. Ached, too, to drive away that distant look in Doyle's eyes, the detachment. They hadn't slept together since Marikka, either.

He didn't know what had changed, or even if anything had. Doyle hadn't exactly refused him; he simply hadn't been there. Anger, frustration and confusion chased each other within Bodie, and he fought to control his expression, knowing he'd be lost if he didn't. In the past year, they had gone longer stretches without sleeping together, and he hadn't thought anything of it at the time. Except for how good it had been when they'd gone to bed again. That had been the night he'd urged Doyle to fuck him--knowing it would get him what he'd wanted from the very beginning. And so it had proven, Doyle offering his own arse to Bodie within the week. His cock stirred at the memory, and he raised his eyes to find Doyle looking at him, watching him with the knowledge of what Bodie wanted clear in his eyes.

Well and why shouldn't he? What the fuck did Doyle expect of him? He watched as Doyle dropped the towel from his head to the floor.

"Is that why you came, then?" Doyle's eyes swept over him, his expression remote.

"I came for a ride."

"Oh yeah?" Doyle centred his gaze on Bodie's groin. "Here?"

Bodie leaned back in his chair, considering Doyle. He couldn't read him at all. "If you like."

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"You're offering, sunshine."

The corner of Doyle's mouth curved and he canted his head, while his hand reached up to scratch his shoulder, lingering, before sliding down to stroke across his chest. "It has been a while."

Bodie shrugged, his shoulders tight.

Doyle contemplated him. "What if I wanted the ride?"

"It's my turn."

"Is it."

"By my reckoning."

Doyle's fingers stilled, then started up again with the self-caress. "We play this by your rules, is that it?"

A flicker of anger warmed Bodie. "Yeah, that's it."

Doyle gazed at him, face expressionless. His hand moved in a lazy circle over his stomach. "No. Not this time." He abruptly turned to his locker, opening it.

Bodie was on his feet in a flash, moving towards Doyle. He reached for his shoulder, but Doyle swung round, ducking away from him. Bodie's fingers found an arm and he gripped that instead. "What are you playing at?" He could feel the tension in the muscle beneath his fingers, and knew, with a twisted surge of excitement, that Doyle would fight him. Doyle wanted to fight him. He tightened his hold.

Doyle's eyes glittered, and his mouth smiled, but he said nothing.

Water from Doyle's hair dripped onto his shoulder, sliding down his chest. Bodie swallowed. "It's a fucking dangerous game." He kept his voice low.

"That's apt."

With his free hand, Bodie reached for the towel around Doyle's waist. Doyle's fingers clamped around his wrist. Move and counter move. "Why?"

"It got your attention."

Bodie moved closer. "You always do that."

Doyle laughed, a derisive sound. "No, not always."

Releasing Doyle's arm, Bodie snatched at the towel, whisking it from Doyle. At the same time, Doyle's hand went straight to Bodie's groin--effective even through cloth.

Doyle smiled as Bodie stilled. "Stalemate, wouldn't you say?"

"Possibly. What now?" His heart was pounding, blood and adrenaline pouring through his arteries.

"Now?" Doyle moved his hand and Bodie bit back a groan.

He stared into Doyle's eyes, seeing the wildness still riding high in him, a recklessness that Doyle sometimes got on the job, but rarely off. Doyle laughed again, his smile mocking, and then he leaned forward and captured Bodie's mouth with his own.

They'd kissed before, a time or two, but only in the midst of sex when the need drove them to it. Instinctively, Bodie pulled back, but Doyle pushed forward, trapping Bodie against the lockers. Doyle's mouth was warm and sensual and shockingly intimate against his own. He wanted more of it and he wanted none of it. With a groan of surrender, he opened his mouth to Doyle's possession.

Doyle, at last, broke away, and Bodie leaned against the lockers, suffering the loss, too confused to protest. Doyle's hands gripped his arms as he stood before him, head down, breathing hard.

"Ray--" He broke off as he heard the locker room door open. They leapt apart, Doyle grabbing the towel from the floor. Christ but they were insane to be doing anything like this here. Fortunately, a row of lockers separated them from view of the door.

"Anyone here?"

