Amid the shriek of protesting tires, the gold Capri rocked to a halt, lurched forward once, angled back, then fell silent as its ignition was abruptly disengaged.

Raymond Doyle sat in the driver's seat, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, baleful gaze turned towards the entry to the apartment block that stood outside his right window.

The bastard.

Despite the almost overwhelming impetus to stalk up to Bodie's door and smash his handsome face in, Doyle held himself rigid, forcing himself to breathe normally, waiting for the fury-paced beat of his heart to gradually slow. It took a while, considering the state of his temper; but it allowed him the first real chance to think since Cowley had dropped his bomb.

The bastard had resigned. Bodie had resigned. Doyle had been suspended between disbelief and cold shock at the news, rational thought beyond him. The fact that Cowley knew and Doyle didn't was an immediate source of resentment. Life with Bodie had not been all that easy the last few months, and this was the topper, the icing on a cake of crumbs.

For more than five weeks, they had been stuck up in Norwich, in each other's company constantly, awaiting the moment when they could close the lid on one Franz Geus. Bad enough that during that time Bodie had been strangely out of kilter. One minute he was high as a kite, full of silly stories and distractions for Doyle's snappish impatience, the next withdrawn and morose, refusing all overtures of reciprocal amusement, determinedly hulking in the chair overlooking Geus' bolt-hole, as distant and impenetrable as the Berlin Wall their quarry was hoping to put between them, as soon as his assignment in the UK was finished. And then Geus had got away, clean away. They'd been set up, of course; and somehow, despite their best efforts, the foreign agent had twigged to their surveillance and managed to effect his escape. After all the dust had settled, CI5 had been left with a considerable quantity of egg on its collective face, and Bodie and Doyle had become the focus of one of Cowley's more impressive displays of frustrated fury.

Once all the facts had trickled in, however, even he had had to acknowledge that his two best agents had done all they were capable of, given the ham-stringing exigencies of the situation and the delicacy of operating within the local population. That Geus had been caught before reaching the border had gone a long way to mitigating the Scot's spleen and they had been given some much-needed time off.

Doyle had spent Monday firmly cocooned in his bed, trying to make up for the recent spate of sleepless nights. Thursday, he had tidied his long-neglected flat, emptied the unspeakable residents out of his refrigerator, hauled his redolent wardrobe to the cleaners, and restocked his pantry. Then, he had been ready for a little recreation.

He had spent the evening at his local, enjoying a warm, filling meal and liquid refreshment for the first time in seemingly ages. A lovely young women had settled beside him and supplied all the casual conversation two people could require. Nevertheless, Doyle ended her budding interest with a series of uncontrollable, impossible to conceal yawns. Mistaking his exhaustion for boredom, the women had quickly removed herself from his presence, almost before he was aware of what had happened.

Despite being randy as hell, Doyle had recognized that he was nowhere near his best and dragged himself home, collapsing into a surprisingly troubled sleep the instant his lanky frame folded onto the bed.

In the morning, considerably rested despite the worrying dreams that had plagued his night, Doyle had phoned his partner, determined that an early morning run would put him to rights; and since Bodie had been the featured, if ill-favoured, subject of his nightmares, it was only fair that Bodie should accompany him.

The phone call had been intercepted by HQ. Stupefied at the first, calming tones of-the dispatcher, Doyle had wondered if he had misdialled. But upon stumblingly admitting that he had been ringing Bodie, none other than Alpha One had come onto the line.

The conversation that had transpired was too galling for Doyle to replay in his mind's ear at any length. Cowley had been adamant, Doyle had been belligerently disrespectful, and the last words exchanged -- rather, shouted -- between them were ones he hoped some day to forget.

And here he sat, against Cowley's direct orders, gathering himself to -- what? Beat the obtuseness out of his partner for tendering his resignation without Doyle's permission? His expression briefly betrayed the magnitude of hurt caused by Bodie's defection as Doyle took in a long, rallying breath and clambered out of the car. Thinking had done no good; it was time to hear what Bodie had to say.

The day was still infant when Doyle mounted the last step leading to the front door of Bodie's block of flats. Purposefully, he rang the old lady who lived one floor up from Bodie and whom he knew with almost total certainty would be up already. She was and, delightedly recognizing him, was more than happy to release the latch so Doyle could come up and surprise his partner. He waved to her from the landing, then put a single finger to his lips, winking outrageously. She gave a soft giggle and bustled back inside. Feeling the slightest bit heartened by this display of camaraderie, Doyle unsheathed a pair of long, metal probes and proceeded to indulge in a bit of illegal entry.

He knew a flare of reflexive irritation when he noted that Bodie had not set the alarms -- even if it did make things easier for him. He stepped silently into the tiled foyer, listening intently for a hint of his partner's location. There were quiet sounds emanating from the first bedroom, the low monotone of the radio intermingled with the shuffle and rustle of movement.

Doyle moved onto the carpet that flowed from the central corridor to the bedroom, bringing himself to a stop just inside the doorway. Bodie stood with his back to him, bent over an open suitcase. Another leaned against the foot of the bed, already filled to capacity and strapped shut. Scored by this evidence of Bodie's betrayal, Doyle said tightly, "Anyone'd think you were moving out, mate."

He was rewarded by the shock of surprise that surged through Bodie's spine, the automatic grab for the gun holstered under his left arm. Yet, without turning, absorbing Doyle's unexpected presence as a fait accompli, Bodie let his hand relax and gave a grunt of greeting. "Doyle."

Doyle nodded to himself. Bodie was giving nothing away. He was grateful for that, for it simply fuelled the turmoil simmering in his gut, and he wanted Bodie to be completely responsible when it hit the boil. "An' hello to you, Bodie. Or should it be 'goodbye'?"

Bodie said nothing, his movements meticulous as he concentrated on the folding and placement of a blue shirt.

Doyle allowed him a full minute to answer, quite certain that he would not. Keeping his voice even with an effort, he stated, "Didn't it occur to you that I might want to know about this, partner, from you, that is, not Cowley."

Bodie's shoulders bunched beneath their tailored jacket. He was dressed for travel, from the beautifully cut wool coat to the gleaming black shoes. A couple of minutes later and Doyle would have been too late. He waited, arms compressed closely across his chest.

"Thought it'd be better this way." The words were empty of emotion, guarding their speaker with practised ease.

"For who? But that's obvious, isn't it, since nobody asked me," Doyle snapped.

Bodie picked up another shirt and set about blocking it before folding it neatly. With his back to him, Doyle could see nothing of his expression, but he could guess what that shuttered visage looked like. He went on witheringly, "But then, I suppose being partners -- and friends -- for eight years doesn't count for much these days."

Wearily, Bodie countered, "You lived with your family for 17 years, Ray. How much did that count for?"

Welcoming the opening, even as he recognized the intrinsic truth of the words, Doyle said, "They were never that important." The movement Bodie made was minimal, not quite a flinch; but Doyle took it as a score in his favour. "But you knew that."

Bodie wasn't playing. He went on with his methodical task, finally scooping the store-bought neat shirt into his hands and delivered it to the open mouth of the suitcase.

Goaded beyond sensibility, Doyle crossed the room in three great strides. He grabbed Bodie's arm with total disregard for his own safety and wrenched the heavier, slightly taller man around. Ignoring the overly composed face, Doyle demanded, "Damn it, the least you can do is tell me what this is all about!"