Bodie closed his eyes, grateful only that it wasn't Cowley.

"Yeah, Charlie, we're over here." Doyle's voice was abrupt. Bodie opened his eyes and watched as Doyle pulled out trousers and a shirt from his locker.

"Well, well, if it isn't my old friends, Bentley and Layton." Charlie walked around the edge of the lockers, grinning.

Bodie smiled back, feeling his heart slowing. "Are you out of hospital already?"

Charlie shook his head. "Quick. Very quick. Cowley should know about him."

"Oh, he does. That's why he has a keeper." Doyle pulled on a T-shirt, then picked up a long-sleeved shirt to go over it.

"Ta, mate." Bodie eased himself into the chair again. "How are you, Charlie?"

Charlie shrugged. "I'm all right. I just came to clean out my locker."

Doyle looked up from buttoning his shirt. "What are your plans?"

"I already have a job lined up. Hospital security. The pay's not much but I can pass their physical."

Bodie's eyes dropped to his hands. They'd lost a good man in Charlie.

"At least you're alive." Doyle's tone was flat. Bodie flexed his hands on his thighs, then looked up again.

"Yeah." Charlie nodded, his eyes on Doyle. "I'll always be proud that I was with the Squad." He looked away.

Bodie grinned. "Well, of course. Only accept the best, we do. You just keep that in mind."

"I will." Charlie looked around the locker room. "Yeah, I'm going to miss this place. Every time it rains and I'm snug inside, all warm with nowhere to go. Or when I sit down to a nice dinner, I'll think about never again having a CI5 special. Or when I'm not called in just when I'm getting my end away.... Who wouldn't miss it?"

"Any more jobs to be had at that hospital?"

"They wouldn't have you." Charlie's grin faded a little as he looked at them both. "Did you.... Do you know now what it was all about? Who, at least, I was supposed to be?"

Bodie caught Doyle's look, and he took the responsibility. "Nah, you know how they are. They don't tell the help anything."

Doyle leaned against the locker, arms folded. "They take us for granted."

"They do that," Charlie agreed. He looked down at his shoes.

"It was important, Charlie." Bodie leaned forward.

Doyle joined in. "You did what you were trained to do, and you did it well. We succeeded because of you."

Charlie smiled at that, and shook his head. "You two make your own luck."

Bodie stood up. "Well, he does. I'm just along for the ride. Aren't I, Doyle?"

Doyle closed his locker. "You know your place, I'll give you that." He held out his hand to Charlie. "Good luck, Charlie. I'm glad I had the chance to work with you."

"Thank you." Charlie shook hands with both of them, smiling awkwardly. He turned towards his locker.

Bodie and Doyle headed out of the room, but Charlie's voice stopped them at the door.

"Bodie?"

Bodie turned back.

"Thanks for what you said. You know, when I was shot." Charlie looked uncomfortable but determined.

All too aware of a curious Doyle at his shoulder, Bodie just nodded. He then ushered Doyle out of the locker room.

"What you said?" Typical Doyle curiosity--it, too, had been missing in action recently. They started down the corridor.

"You see, other people appreciate me."

"I appreciate you." Doyle poked him. "Who saved your life this very morning?"

"Ah, but you nearly took it away again when Charlie walked in on us."

"Gets the adrenaline flowing." Doyle grinned.

That wild energy was still there in Doyle--controlled, but there under the humour. He resisted the impulse to make it flare, knowing it would take very little. Not here. But a reckoning was certainly due. "Speaking of which--breakfast?"

"You buyin'?"

"It's your turn." They started up the stairs.

"This turn business seems to be working out in your favour today, doesn't it?" Doyle's look went straight to Bodie's groin.

"The rewards of virtuous living."

"You wouldn't know--"

Murphy interrupted them, shouting from the top of the stairs. "Doyle, Bodie--you're wanted in the briefing room straight away." He hurried on and they could hear him sounding the alert to others in his wake.

"There goes the bloody day." Bodie sighed as they reached the landing.

Doyle shrugged, undismayed. "It's not a total loss. C'mon, I'll buy you breakfast out of the machine."

"All right. But it won't count as your turn."

"Miser." Doyle started past him, with a grin. Bodie touched his arm, stopping Doyle's progress.

"You're lively today." And because he was watching he saw the flicker of wariness in Doyle's eyes, belied by his voice.

"Punch drunk. I was with Palmer all night, you know."

"And that puts me among the favoured again, does it?"

Surprise chased the wariness away. "What--"

Another voice interrupted Doyle. "Were you two called in as well?"

Bodie's eyes lingered on Doyle for a moment longer, before he transferred his gaze to Anson, who had just arrived at the top of the stairs. "We never left."

"That's why we're the best." Doyle was still looking at Bodie, speculation on his face. Well, it was better than indifference.

Anson looked unimpressed. "No sleep, eh? If there's shooting, remind me not to ask you two for cover." He nodded towards the briefing room. "It's getting busy over there."

With a pang of regret for missing his breakfast, even if it was from a machine, Bodie followed Anson and Doyle to the room.

It was noisy inside, half the Squad gathered together. No one knew what was going on, except that all personnel on standby had been called in. Murphy was pounced on for more information when he arrived, but he shook his head.

"All I know is that Cowley told me to round up everyone in the building. I did overhear a name--Burke?"

Bodie glanced at Doyle, raising his eyebrows. "I thought he was off the Squad."

"No." Cowley's voice interrupted the speculation. He walked into the room, carrying a file folder. "He's been undercover for a year and a half in an organisation that sells its services to terrorist groups. His cover was blown this morning. All I received from him was the information that he was going to try for one of our safe houses. I want each of you, in pairs, to go to the safe houses. You will wait there to see if Burke arrives and offer him any assistance you can. Keep in close contact with base. If he shows, I want to be notified immediately. Is that understood?"

"We should expect pursuit?" Anson voiced the question from where he lounged against the wall.

"Yes. And they will try to terminate him and anyone who gets in their way. I want the information that Burke will be carrying, and I want him alive. Pick up additional weapons and ammunition at the armoury. Are there any other questions?" He looked around the room. "Very well. I have your assignments here."

Doyle looked an inquiry at Bodie, who nodded and watched as Doyle went to Cowley to receive their instructions. Doyle exchanged a brief word with the controller before returning to Bodie's side.

"We're on."

"On what?" Bodie followed Doyle out of the room, turning towards the armoury.

"On a train."

"What, that place again?" Bodie grimaced.

"It's nice and quiet."

"If I was being chased, I'd head for a crowd, mate."

"If they're as ruthless as Cowley indicated, then you're not going to want other people around. Remember the first rule."

"Stay alive?"

"Keep Father happy." Doyle opened the door to the armoury and preceded Bodie into the room.

They collected an Ingram and an Uzi, with extra rounds, then drove to the old South Bank terminal. Train carriages littered the freight yard, some in for repairs, others abandoned for years. It was a quiet place, easy to slip in and out of unnoticed. When there were fireworks, no questions were ever asked. Bodie assumed Cowley had arranged for the occasional use of the yard.

Only selected abandoned carriages were ever used for the safe house. Burke would most likely check in all of them. Bodie headed for his favourite--a passenger carriage, separated from the others and right up against the fence at one end. It was more defensible than the other choices.

They settled into seats on either side of the carriage. Through the empty window, Bodie acquainted himself with the view: four other carriages, a field of stunted grass and dirt, and the yard fence. The winter sun was high overhead, warming the day and the carriage, although he was glad of his jacket. At least with the windows broken there was a breeze roaming through the carriage, chasing away the usual smell of dirt and mould.

"What do you reckon?" Bodie looked over at Doyle.

"About what? Burke?" Doyle was on a bench seat, one leg stretched out to the seat across from him.

"Yeah."

"I reckon he's been in deep."

"He wasn't stable the last we saw."

"Neither was Tommy."

Bodie frowned as his eyes swept over the carriages outside his window. "The Old Man said he was off the Squad. I don't like working with unpredictable people."

"Cowley uses whatever he has to use--everything and everyone."

There was a bitter tone to Doyle's comment that turned Bodie's head. "You don't approve."

"I don't know anything about it."

"Ah! That's what you don't approve of."