Bodie's eyes went to his upper arm, expressionlessly taking in the clawed fingers that gouged into his woolen sleeve. Then he raised his head, looking straight into his partner's face, cold blue ice meeting and holding roiling green torment. Stunned by that unyielding gaze, Doyle released him. Bodie turned away, conscious of the angry hurt gripping his friend, but seemingly unbothered. Doyle took a step back, then another, moving slowly until he came up against the door jamb. He had dealt with this Bodie very rarely, and never frequently enough to learn how best to handle him. Suddenly aware that this was the last opportunity he would ever have -- -and that this time, he must get it right -- Doyle forced himself to relax.

"All right," he said resolutely. "You've probably got a plane to catch, maybe a train. If you want to make it on time, start talking."

Doyle did not see the reluctant amusement that chased across Bodie's face, and when he came round, it had been eradicated by a heavy mask of indifference. "Novel tactics, mate. You really think you can stop me?"

Quietly, Doyle asked, "Is it worth hurting me to find out?"

Bodie's eyes fell closed and for a moment he made no effort to breathe. Cowley was to have seen that this didn't happen, knowing how hard it would be for him to confront Ray with his going. He lifted another shirt and held it before him, unwittingly like a shield.

"Look, Doyle, it's no big deal, okay? I-I've another job. No law says I have to spend the rest of my life in CI5."

Doyle gave way to a frown, this sudden capitulation and surrendering of information totally unexpected. "So, why all the secrecy? Did you think I'd try to talk you out if it, if that's what you wanted?"

Bodie shrugged, casting Doyle a brief, but eloquent look. "Don't like saying goodbye much."

With a single sentence, Bodie cut the heart out of Doyle's carefully nurtured rage. It left him more than a little bereft, swamped with feelings of abandonment that were more painful than he could comfortably admit to.

"You could have told me," he said, managing to keep his tone neutral.

Bodie bowed his head in acknowledgment of the mild rebuke.

"So, who is it, then? Who're you going to work for?"

Bodie hesitated the span of a single breath, then shrugged again. "Can't talk about it."

"Oh." Doyle glanced around dully. "Would you have written?" He didn't know why he asked that. Despite their closeness, neither had ever put constraints on the other, not in any way. And yet, Doyle simply could not accept that Bodie would walk away from CI5, from their partnering, which had always seemed eminently satisfactory, from him, without a far better reason than he offered.

"Didn't think you'd want to hear from me, once I'd done a bunk," Bodie answered honestly.

Doyle gave him a hollow look. "Nah. You're probably right." He turned away, intent on leaving before he could say or do anything that would haunt him later. But midstep toward the bedroom door, he was caught up on a thought that penetrated his misery. "When'd all this come up, then?" Brows drawn together, he pointed out logically, almost to himself, "You'd have to have given a full month's notice; that's in the large print."

Bodie shifted his attention back to the shirt held forgotten in his hands. There were two spots of moisture staining the material; with clammy fingers he wadded it together and jammed it onto its predecessor.

Doyle straightened, his whole demeanour altering as his brain began to function again. "We've been on the Geus thing for nearly six weeks, and you never said a word." The truth struck him all at once, rankling inside with equal parts confusion and renewed anger. "You'd've said something Bodie, I know you. You don't have another job, do you?! You just said that to get me out of your hair. Didn't you, Bodie!"

Mutinously, Bodie replied, "You're off your nut, Doyle."

But Doyle had seen a flicker of fear cross that forbidding countenance. "Must be something personal, then," he mused aloud. "Something bad enough that Cowley had to agree to let you out." Bodie was watching him, his face pale. With genuine concern, Doyle asked, "Are you in trouble, mate? If you are..."

"No." Bodie bit the word off. He met the troubled green eyes, wondering that the truth wasn't emblazoned on his swiftly crumbling facade. "And anyway, you missed the bleeding point, Doyle: if it was something I wanted to discuss, I wouldn't have been ready to skip out, now would I?"

The venomous statement, delivered in Bodie's coldest tones, did not go unfelt. "An' don't think I've forgotten that," Doyle shot back. "But I happen to...."

"Let it go, Doyle!"

"I can't, you selfish bastard. You think I like feeling like the clap, as though I've done something to make you...." With the same burst of clarity that had led him to this moment, Doyle asked painfully, "Is that it? Is it me? Something I've...."

Bodie shouted, "No!" His face went completely still, his eyes closed. "No," he repeated with terrible precision. "It's me."

"Bodie." Doyle waited until Bodie faced him. "Tell me?"

"Doyle..."

The single utterance held a wealth of unspoken emotion. Instinctively, Doyle said nothing, attempting through sheer physical presence to urge his confidence.

"All right, Ray. I haven't given you a really good laugh in ages." There was an air of resignation about the other man that Doyle found nothing less than staggering. Having seen Bodie in nearly every mood conceivable, Doyle was unprepared for this manifest defeatedness. For the first time since rushing heedlessly over here, Doyle wondered if he shouldn't have left well enough alone....

"I fell in love."

The words were rendered in a curious pastiche of chagrin, remorse and simple awe. Doyle could not have been more astounded had Bodie stated his intention of taking on the mantle of priesthood. Momentarily struck dumb, he could only stare, relief that Bodie wasn't about to tell him that he was under a death sentence -- or something equally appalling -- gushing into his system through wide open gates.

"Who?" Doyle's voice broke on a note of disbelief. "Christ, when? We've been in Norwich for bloody ever. You've never... Jesus, Bodie, we've spent 20 out of 24 hours together -- and that's just allowing time to take a shower or use the loo...." He stumbled to a halt. Bodie's reticence didn't disturb him so much as the sudden suspicion that he was being led down the wrong path again. Darkly reflective, he didn't notice the twinge of panic that whitened Bodie's already drawn face. Finally, Doyle demanded plaintively, Who, Bodie?"

It would have been very easy to lie at that moment, to protect himself -- and Doyle. But Bodie had come too far, said too much to take the easy way out now. And, for ill or good, Doyle deserved the truth.

"You, sunshine," he answered.

Bodie had imagined this moment, despite his determination that it should never take place, and he wanted, desperately, to watch Doyle's reaction. But the immediate widening of Doyle's eyes, the sudden draining of colour from his face weakened Bodie's resolve and he looked away, hands crushing the lapels of a shirt he did not remember picking up.

To Doyle's credit, there was only a fleeting instant when he feared that Bodie was having him on. The meaning of what Bodie had said had barely registered on his ears before that notion was considered and dispelled. A single glance at that wretched visage was more than enough to convince him that Bodie was serious. But he couldn't be! Doyle knew him, had known him too long for Bodie to spring something like this on him. And if he was....

Incapable of countenancing the thought, Doyle blurted, "But you're not -- you've never -- You haven't, Bodie?"

With a trace of truculence, Bodie said flatly. "No, I haven't."

Reassured and borne on a wave of something he didn't take time to identify, Doyle continued, "Then what the bleeding hell are you on about? You don't go bent all of a sudden, Bodie. We're mates, friends, not -- "

Bodie had no response for him, and made no effort to cobble one together.

He was perversely grateful when Doyle found his voice again.

"You really mean it, don't you? But I've never done anything..."

At the painful faltering, Bodie knew it was time to put an end to this. "Said it wasn't you, Doyle," he said firmly. "Look, Ray, I only told you because you wouldn't let it go -- and so you'd know why it wouldn't work for me to stay. Now, you know. And I'm sorry. I didn't plan this, believe me."

Doyle could see the truth of that in his partner's face. Yet Bodie's helpless acceptance suddenly triggered a rush of irritation. "You dumb sod, you don't go from wanting women to wanting men overnight -- unless you were that way to begin with." Involuntarily, Doyle considered that. "But you always did like to touch, didn't you, mate? Took a long time before you learned to keep your hands off my bum..."

"I don't want men, Doyle!" Bodie roared. "I only want...."

"....me." The word was spoken softly, and with bemused acceptance. "You want to fuck me don't you?"

Bodie blinked, trying hard to see through the haze of anger and self-reproach, not looking at Doyle, for that was impossible. He could hear the rage, the betrayal, the shattered comprehension in that overhusky voice.

Goaded, Doyle spat out, "You want to fuck me!"

Concealing the black despair generated by those words, Bodie raised his head and calmly faced his accuser. "Among other things," he agreed.

Shaken, his face pinched and waxen, Doyle tensed as if to deliver a blow. Bodie ached for him. He had never wanted this, knowing that Doyle could have reacted in no other way. And yet it tore him to shreds to be the subject of that mute contempt. "Listen, Ray," he pleaded softly, clutching the now-wrinkled shirt against his chest. "I can't really explain how it happened, but it did. And before, when I used to touch you -- it wasn't because of that. Not that it makes any difference." He moved a little away, aware on some level of his mind that inside, he was shivering violently, but powerless to control it. "Knew what you'd think, Ray; can you imagine that I wouldn't? But I never -- "

The door to his flat slammed shut. A quick, encompassing look told him that Doyle had gone, fled on cat-quiet feet. "Can't say that I blame you, mate," Bodie breathed, and then bit savagely into his lower lip at the break in his voice. Grief welled up inside him like a physical presence, oppressive within his chest, filling his throat until it threatened to burst. He flung the shirt aside and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he pressed the door to, back braced against it, and let his head sink slowly forward.

---

Doyle launched into misty daylight like a man pursued. Not that anyone was following him, for he knew Bodie would not. At least, he didn't think he would, although that was something about Bodie that could change, too.

Momentum abandoned him as he reached the bottom step. Unsteadily reaching out in the chill morning air, he blindly found the wrought iron rail and let it take his weight. He eased himself down to the cold concrete and pulled his knees up close, resting his elbows upon them as he gazed across the street at nothing.

You want to fuck me.

Christ, of all the things he could have come up with to say, did it have to be that? And yet, the thought had shocked him as no other had done in a very long time. Bodie was not the first man to want him, and would never understand the revulsion that had gathered inside him at the realization that his partner felt that way, too.

It was just that he'd never -- No, that would be lying, for although he had not imagined the two of them making love, he had to admit that he was conscious of Bodie's sexuality in a way that he had never been of any other man. It was the way they operated, their shared needs and desires, and the very real bond between them that made virtually no topic taboo. Doyle knew his partner's taste in women, the positions he preferred, the sensitive places he liked to be touched, even the way he liked to set the stage when he set about conquest. There was little they had not discussed between them; Bodie knew as much about him.

So how the bloody hell had Bodie came to want him?

I fell in love. Doyle leaned his head against the railing, hands clasped together, fingers wrestling. He wished he hadn't thrown out the bit about Bodie touching him. He had never minded it, except rarely, when it got out of hand -- -or rather, too firmly into hand. That was just Bodie: affectionate, not bound by convention in that any more than he was in most other aspects of his life.

And he had resigned from CI5 to spare Doyle knowing this. Cowley knew, Doyle would lay odds on it. The thought made him flush, and then he sighed, heavy and long, half-wishing he had chosen to go for that run alone this morning. But that would only have made things easier for bin. Bodie had made no claims, after all: Knew what you'd think. If it was what Doyle wanted, he could walk away right now, let Bodie flee as he'd intended, and no one would know.

Doyle would know. "You bloody-minded bastard," he groaned. He recollected the rage he had flown into when Cowley had advised him of Bodie's resignation; could not erase the hasty, irretrievable words that he had snarled into the R/T as he had charged off to Bodie's rescue. No, to his own rescue. Bodie can't resign -- what about me?

I fell in love.

You want to fuck me.

Inwardly writhing with self-contempt, Doyle's eyes focussed on the gold Capri, parked across the street. He could drive off now; and he would be where he had been this morning: without a partner. Without Bodie. Bodie, who wanted to.... The words he had hurled in Bodie's face returned to grate inside his brain. But this time, he let the images that accompanied them take form. Bodie, holding him; the two of them kissing. Lying together, naked. Touching. Those big, square-cut hands gliding down his chest.

A wild laugh, more than a little edged with hysteria, bubbled from his mouth. Oh, came on, now, his chest, hairy as sin, flat as a washboard. What the hell could Bodie be thinking?

Did Bodie have any notion what it was he was thinking?

Rubbing a rough hand across his face, Doyle climbed to his feet. There was only one way to find out, and he certainly owed Bodie at least that much.

---

Doyle forced a grin of thanks for the woman upstairs, then withdrew his set of tools again. The door gave way to an empty flat, only the sound of the radio audible this time.

He went hesitantly into the bedroom. Bodie was not there. Bending to fetch the discarded shirt from the floor, he tossed it into the still-open suitcase and puzzled over his partner's whereabouts. After making a superficial recce, he realised that the only place Bodie could be was the closed bathroom. A little apprehensive, he went right up to it and placed his ear against the cool wood. At first he heard nothing, and then it came through: a soft, pained sound, rending in its quiet hopelessness.

Chastened, Doyle stepped away, and escaped to the bedroom. Glittering eyes took in the filled suitcase and the one half-full. With sudden purpose, Doyle loaded the full one wholesale into the wardrobe, and deftly began to empty the other. Gaping drawers quickly filled, and trousers and jackets found their way back onto hangers. He had just stowed the empty case under the bed when the bathroom door opened.

Standing motionless in a corner of the room, he was not immediately noticed. The subdued figure slowly crossing the floor made Doyle frown with dismay, guiltily aware that he was the cause of his partner's depression. He made a movement, which was swiftly abandoned; but Bodie caught it and started at his presence.

Covering himself at once, he asked caustically, "Forget something, Doyle?"

Doyle nodded. "Yeah." He pushed away from the wall. "Bodie, I want to talk."

"Thought you already did. Pretty well said it all, I thought." Finding Doyle in his flat was the last thing Bodie had expected -- or wanted. Having dealt with his immediate sense of loss, he was ready to move on. After all, twenty minutes ago, he had expected never to see Doyle again. It was difficult back-peddling, to try and regain his defences. But Doyle seemed oddly lost for words, his face a picture Bodie could not interpret, for he didn't know what that tensely determined look meant. Not conceding to anything so devastating as hope, Bodie covered his own expression with exasperation. "So, what'd you forget?"

Doyle shrugged, as though embarrassed to admit: "That I don't want you to go."

Bodie was noticeably unmoved. "Little late for that, Doyle. A minute ago, you'd've been happier if you'd never heard of me."

"Yeah," Doyle agreed wryly. "But you know me, Bodie. Didn't expect that did I?"

Taking in the affable features, the openly displayed desire for peace between them, Bodie gave a faint nod. "No," he said blandly. "Don't suppose you did."

Doyle leant forward ingratiatingly. "How about some tea? You've time for that, haven't you?"

Despite himself, Bodie accepted. "Yeah, all right."

"Good." Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Doyle strode into the kitchen where he rapidly filled the kettle and plugged it in, then reached up into the cupboard for the pot. An arm stretched past and fetched it down. Without a word, Bodie took it to the sink and let the hot water run.

Leaning back against the sink cupboard, Doyle said, "So how'd it happen, then?"

Bodie held the pot under the tap and watched it fill; he rarely waited for the kettle to boil before warming the pot. "Is it important?"

"Maybe not," Doyle acknowledged. "But I need...I'd like to know."

There was a chink of ceramic against tile as the pot settled hard on the counter. "Why?"

"I guess it's important to me."