A brief grin acknowledged the truth of that, but then Doyle shook his head. "I don't know all the facts. I do wonder what Burke was doing undercover, though, without any apparent backup."

"There are jobs like that."

"And men suited for it. Which neither one of us would have pegged Burke for."

Bodie shrugged. "Neither one of us is controller, mate."

"No." After that curt agreement, Doyle fell silent.

"Anyway, what else would he do?"

"Charlie found something else."

"Yeah. See how satisfied he is in a year."

"Better than dead."

"You said that before. Yeah, all right. Better than dead."

There was a short silence, and Bodie found himself thinking about Charlie, and blood, and being invalided out.

"And at least he won't be lied to by his so-called friends."

Bodie sighed. "That's what's bothering you, is it?"

"He should know the truth."

"We can't tell him, you know that."

"Because he's not on the fucking Squad and it's classified. Yeah, I know. It doesn't make it right. He was one of us."

"'Was' being the operative word." Bodie glanced at Doyle, catching his glare.

"It doesn't change who he is."

"What good would it do to tell him? He's happier not knowing, isn't he?"

"It'd drive me mad not to know."

"Charlie's not you."

Doyle looked impatient. "Charlie's the one who's asking."

"All he cared about was that it was important. And it was."

"Bollocks."

"No. War games."

"That's your answer, is it? It makes you happy?"

"I live with it."

"Yeah. It's the dying with it that worries me."

Bodie watched a bird sail over the abandoned carriages. "We got through it. We did our job. Do the reasons matter so much?"

Doyle shifted in his seat. "I told you before I don't like what this job has turned us into."

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. "Christ. Not this again. Are you going to brood over Paul Coogan all your life?"

Silence. Then: "Well, all yours, at the very least." Bodie looked quickly at Doyle, then grinned and rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I'm not talking about that so much as the pattern."

Bodie, catching movement out of the corner of his eye, was still, watching. After a moment he relaxed. "Fox. What pattern?"

"What we've become, what we do, what we accept. I hit Paul Coogan--"

"Because he hit you."

"Yeah, because he hit me. Because I'm trained to hit back."

"You'd be useless to CI5 if you didn't."

"Exactly! It's what I've become. And then Cowley throws us to the wolves."

"You know we're expendable."

"In your so-called war games? I know he'll throw us to the wolves, but I expected it to mean something. Just like poor, deluded Charlie."

"It does mean something. You're doing the job."

"And that comes above everything." Doyle's eyes were on his, intent.

"Most things."

"Trust?"

"I trust Cowley."

"Even after that op?"

"He didn't stop me from getting to you."

"He didn't help you, either, did he? And you know he would've stopped you if need be."

"It's the job, mate. What's this in aid of?"

There was no sound from Doyle's side of the train carriage. Bodie waited.

"Do you trust me?"

Bodie looked sharply at Doyle, but he was gazing out the window. "You know I do. C'mon, Doyle."

"Like you trust Cowley."

"What are you getting at?"

"You said once that we could trust each other even when we can't trust Cowley." Doyle shifted his eyes to Bodie. "I was obeying Cowley when I followed you, when I interrogated Marikka. Putting him before you."

"For Christ's sake, Doyle, you were following orders. Doing your job."

"Yeah, and that makes it all right. Soldier mentality, Bodie. Only it wasn't the soldier who met me at the bottom of that ladder, was it?"

Bodie stared at him, frozen, and Doyle turned back to the window.

Bodie swallowed. "I didn't understand."

"No. You understood too well."

"Ray--" Bodie broke off as Doyle lifted a hand. "What?"

"Movement."

Bodie moved quickly to Doyle's side, keeping out of the line of sight through the window. "Where?"

"To the left."

"I see him." Bodie flicked the safety on the Uzi.

"That's Burke."

"Yeah. He's injured."

"I'll go out." Doyle stood, Browning in hand.

"Stay in front. I can cover you from here."

"Right." Doyle started forward, but paused as Bodie touched his arm.

"Let him know you're coming."

Doyle nodded. He turned and headed for the exit.

Bodie radioed their situation to Cowley, who said backup was on its way. Moving into position, Bodie scanned the empty space in front of their carriage, and the cluster of train carriages to their left. They had spotted Burke moving from one carriage to the next, but he was out of sight behind the nearest carriage now. To Bodie's right were more carriages and a wooden shack in a state of disrepair. He could detect no movement at all.

A minute later, he heard Doyle's whistle, and then Burke cautiously emerged from behind the nearest carriage. Doyle ran to him, taking the satchel that Burke was holding before offering his support on the trip back to their carriage. They were halfway back when Bodie saw movement to the left. He shouted to Doyle, and started firing as he saw a man carrying a semi-automatic edge around a carriage. Bodie's bullets struck true, the man falling back and away from the carriage. But other bullets sprayed the ground behind the fleeing Doyle and Burke.

Bodie fired the Uzi, creating as much cover as he could, hoping it would be enough. He counted two men, to the left. Doyle and Burke reached their carriage, and Bodie lost sight of them as they disappeared through the entrance. A moment later Doyle was beside him, reaching for the Ingram and taking up position on the other side of the window.

"They're to the left. How's Burke?" Bodie shot at a patch of white, ducking back when the fire was returned.

"He's got a bullet in his arm. Needs a doctor, but he'll live." Doyle fired. "Too much cover."

Bodie heard movement behind him. "Burke, you know how many were following you?"

"I saw three. Hoped there'd be somebody waiting for me here. Damn, this hurts."

"Blame Cowley."

"For everything," Doyle added.

"Hold off." Bodie leaned back up against the carriage wall, gesturing for Doyle to do the same. Bodie gave it thirty seconds, then went back into position with the Uzi. He got the second man just as he emerged from underneath a car. "Too keen."

"Is Cowley on his way?" Burke spoke again from behind them.

"Yeah, he's--fuck!" Bullets raked the carriage, causing them all to dive to the floor, hoping that ricochets wouldn't get them. There was a moment's silence. Bodie crept up to the window again, and caught a glimpse of movement to his left, at the door to their carriage. "Incoming!"

Bodie ran to the entrance, hearing the sound of gunfire behind him as well. Doyle's Ingram. He saw the barrel of a gun emerging from the door frame, ducked and slid, firing the Uzi. Only one man was in the entrance. He was dead.

Doyle's voice carried to him. "Got the one out front."

Four. Bodie took the dead man's weapon, then turned back to the interior of the carriage. He dropped to the floor as gunfire erupted inside the carriage, scrunching behind the last seat before the entrance. Silence fell. He inched around the seat, staying low. A man lay sprawled at the far end of the carriage. Burke lay in the centre of the aisle. Bodie jumped to his feet. "Doyle!"

Doyle emerged from behind one of the seats, head bloodied. "Keep watch." He went to Burke.

Bodie hurried to the window. There was no movement outside. He counted three bodies. Behind him, he could hear Doyle swearing under his breath. A flicker of colour caught his eye and he levelled the Uzi. But it was Murphy who emerged from behind the carriages to the left, followed by Anson. He signalled to them, then turned and joined Doyle with Burke.

"Cavalry's here."

"Stupid prat saved my life, jumped the bastard at point blank range. Knocked me away." Doyle's hands were gentle as he did what he could for Burke; his voice was savage.

Bodie thumbed open the r/t and called for an ambulance.

"His breathing's all right, he's conscious. Entry wound in the front, exit in the back. I've covered the back."

Burke lay on his back, his jacket a bloody mess, eyes closed. Doyle had covered the wound in Burke's chest with his rolled-up shirt, and was now applying pressure, trying to slow the flow of blood. There was blood on Doyle's hands, more on his head, soaking into the T-shirt he'd put on only a few hours earlier.

Bodie checked Burke's pulse, finding it rapid but steady. "Are you all right?"

Doyle looked up. "Yeah. Hit my head on the way down." His eyes slid past Bodie, towards the carriage entrance. Bodie turned his head and saw Murphy. He turned back as Doyle claimed his attention again. "Here, you'd better do this, I'm not as steady as I should be." He relinquished his position to Bodie, then stood, clutching the seat for a moment. He stepped over Burke to go and meet Murphy.