Bodie set the lid in place and turned to face his partner. "Remember the Lin Fo thing -- 'course, you do. Bloke wouldn't forget that."

"Sure," Doyle said easily. "Still dream about it, sometimes."

"I know." They'd shared a room often enough since then for him to be well-acquainted with the broken pattern of Doyle's sleep. Bodie traced the curves of the handle with an unsteady fingertip. "After you got out of hospital, you stayed with me those first couple of weeks, while you were getting back on your feet...."

"Go on." As soon as the words spilled from his mouth, Doyle realised that Bodie was just ordering his thoughts.

"Was... Guess it started then, that's all. Got used to helping you do things. You were too weak to complain when I gave you a hand. I found that I wanted to take care of you. Didn't think anything of it when I wished I could hold you," he added defiantly. "You were pretty fragile, then."

"I remember." And he did. While Bodie had never hovered, he had always been on hand when Doyle needed anything. To Doyle's bemusement, they had got along very well together; so well in fact that Doyle had found it a little tedious being on his own again when he had finally returned to his own flat. Even then, Bodie had maintained the closeness, ringing him at odd times during the day, stopping by frequently in the evening on the pretext of dropping off a bottle of wine or takeaway. Mostly, he brought himself, and the thing Doyle craved most: his company.

"You were missing the women, too," Bodie murmured. "The crazy thought occurred to me that I could help you out; just make it easy for you to toss off, y'know. Nothing heavy. Knew how wearing everything was for you." He gave a slow sigh. "But it was harmless; just a part of taking care of you, I thought."

Doyle raised his brows, waiting for more.

Bodie flashed him a look formed of dislike and resignation. "I began to see you differently. Imagined the sorts of things that would please you. But I knew -- I'm not crazy, Ray -- that you'd want to thump me to a pulp if I tried anything on." His features twisted with disgust. "But it had already taken root in my stupid brain. Began to dream about you." For a statement of undying love, Doyle thought, this faintly nettled tone left a great deal to be desired.

"What about birds?"

Bodie raised his eyes to the ceiling, his face harshly illuminated by the brightness of the overhead lamp.

He was tired -- exhausted, Doyle amended; and he wondered when Bodie had slept last.

"Haven't given 'em too much thought of late," Bodie admitted. "When I found myself fantasizing about you to get it up -- well, it kinda put me off the whole idea."

"Bodie...." Doyle forced himself to speak without emotion. "You said you want to fuck me -- "

Bodie interrupted hotly. "You said that."

Doyle raised his hands placatingly. "You didn't deny it. 'Among other things,' you said. What other things, Bodie?"

Bodie's mouth formed a harsh line. "What's it matter? Just drop it, okay?"

"Huh-uh. You must've had something in mind. I'd like to know what."

For an instant their eyes met. Bodie found something in Doyle's face that reassured him, for he went on, very softly, "The usual -- the things you do with someone you... care about."

"Yeah?"

The floor came under intense blue scrutiny. "Y'know, holding hands. Hugging. Snogging on the sofa when the box gets boring. Cuddling in bed when it's cold."

"With me? "

Chagrined, Bodie could only nod.

The kettle began to whistle; both welcomed the interruption. They moved easily into the production of pouring boiling water over tea bags, and while it steeped, sloshed generous amounts of milk into empty mugs.

Apparently engrossed in tucking the cozy round the pot, Doyle queried, "Why didn't you try to talk this out with me, Bodie?"

Bodie laughed, not a pleasant sound. "Idiot. Told you why. No point, is there? I can't change the way I feel, Doyle. And I know you don't want any of it."

Doyle folded his arms across his chest, somewhat surprised at himself for handling this so calmly; for Christ's sake, they could be discussing an upcoming op for all their dispassion. "So, let me get this straight: because you love me, you're ready to feed me to the wolves, probably get me killed. Is that -- "

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It is a bit late in the day for me to be breaking in a new partner, mate. Knowing Cowley, he'll strap me with a young 'un, too -- a hotshot out to show me what an old veteran I am. Get me invalided, if not killed, in six months -- maybe a year."

Briefly, Bodie's tumbled emotions were clearly visible. "Didn't know you had so little faith in yourself, mate, " he said acidly.

Doyle was stoic. "Just being realistic. No one would bother to look after me like you do, that's all. "Have got used to it, haven't I."

This was something that had occurred to Bodie already, more than once and in terrible variations that left him sick and trembling in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, he growled, "And what if I'd taken a dive in the line of duty, Doyle? What would you have done, then?"

"Never thought about it much. Didn't like the way it felt. But after eight years... well, guess I'd have considered doing something else. Now...."

"Doyle."

Stalling, Doyle removed the tea cozy, and held the pot out; ready to pour. "Just one more thing I need to know, Doyle Were you running away because of me -- or because of you?"

Uncertain of the meaning behind the question, Bodie chose to equivocate. "Seemed the best thing for both of us."

"Is that so?" Doyle turned to fill his own mug. "It never once occurred to you to talk it out?"

"Told you: no point. Knew how you'd feel. How you do feel."

Doyle blew on his tea, then slurped a scalding sip into his mouth. "Doesn't wash, mate; I know you. When you want something -- anything -- nothing'll stand in your way. If you really loved me, really wanted me, you'd have tried to bring me round. But you never did anything."

Bodie stared down into the milky-gold depths of his tea, Doyle's words filling his ears with the ring of finality. "Just forget it, Doyle, okay?"

"Can't. It isn't me you're afraid of. It's you. Have you ever loved anyone, Bodie -- anyone you didn't run out on, that is?"

Reeling inwardly under this unexpected attack, Bodie awkwardly set his mug down, slopping the contents onto the sideboard. Producing a dreadful imitation of his normal voice, he rasped, "Even if what you say is true, it doesn't change anything, because I can't change." He collected himself with quiet, hard-won dignity. "So maybe you were right, Doyle. I must be bent."

It was that half-broken statement that finally brought together Doyle's disordered thoughts and gave them purpose. Gone was the initial impulse to reject Bodie and this harebrained idiocy of his out of hand. Somehow, along the way, the unacceptable had lost its taint.

This was Bodie, the man who had done everything; who could handle almost any situation; who had guarded his partner's hide with a jealous intensity that had never gone unnoticed -- and one of the rare people about whom Raymond Doyle gave a damn. So much more than a damn, in fact.

He and Bodie had stood shoulder-to-shoulder against all the mayhem the world chose to offer, their own mortality at the whim of grisly-humoured Fate. They'd learnt to live with that, and to make do with the snatched comfort of faceless warm bodies and ephemeral affection, with the not inconsiderable support of their friendship underlying all else.

But Doyle had come to want more, even though he was pragmatic enough to see that he could never have it -- not and be who he was. He'd tried it once and failed humiliatingly. There was simply no one who could understand the demands of their job and the paradoxical emotions it gave birth to -- a need for absolution and approbation.

Except Bodie. Bodie, who was the wrong gender. And yet... I fell in love.

The images he had summoned while perched on the step outside the building flooded back, no longer outlandish or even remotely abhorrent. Only different. They shared their lives, why shouldn't they share each other, as well?

Why not, indeed.

Doyle said, gently mocking, "Never did like to do things easy, did you, sunshine."

Choked, Bodie did not answer. Doyle had taken this far better than he could have hoped; but it was murder having him so near, wanting him so badly the ache was like a hot stone lying in the pit of his being.

"Guess I'll have to, then."

Bodie frowned at him, derailed by this apparent non sequitur.

Doyle explained, "Said you can't change, didn't you? So that means I'll have to."

Bodie went utterly still, dark blue eyes revealing every dearly private emotion he harboured. When Doyle raised a hand and closed it around his fore-arm, he made no effort to move.