Bodie stayed with Burke, applying pressure and monitoring his breathing. Burke's eyes fluttered, then opened, tracking to Bodie's face.

"Cowley." Burke was weak, his voice little more than a whisper. "Evidence."

Bodie nodded. "He'll get it, mate. Take it easy."

"Doyle...?"

"Yeah. He's fine." Bodie placed his hand again along Burke's neck, monitoring his pulse.

Burke's gaze was still fixed on Bodie's face. He lifted his hand and gripped Bodie's arm with surprising strength. "Don't lose your partner."

Bodie stared at him. "No." He heard Cowley's voice at the train door, questioning Doyle.

Burke's hand fell and he closed his eyes again, turning inward.

Poor stupid bastard.

The ambulance arrived and took Burke and Doyle to hospital while Bodie followed in the Escort. Cowley stayed behind to sort out the mess at the freight yard. Burke was sent to surgery at the hospital, while Doyle was treated in casualty. The cut on Doyle's head required a few stitches, and he had a mild concussion. Afterwards, Doyle was allowed to join Bodie in a private waiting room. Bodie retrieved a couple of sandwiches from the hospital canteen, along with tea. They sat in silence, each lost to his individual thoughts.

There was nothing of this morning's tempter in Doyle now. His face was bleak, drawn in harsh lines, lips compressed. Yet Bodie still felt the tug of desire, even through the fog of his exhaustion. And he didn't know what the fuck to do about it, or about Doyle, or what the hell it all meant.

Time stretched, with nothing to fill it but replays of the morning and wondering about Burke's fate. He wondered if it had been sealed two years ago.

Bodie moved his neck to ease the strain of muscles, then sat forward with his arms on his thighs, staring at the floor. "I came to you."

He heard Doyle move in his chair. "What?"

"When you were with Marikka. I...was outside." He raised his head and looked at Doyle.

"Fuck it," Doyle whispered.

"She was always very persuasive. She needed to be."

"She defended you."

"I know that now. Cowley told me to listen to the tape."

Doyle stared at him, and Bodie, strangely chilled, forced himself to hold his gaze.

The door to the room opened and Cowley stepped in, closing the door behind him. One look at Cowley's face and Bodie knew Burke had died. He looked down, shoulders slumped, staring at his linked hands. In the loo, he'd washed Burke's blood away, but he could still feel the impression of his fingers. Don't lose your partner.

"Was it worth it?" The bitterness in Doyle was very close to the surface. Bodie banked down his own emotions and looked up at Cowley and Doyle.

"He thought so." There was fleeting pain in Cowley's face, quickly replaced by the hard efficiency of a commander. No, Bodie had no desire to be controller. He glanced at Doyle.

Doyle's eyes were on Cowley, but then he looked away. "Will the evidence be enough?" Weariness made his voice rough.

"I hope so, laddie. I hope so. You two, be in at noon tomorrow." Cowley turned to leave, but he hesitated at the door. "Right or wrong, he gave his life for the job. He wanted to break the Stratton ring."

"He threw his life away, you mean." Doyle stared at the floor.

"Easy to judge, Doyle, until you stand in another man's shoes. Stratton ordered Farley shot two years ago." Cowley nodded as Doyle gaped at him. "Aye." He turned and left the room.

Bodie watched the door swing shut behind the controller. Yeah, but Burke hadn't died to bring Stratton down. Did Cowley realise that? Cowley uses whatever he has to use--everything and everyone.

All too true, mate.

Bodie stood and walked over to Doyle, nudging his shoulder. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Doyle looked up at him, then nodded, and followed him out of the room and out of the hospital to where Bodie had parked the Escort. The winter sun was setting, a grey sky with edges of pink trying to break through. The day had never warmed, and the wind had picked up, slicing through his open jacket. At the car, Doyle held out his hand for the keys, but Bodie shook his head.

"I'll drive."

"It's my car." Nevertheless, Doyle headed for the passenger side.

"I'm coming home with you."

Doyle slanted a look at him, but didn't say anything as Bodie settled himself in the driver's seat and started the car. The silence descended on them again, and Bodie didn't have the energy to break it this time. He felt weighted down, his thoughts wearing grooves in his brain like water over stone. The ham salad sandwich had taken the edge off his hunger but it had also settled into the pit of his stomach. He needed to eat something decent, and he needed to sleep, and he wanted Doyle.

Bodie drove on automatic, more aware of the man beside him than the late afternoon traffic swirling around him. Burke's death only brought it home more keenly: take what you want, there are no second chances.

"Well, if you're coming home with me, then, you might as well help out." Doyle broke the silence, his voice mild.

"Eh? Help out with what?"

"Pull over up there, by the greengrocer's."

Bodie did as he was asked, bringing the car to a stop. He gazed through the windscreen at the greenery decorating the front of the shop. "You're not."

"This year more than ever, eh?" Doyle touched his arm, then climbed out of the car and headed for the Christmas trees bunged together by the shop entrance. Maybe he had a point.

Bodie joined Doyle, helping him to inspect each tree, enjoying the animation on Doyle's face, the lines of concentration around his eyes as he inspected the tree Bodie held for him.

"Yeah, that one." Doyle nodded slowly.

"Are you positive? We could go through them all again."

Doyle looked at him. "Well, if you're not sure...."

"Go on, pay for it. I'll take it to the car."

"I'll see if I can get some string to tie it on with." Doyle turned away, and Bodie reached out to him, gripping his arm.

"Doyle."

Doyle looked back at him, head tilted.

"I...it wasn't lack of trust. When Marikka died."

Doyle stilled, his face expressionless. "What, then?"

"I thought she'd set me up, and that you'd believed her. Lack of faith, not trust."

Doyle slowly shook his head. "I'm not sure there's a distinction, mate." But after a moment he shrugged and gave Bodie a small, fleeting smile. Then he turned and headed into the shop.

Bodie carried the tree to the car, positioning it on top. Doyle returned, twine in hand, and they secured the tree to the car. Fortunately, they were close to Doyle's flat, and they found a parking space not far from the entrance to the building.

"Come on up, I'll want to get the stand ready first."

Bodie followed Doyle out of the car. "Ah, you're going to teach me the esoteric science of setting up the tree, are you?"

"Observe and learn, my son."

Watching Doyle's bum rising before him on the stairs, Bodie grinned. "I have the observation part down pat." He suited action to words and was rewarded with a loud groan.

Once in the flat, Doyle shed his jacket, switched on a lamp, and disappeared down the hallway. Returning shortly with the tree stand, he set it on the floor, close to the window. The blue T-shirt he wore was stained with Burke's blood and Doyle's own. Bodie leaned back against the door, and folded his arms, his eyes never leaving Doyle.

The soft glow of the lamp didn't reach the door, and as Doyle walked back towards him, Bodie could see only the shadow of his face--very little of his expression. He swallowed.

"You ready?" Doyle stopped in front of him.

"I've been ready since this morning." Bodie unfolded his arms, then grabbed Doyle, swinging them around so that Doyle's back was to the door. He fastened his mouth on Doyle's, seeking possession, seeking an end to the uncertainty. Doyle struggled, growling in his throat, but Bodie pushed him back, trapping him against the door, as he'd been trapped against the lockers. He pushed his thigh against Doyle's cock, pressing against him, mouth still working on Doyle's. And Doyle finally opened for him, accepting Bodie's probing tongue. Ah, God, yes, this was what he wanted.

Doyle's hands clamped on his arms. Bodie broke the hold, then took one of Doyle's hands and brought it to his groin, to the clasp of Bodie's trousers. He felt Doyle's other hand join the one he'd captured, and he knew he'd won. He broke the kiss, leaving Doyle gasping, rucking up the T-shirt to expose Doyle's heaving chest. He latched on to Doyle's nipple, biting and sucking. Doyle's hands faltered.

Bodie reached for Doyle's jeans, unzipping him, freeing him from the confines of the cloth. Doyle's cock was hard and weeping already, straining towards his, but he left it alone, one hand reaching around to stroke Doyle's arse, the other on Doyle's chest as he raised his head and claimed Doyle's mouth again. His finger sought out the cleft of Doyle's arse, pressing towards his goal.