Doyle came a half-step nearer, fighting the urge to smile when Bodie visibly restrained himself from falling a half-step back. "But if you ever run out on me, Bodie, I shall have your balls. Never doubt it."

"Ray." Bodie cleared his throat. "Please, don't. You don't want me -- what I want."

Doyle lifted his head, eyes slanted and a little arrogant as he regarded his partner. "'M not letting you go."

Nothing in Bodie's life had prepared him for this moment. He had been offered the world, with no conditions -- well, none stated, anyway -- and he couldn't believe it. More than that, it frightened him. Did Doyle know what he was offering? Jesus, how could he?

"Don't, Ray."

"Don't what? Give you what you want? This is it, Bodie. You're not going anywhere. Unless you were lying, you haven't got any reason to, now."

The affectionate amusement in Doyle's glimmering eyes was more than Bodie could bear. "Fool!" he hissed. "You don't have any idea..." He snatched the half-full mug from Doyle's hand and slapped it onto the counter, curving one arm around the tightly muscled back. "D'you think you can live with this?"

With barely controlled savagery, Bodie caught Doyle's head between his hands, holding him immobile as his mouth fell onto lips poised partway open for protest. In that instant of contact, Bodie was lost, kissing Doyle with unbridled hunger, only barely conscious of his partner's first, shocked reaction. Then Doyle's hands were on his wrists, the fingers digging deeply into his tendons.

Bodie freed his mouth and tried to wrench away, bitterly aware that he must have killed any misbegotten feelings Doyle may have fostered for him. But he found himself securely held, flinching as the pain finally pierced his brain.

Breathing hard, Doyle stared at him, not trusting himself to speak. Anger and anguish shadowed Bodie's eyes, but he made no further attempt to extricate himself. For a moment they stood together, close enough that the rise and fall of each chest imposed upon the other, but their intimacy was not a comfortable sharing of space so much as a source of tested trust.

It took a moment, but gradually the outrage faded from Doyle's face. Still bowstring taut, his lips pressed tightly together, cramp reminded him that he yet pinioned Bodie's wrists. Without letting him go, he rolled their hands over, and this time used his thumbs to lightly rub the raw skin.

"Maybe," he said, finally. "Once in a while. But I think I'd prefer it with a little tenderness. Y'know, a touch of affection." Staring into bewildered eyes, silently daring Bodie to resist, Doyle leant forward until their mouths brushed together. "Like this," he said thickly. And then he was kissing him, a sweet, nuzzling pressure of lips. Having never kissed another man before -- and as far as he was concerned, the caveman tactic his partner had just employed did not qualify -- Doyle discovered just how little difference there really was. Since both had recently shaved, there was no hint of stubble, and Bodie's mouth was as soft and enticing as any he'd ever known. Doyle had tasted a lot of mouths, and this was simply a new one, fresh and clean and wholly enjoyable, with nothing intrinsically male about it that he could detect. Only the knowledge that this was Bodie, that and the startlingly unfamiliar contours of male physiology, were of any consequence.

Before it could deepen, Bodie turned a little to one side, recalled to himself by the frightening urge to melt against his partner. "Doesn't make you want to vomit?"

Doyle chuckled. A little self-consciously, he let his hands slide up and down Bodie's arms. "That's the last thing it makes me want to do."

Bodie gingerly brought his hands to rest upon Doyle's waist. "Yeah?"

"Promise you, mate, if there's anything puts me off, I'll be sure to let you know."

Tentatively, Bodie moved his nose into Doyle's hair, inhaling delicately. Doyle shivered, but didn't pull away. "Don't want this to be a one-off, Ray."

At that, Doyle stepped back, his eyes wide and glinting. "Maniac. D'you really think I'd consider something like this if it wasn't going to be permanent?"

"You mean that?"

Doyle tipped his head to one side. "You're a good-looking fella, blue eyes, but unless you're in for the long haul, we'll have to pack it in here and now."

"You never felt that way about any of your birds. Well, the one...."

"None of them would have cost me my job," Doyle replied seriously. "Or cock up any future ones."

Bodie let his palms move up Doyle's flanks, his fingers spread wide to glean as much contact as possible. "Why, Ray? You don't love me; I know that. Why are you willing -- "

"Bodie. " Doyle shook him just hard enough to assure his attention. "I'd die for you -- in or out of the job. And that isn't just because we're partners."

Bodie winced. "You saying...."

"Stop that. I'm not comparing dying to sleeping with you. I'm talking about why I'm willing to do either one." He added, with a straight face, "And knowing you, possibly both at the same time."

Ridiculously relieved, Bodie said a little uncertainly, "Isn't that a roundabout way of saying you do love me?"

"'S not my fault if you're too thick to see it on your own."

"But as a friend. I mean, you never thought of...." He waved an all-encompassing hand, "...this."

"You're not wrong. And I may be a little slow to pick things up. So, you'll have to be patient."

"Are you sure Ray?" Bodie's voice dropped a note.

"Are you? Said you've never been with a bloke before, either. Gotta be a whole new bag of tricks for you, too."

With vast temerity, Bodie moved closer and touched his mouth lightly to Doyle's. "I quite like Trick Number One," he confided a moment later. This time there had been no resistance; Doyle had accepted him immediately.

"An' you do it well," Doyle said fairly, not half expressing what kissing Bodie did to him. He didn't try to understand it; not yet. "With magic."

Bodie broke into a huge smile at that. "Yeah? God, Doyle. Can't believe this!" Impulsively, he hugged him, chaotic thoughts firing randomly through his mind. An obvious one took immediate ascendancy: "What about Cowley?"

"Aye, Doyle, what about him?"

They split apart at the familiar voice. The slight form of the head of CI5 stood within the frame of the bedroom door, greatcoat slung over one arm. Bodie dropped his hands and took another step away, his only thought for Doyle, who gave him a sharp look. Bodie's eyes widened at Doyle's suddenly hunted expression. He shook his head, letting Doyle read in his face the certainty of his feelings. Then he came round, fully prepared to do battle.

"'Lo, sir," Bodie said. "Didn't hear you knock."

"Doubt you would have heard a marching band, Bodie," Cowley observed dryly. His features hardened a little as he turned his gaze onto Doyle. "You were saying, Doyle...?"

Doyle ducked his head, then cast Bodie a look from under his lashes. "We're both going to be on the street, mate. I resigned on my way over here."

Two dark brows went up in consternation. "You resigned? Why?"

"Because I was ordered to stay away from you," Doyle replied sharply, directing himself to Cowley.

Bodie shrugged. "I'm almost packed, sir. I've already arranged with Central to send on the rest of my things. We'll clear Doyle's place and be on our way."

Cowley regarded them shrewdly. "You're both sure this is what you want?" Neither man had moved since that first distancing upon his appearance. Doyle's mouth came open, but before he could speak, Cowley went on, "Of course, Bodie, you and I have already discussed this. But what about you, Doyle? I know you are loyal to your partner, your friendship is very strong -- but do you fully comprehend what you are giving up? Never to hold a lovely woman -- an eager, soft woman -- in your arm again? You know Bodie: he would want to murder you if you were unfaithful to him. Don't make a terrible mistake, Doyle, one you'll both regret, just to hold him now."

Both agents stood mesmerized as Cowley's voice faded from the room. The extent of his interference was unconscionable, yet Doyle sensed the underlying concern. Not for him, he suspected, so much as for Bodie -- although he allowed that it might not be outside the realm of possibility that it could be for both of them.