Doyle swore, groaning, and he arched towards Bodie even as he pushed back against the invading finger. Bodie felt Doyle's hands on his cock, uncoordinated, frantic, and he lifted his own hands up to Doyle's shoulders in a sweeping caress. Then he pressed down, pushing Doyle to his knees. Doyle went willingly, taking Bodie's cock into his mouth, hands clenching the back of Bodie's thighs. Bodie grabbed Doyle's head, pushing himself further into Doyle's mouth, feeling the spiral of arousal.

Before he reached the peak, he pulled out, looking down through slitted eyes at Doyle's mouth releasing him, at the dazed sensuality in Doyle's eyes. He raised Doyle up and turned him to face the door. Still gasping, Doyle braced himself, and Bodie sheathed his cock in Doyle in one quick thrust, hearing Doyle's grunt and feeling the force of it in his hand on Doyle's chest. He kissed the back of Doyle's neck, bit and licked, and felt Doyle's shuddering reaction.

"Yeah, that's right." He lifted himself out of Doyle and thrust back in again, powerfully. "This is my ride, Ray. Come along with me." His hand moved down, sliding to Doyle's cock, circling it, pumping it fiercely. Only seconds later, Doyle came, voice guttural as he cried out. Doyle collapsed against the wall, his forearms taking the brunt as Bodie pressed forward, holding him against the door as he pulled out and pushed into Doyle, over and over. Driving into him, seeking the very centre of him, as deeply as he could go, seeking flashpoint and the end of need.

When he came, at last, exploding into Doyle, holding him as he was drained, it was as if the world had collapsed to that one moment, that one sensation. Flesh against flesh, Doyle in his arms. Silenced. And they both slid to the floor in a tangle.

Bodie's hand circled Doyle's neck; he could feel the pulse there, furious but steady. His forehead resting on Doyle's shoulder, he closed his eyes.

After a long while, he felt Doyle stir, and he rolled reluctantly away, settling on his back. Doyle pulled himself up to a sitting position, back against the door, and he looked at Bodie, eyes dark.

"Your 'good way to unwind' is liable to kill us, you know."

Bodie smiled, enjoying the sight of a well-fucked Doyle. "I know."

"Bodie."

The abruptness in Doyle's voice brought Bodie's eyes to his. But Doyle didn't say anything, just looked at him, eyes gleaming in the semi-dark. "What?"

Another long pause. "Is that invitation still open? For Christmas?"

"To Susanne's? Yeah. I thought you were going home with what's-her-name."

"Carol. And no, not any more."

Sudden anticipation made him smile. "You'll like Susanne's sister, Ray."

"Yeah. I've trusted you before on that, you know." Doyle hoisted himself up to his feet. "I've been disappointed, too." He reached out a hand for Bodie. "C'mon. We've still got a tree to put up."

Bodie groaned. "You are joking, aren't you? I need my sleep, Ray!"

"And you'll get it. After you help me with that tree." Doyle pulled on Bodie's arm, and Bodie gave in to the inevitable.

He steadied himself against Doyle's shoulder and felt him sway under the weight. "How's your head?"

"Better than it was." Doyle pulled away, then beckoned Bodie to follow him down the hallway. "I'll let you in on a little secret I've been saving."

"What's that, then?" He'd follow Doyle to his bedroom and push him into bed. Once there, neither of them would have the strength to resist sleep. The tree could wait; Doyle would see the logic of it.

"The shower here's big enough for two."

"Ah, Christ." Bodie closed his eyes in despair.

---

23 December 1979

Bodie woke quickly, eyes snapping open, mind racing as he struggled to remember where he was and why. Holiday, he was on holiday. And that was Lisa lying against him, one leg hooked over his. He breathed in and out slowly, his pulse steadying, and he closed his eyes, hoping to slide back into sleep. It couldn't be later than three in the morning, if that, and he'd be damned if he'd be cheated out of the sleep he so richly deserved.

Apparently, he was damned.

He opened his eyes, gazed into the dark, and took stock. He felt fine, pleasantly relaxed, tired but without any of the dragging exhaustion that had become so familiar. Too many cases, too few agents--too many lo