"It isn't any of your business, Mr. Cowley." Yet, under that piercing gaze, and all too conscious of the debt he owed this man, Doyle felt compelled to comply, however ungraciously. "But I'll answer you, anyway, because I think Bodie'd like to hear it."

Bodie shook his head. "You don't have to."

"I know. But he probably deserves that much." With a twisted grin, he turned back toward Cowley. "Bodie ... is important to me. I guess I've just learnt how important. It's not as if anyone will be hurt by all of this -- and it'll solve a lot of things for both of us." He tried to gauge Cowley's reaction, but the old bastard was giving nothing away. "It's too bad, sir, if you find it offensive -- or funny, even -- but if Bodie thinks this can work, I'm willing to give it a try." He lifted his shoulders, his expression very serious. "Nothing you say or do is going to change that."

"Easy to say now, lad," Cowley warned him. "The step you're taking will alter how the rest of the world looks at you, and being called names you don't like will be the least of it."

"Agreed. But we're big boys, now. We'll manage."

Cowley slid unrevealing blue eyes fleetingly towards Bodie. "And if Bodie changes his mind?"

"He won't." Total certainty punctuated the calm statement. At the flicker of condescension that touched Cowley's face, Doyle went on, "But if he does, for whatever reason, we'll talk it through."

"You surprise me, Doyle," Cowley remarked. "I used to wonder why..." He cut himself off, then began again briskly, "So, public opinion doesn't worry you -- either of you?"

Doyle shook his head; Bodie gave a simple, "No."

"Good. Well, then: as to your working relationship, you will be kept under observation until we determine how well you can manage this new aspect of your private lives. And as to your personal concerns, I trust you to comport yourselves with the Department in mind at all times."

Bodie gave his partner a mute plea for confirmation of what his ears had just told him. "Sir?"

"It is in the contract, Bodie: a full month's notice."

"But I -- " He spread his arms to indicate the disarray around them. "I was moving home."

"Aye, you were. And if your partner had not contrived to obstruct your plans with his usual timeliness, you would have been shifted to a new flat and assigned new duties by the end of the week."

Doyle asked cautiously, "You... guessed that this would happen?"

"I thought it possible. In any case, if there was anyone who could talk sense into him, it was you. And just for your information, Doyle, I would not have accepted your resignation, either, despite your flagrant insubordination. Shall we say, you were under duress."

"Under duress! After the rotten..."

"Excuse me, Doyle?"

"He was clearing his throat, sir," Bodie said helpfully, wielding a jarring elbow against Doyle's shoulder, provoking a muffled yelp.

"I see. Once you have proved that your...liaison...will have no effect on your working abilities, it will be forgotten as far as the Department is concerned -- except, of course, that it will have to be made common knowledge."

"Common... You mean, tell everyone?"

Cowley granted himself a small smile. "To eliminate the blackmail factor, Bodie. To acknowledge an emotional attachment is dangerous, certainly, but only a fool would discount that when attempting to undermine an established team. It is a risk that cannot be avoided -- only you and I know how you would perform if that attachment were used as a lever against you."

"Do we?" Doyle murmured.

"I do, Doyle, even if you don't. Your relationship has already been the topic of many a conversation. It has been argued before that you should be separated to preserve the integrity of the Squad. But no one on the outside can fully comprehend what men in your position must contend with. It was never my intention, I will confess, to pave the way for that eventuality, but I have pointed out before that your lack of conventionality works for the department in too many ways to dismiss you out of hand."

"Just one more aberration to explain away, sir?" Bodie asked, not a hint of a smile cracking his composure.

"Unfortunately, yes, Bodie. In any case, should you choose to terminate your association with CI5, you will have my support for whatever endeavours you decide to explore -- if not my thanks. That is, if you intend to make your resignations official."

Doyle brushed that aside. "How did you know?" The green eyes were shot through with wariness. "I didn't know; how could you guess that I would decide what I decided?"

Cowley eyed him consideringly for some time before choosing to answer. "I've never thought you stupid, Doyle. You've longed for a permanent relationship with someone who could tolerate not only you, but your chosen profession, as well. Bodie understands you better than anyone; despite that, he admits to being in love with you. Only a fool would pass up what he's offering. After all, you're not likely to find it elsewhere."

Doyle was rather sorry he had asked. "Come to the wedding, sir?" he asked sourly. "You can give me away to your big, butch hero here."

Cowley produced a plummy laugh. "I was talking about your intelligence, Doyle, not Bodie's. After all, it's you he wants."

Bodie took a step forward, not prepared to allow even Cowley such liberties. But Doyle's out thrust arm brought him up sharp. To his astonishment, Doyle began to grin. "Heaven help us if you ever decide to go into politics," he said fervently. "Machiavelli isn't in it."

"Why, thank you, Doyle. But don't count your blessings too soon, will you." Gratified by the goggle-eyed alarm prompted by this comment, Cowley turned away. "I expect you both in my office on Monday. Seven a .m. sharp."

"Sir." Bodie immediately moved to escort Cowley out, as much in observance of the niceties as to ensure that the locks were properly set this time.

At the door to the flat, the older man paused. "I didn't hear either of you rescind your resignations, or was that my hearing playing tricks?"

Glances were exchanged, silent accord achieved. "Did somebody say we wanted to resign?" Doyle asked innocently.

"Hm. Must have been my mistake. Good morning, gentlemen."

With that, he was gone. When the door was firmly closed and locked, Bodie gave an eloquent shudder. "Can you believe that?" he marvelled. "'S like having our banns read by the Pope."

"He's higher up than the Pope, mate. It's a good thing you didn't want to shack up with one of the Royals."

"What? Why?"

"Because it would have been a good deal harder than getting me to do it. Expect he'd have found a way, though," Doyle said in afterthought.

Bodie read unwarranted derision in what Doyle said. "You don't really feel he tried to manipulate you into this?"

Doyle frowned ferociously at him. "Nah, you dense bugger. Was a joke, Bodie." At the uncertainty playing about his partner's eyes and mouth, Doyle stepped forward and tentatively took hold of his arms, growing bolder when Bodie came without demur. "Have a lot to get used to, mate. But you and me are still the same. Only some of the...perks...have changed."

"Oh, yeah," Bodie agreed. The fingers of one hand slid into Doyle's hair, at long last free to touch and explore. He pressed a clump of curls to his lips, very conscious of the helpless ripple that moved down Doyle's spine. "Got a lot of work to do, y'know," he commented prosaically.

"Hm. Now?"

"Guess we should. Give us more time for later."

What Bodie did not say was that he had no intention of rushing Doyle in this. All too conscious of the reason for Doyle's cooperation, he feared ruining the friendship they shared by driving his partner into a relationship he did not really want.

Although, as Doyle unconcernedly rubbed his face against Bodie's cheek, he seemed to be more than willing enough.

Cynically noting to himself that, for the first time in his life, he was surely earning points toward a heaven he did not believe existed, Bodie gingerly unwound himself from his partner's arms. "C'mon, Doyle. Help me unpack all this stuff."

"What d'you mean unpack?"

"Pretty basic concept, that. Y'know, take all the stuff out of the cases I've already filled up."

Doyle licked his lips. "You're going to keep this flat?"

Bodie's thoughts stumbled together like clowns in a circus arena. "Don't you think we should?" he asked, at last. "I mean, won't you want your own space sometimes?"

"That what you want?"

Bodie spoke the truth. "Didn't even think about it, mate. Guess I reckoned we would maintain the status quo until we'd got used to things a bit."

Doyle turned this over, nodding vaguely, eyes cast downward. Just as Bodie was extending a hand toward him, he looked up and gave his head a definite, negative shake. "Huh-uh. For better or worse. No half measures and all that."

Uncompromising green eyes defied him to argue; Bodie was a more sensible man than that. "You're right," he yielded willingly. "Lucky for me you didn't wait till later in the day. Most of the work's yet to be done."

"That's all right," Doyle assured him. "Because you get to do most of it, anyway."

"And what are you going to be doing?"

"While you're getting this lot boxed and fit for moving, I'm going back to my place and make room for you."

"Your place?"

The full lips formed a crooked smile. "Our place." With a single step, he brought himself up against his partner. Before Bodie could move, Doyle had their mouths locked together, eliciting an instantaneous and wholly uncontrollable response. Doyle recognized the warm pressure nudging his abdomen and slowly broke the kiss, hands drifting down Bodie's back, stopping just shy of the swell of his buttocks.

Trying to recapture the ability to breathe normally, Bodie could only stand as Doyle moved just far enough away to gaze between their bodies unobstructed. "For me?" he asked whimsically, and gasped as Bodie jerked him into a suffocating embrace.

"Don't, Doyle. Don't laugh, please."

"'M not, sunshine," Doyle averred. He took Bodie's face between his hands and held him still while he applied the balm of another kiss. "'M not. It's just... All this is kinda crazy, at least for me. But good crazy, y'know? Didn't think I could do that to you."

"You've been doing it to me for months," Bodie informed him wistfully. "I'll probably go off like a rocket the first time you put your hands on me."

Doyle regarded him out of huge eyes. Insides tumbling, he offered, "D'you want me to do it now? Can, if you...."

"No." Bodie brushed his mouth against Doyle's forehead, then firmly pushed him away. "Not yet. We're going to do this right. A proper courtship."

"Yeah?"

"Until you're ready," Bodie said, letting his hands glide down Doyle's arms, and linking their fingers together. "Want this to be all the way right, mate."

Doyle curbed a smile. "Pretty slushy, Bodie. Not sure, but I think I like that."

"Good. So, get out of here and let me get to it."

Doyle touched him again, briefly, warming Bodie through to the depths of his terrified soul. As the unconsciously graceful form loped toward the door, Bodie called after him, "And leave me the left side of the bed."

A snorted "Ha!" came back to him and then Doyle was gone, the door silently, but conscientiously, locked in his wake.

Before he could think, before the fear that this was a dream and that indulgence of the fantasy would make it shatter, Bodie set to work, unaware that he was humming very softly to himself.

---

Doyle spent most of the morning reordering his household, grateful that, for once, he had a two-bedroom apartment. While spurious thoughts twitched through his brain, he cleaned out the spare room and valiantly attempted to share out the space in the main bedroom. Never having prepared to live with another person for more than a night or a week, he found the ordeal rather more harrowing than he'd imagined. Yet, he didn't falter, determined that Bodie would be made welcome when he arrived.

He had never before noticed how much he tended to sprawl. Bodie, on the other hand, was inherently neat to the point of obsessiveness. Yet that fastidiousness had never been overly offended by Doyle's more relaxed attitude toward life -- and Bodie could never argue that he hadn't known what he was getting into.

All the same, it was going to be a shock for both of them. Both fiercely private people, this alteration in their relationship would eventually become known; in fact, it would be important for them to broadcast the news to some extent, in order to protect the Department and Cowley. And Doyle -- no fool, according to their perceptive leader -- would not put it past him to spread the word himself, should they prove timid in doing so.

Never to hold a lovely woman in your arms again, Cowley had said. Bodie would want to murder you ff you were unfaithful to him. As he had before, Doyle pondered out of which well of knowledge Cowley had drawn that observation; even though he knew instinctively that it was true. Bodie would take a lot from him, had done for many years, but he would never tolerate that. And he truly wanted Doyle; Ray would have been backward not to see it. That desire, riveting in its newness and hitherto forbiddance, was disconcertingly mutual -- although Doyle had to acknowledge that his involuntary, prolonged abstinence was probably a factor, as well. In any case, Bodie had been too embarrassed and worried about his open arousal to realise that Doyle had been far from unaffected.

He loves me. The very idea brought a grin to his face. Trust Bodie to turn their lives upside down. It would be a while before the novelty wore off, of course, but whatever they could forge between them, for as long as they could nurture it, would be more than they likely would have had otherwise. And this way, there would be another person who understood implicitly, who trusted without question, and who accepted all without complaint.

Well -- only a few complaints, anyway.

Borne along by stubbornly cheerful musings, Doyle completed his self-imposed nesting duties, standing a moment to view the evidence of his efforts when he was done. Satisfied that there was little more he could do, and what was left would require Bodie's involvement, he locked up the flat and headed for his car.

For the third time that day, Doyle relied on Bodie's elderly neighbour to give him access to the apartment building. Although he knew he would be greeted without reservation now, it gave him a certain satisfaction to let himself in -- even if, unfortunately, entry was accomplished without benefit of a key.

Doyle left their lunch on the lounge table and crept into the kitchen, guided by the sounds of industry being produced there. Delighted, he came upon his unsuspecting partner from behind, head deep in the bowels of the wide-open oven, employing a sodden towel to wipe away chemical cleaner.

"Second thoughts?" Doyle asked.

Bodie's reaction was all he could have hoped for, if a little overly violent for his tastes. Taken by surprise, and despite almost immediate recognition of Doyle's voice, Bodie tried to pull up and out, miscalculating the angle of clearance. A second later, he was holding the back of his head and cursing volubly, glaring with little success through pathetically swimming eyes.

"Couldn't face me and decided to end it all, eh?" Doyle remonstrated, tsking

"Was cleaning it, you berk."

"Why? You never use it."

Bodie bared his teeth. "Ha-bloody-ha."

"You all right?" Doyle asked solicitously, curving one hand behind Bodie's skull and massaging lightly. "Quite a bashing you gave yourself."

"Wouldn't've, if you'd used the bleeding intercom."

"Sorry."

A moment spent shyly expressing the full measure of Doyle's regret ticked by, then Bodie said, mollified, "You taste like tandoori. Save any for me?"

"A bit. Ready for a break?"

"In a minute." And he drew Doyle's head toward his once more, quite certain that he would never weary of the heady pleasure found in Raymond Doyle's mouth.

"Slow down, mate," Bodie laughingly protested a little later, discovering in the face of Doyle's wholehearted enthusiasm that his resolve was fast deserting him. Nevertheless, it was Bodie's arms that were wound unyieldingly about his partner, as much out of necessity as choice.

"C'mon, then," Doyle agreed, but stole a final lick from Bodie's lower lip, before worming his way free. "Set the table, will you, I'll bring in the nosh."

"Tandoori nosh," Bodie muttered as he gathered the remnants of his will power. "Now there's something to reckon with."

Having made quite certain that he could break through Bodie's hastily-erected defences without difficulty, Doyle chose to respect them. He made no more overtures during their meal, keeping the conversation light and firmly away from personal considerations, other than those regarding the basic mechanics of the upcoming move. Bodie began to relax, and Doyle congratulated himself on his insight. It was obvious that Bodie was embarking upon this enterprise with more forethought than he accorded most ventures.

And he could see much more than that. "Haven't slept much lately, have you?" he said critically.

Bodie shrugged. "I've had a lot on my mind."

"Yeah." Doyle did not probe. He wiped his plate clean, then poured the remains of his lager down his throat in a wasted attempt to damp the flames licking at his guts. Bodie seemed to be mulling something over, and before he could put it into words, Doyle asked, "How many trips, then? To haul this lot over to m... our place?"

Bodie's face eased into a grin. "Using your car, three, at least. Left mine at the pool," he explained in response to the enquiring arch of Doyle's brows. "Thought I wouldn't be needing it anymore."

Doyle picked his words with care. "I'd've found you, Bodie," he said, utilizing the same, even tone of voice as his partner. "And kicked your mulish head in, for trying it."

Bodie reached out and caught Doyle's free hand. "I really didn't think you'd want to know, Ray. Hurting you has always been the last thing on my list."

"Yeah, I know, mate. Should you get any pea-brained notions about sparing my feelings in future, stuff it, will you? Otherwise, you'll find out how fast hurting you will come to the top of mine."

"Noted." With practised deftness, save for the traitorous tremble of fingertips, Bodie rolled Doyle's palm onto its back and offered a velvet caress of lips for his sins. And then he blushed, a sight that produced the most curious effect on Doyle's insides. Before Bodie could release him, Doyle brought his hand up and marked the line from one corner of Bodie's mouth to the other.

His voice nothing more than a rough whisper, Doyle murmured, "My hand's burning. Is that you -- -or the Tandoori?"

He gave a squeak as the edge of sharp teeth left their indentation on his thumb.

---

Dusk had fallen by the time they set the locks on Bodie's flat for the final time. Once the last box had been carried into Doyle's place, they fell to the process in reverse, working tirelessly to settle Bodie in. A single comprehensive look had shown Bodie to what extremes Doyle had gone to make him at home. Yet, he insisted that they finish the dog-work today, so they would have the rest of the week -- and the weekend -- for themselves. Doyle was easily persuaded; he understood what Bodie was doing, and approved, even though he would have happily let everything slide to take in a few moments of idle abandonment on the sofa.

When Bodie was reduced to emptying the contents of his suitcases, Doyle deserted him to throw together a meal.

The beguiling scent of bacon and egg sandwiches lured Bodie into the lounge, where he found Doyle slouched on the sofa, a plate resting on his lap, legs extended before him and propped on the coffee table.

"Looks good," Bodie decided. "Good as it smells." His reaching hand was anticipated and adeptly avoided. "Yours is on the sideboard," Doyle informed him.

"That's all right, we can share."

Resigned, Doyle handed the plate to his partner and hauled himself to his feet. "Lazy sod," he muttered, lumbering into the kitchen. "I can see that's one thing not likely to change. Always feeding you, I am." He started as Bodie appeared at his shoulder.

"I know." Bodie wrapped Doyle in a bone-crushing hug. "And you're right. Go and put your feet back up. I'll get it."

"Don't be a pillock. 'N already up, aren't I."

"You cooked it. Don't want to take advantage of you."

"Stop that!" Doyle poked a hard finger into Bodie's chest. "The only thing changing between us is the sex, mate, and don't you forget it."

Stung, Bodie snapped, "Just wanted to do something nice."

"Yeah." Doyle's expression reflected his own pugnaciousness. "An' so do I. You've been slogging away all day, and you haven't slept properly in more than a month. So go put your bum down and eat the rest of that sandwich."

Amused, but trying very hard not to show it, Bodie said lightly, "So who's the big, butch hero, then?"

Doyle burst out laughing. "Dope. Guess we both are -- some of the time. Go on. You want a drink?"

The lager finished Bodie off. Emotionally spent after a rollercoaster day -- following a wearing six weeks -- he was content simply to lie, half asleep, against Doyle's chest as he watched the end of the late news. In all of his life, he had never known a moment to compare with this one. None of his fantasies had featured this quiet, restful companionship, unencumbered by passion. The desire for contact was undiminished, but it required no more than a wrist hooked around Doyle's neck, his cheek cushioned by the soft chest hair escaping Doyle's open shirt. Better still was the warm pressure of Doyle's arm slung across his back and flank, fingers and thumb lightly arcing back and forth, lulling in their unthinking repetition.

Bodie feasted on the sensations, taking in Doyle's signature scent with each breath, sharing the very warmth exuded by his body. If they never passed this border, Bodie thought he could be a happy man. He had not known how very much he craved this kind of physical closeness, unfettered by sexual significance, until he had it. He snuggled nearer, replete in every sense, yet impossibly pleased when Doyle tightened his hold and bestowed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Time for bed, Bodie," Doyle said quietly, appreciating the tenderness of the moment, if not fully aware of its import to his partner.

Bodie's head rocked back and he gazed up at Doyle, totally unconscious of the feelings written clearly on his face.

"God, mate," Doyle said helplessly. "Look at me like that and you won't be getting much sleep tonight."

Heavy lashes slowly hiked upward in disbelief. "You mean that?"

"Can't remember anyone ever looking at me like that," Doyle confessed. "Not ever."

A sweet smile drifted across Bodie's mouth. "Guess I'd better stop, then, eh? Much as I'd like to, don't think I'd be able to make it very interesting for you tonight. And I want it to be. Want to make it so good for you, you never think of looking anywhere else."

Doyle cricked his neck in order to kiss Bodie's mouth. "I'll hold you to that, old son. Come on, then, up you go."

With Doyle's unobtrusive assistance, Bodie found himself prepared for bed and tucked under the covers in no time at all. Despite his best efforts, he was more than half gone when Doyle climbed in beside him, retaining only enough strength to willingly mould himself to Doyle's curvature. He wasn't even sure that it wasn't the first echoes of a dream when Doyle's lips brushed his ear and a sleepy voice whispered, "Love you, too, mate."

---

The grey, flat light of an overcast morning was filling the room when Doyle awoke. It was quite early and he was still comfortably knackered, but something had brought him round, and it did not take long for him to determine the cause. Bodie was gone, his side of the bed still warm. Doyle sleepily peered out of the covers.

He sat up, keeping the duvet about his shoulders, his expression thoughtful. He had roused during the night to find Bodie lying beside him, very close, but not touching. He had sensed at once that Bodie was awake, although unmoving, and that he himself was apparently the subject of Bodie's intense scrutiny. Swaddled in clinging darkness, he had been loathe to break the silence. Yet there was something in his partner's nocturnal brooding that unsettled him. Shifting nearer, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, he had looped an arm around Bodie's ribs and pulled until they were pressed skin to skin. "Go back to sleep, mate," he had told him, placing a dry kiss on Bodie's forehead. "Keeping me awake with all that thinking."

He had not imagined the brief tension that gripped Bodie's muscles. But almost instantly, it was gone, leaving him pliant and unprotesting. Very gently, Doyle had smoothed the hair at the back of Bodie's head, matching the stroke of his movements to the rhythm of their breathing. "Shh, sunshine, everything will be all right." The words had seemed appropriate at the time, and important, somehow. That they were what Bodie had needed to hear was evidenced by his soft sigh and subsequent surrender to unconsciousness.

Even after Bodie obviously slept, Doyle had continued the gentling caresses and murmured words, inching closer until one leg was insinuated between both of Bodie's, the dark head manoeuvred until it was pillowed by his shoulder. Doyle was keenly aware of the trust Bodie had granted him, even as he calculated the burden he had taken on. Whatever had troubled Bodie's rest had been made harmless through Doyle's intuitive desire to comfort. Ludicrous thought, but it was almost as if Bodie had doubted his reality.

And now, barely awake, Doyle dragged a hand across his blackened jaw, rolling his shoulders forward to encourage the flow of circulation. Just as he was preparing to throw back the covers, the door swung inward and Bodie entered, bearing a tray arrayed with toast and fluffily scrambled eggs, a steaming cup of tea and, impressively, the paper.

"Good, you're up," he greeted cheerily. "Just in time to feed and shower and don your running togs."

"Today?"

Bodie took the incredulous tone in stride. "Certainly. Missed it yesterday, didn't you?" He set the tray on Doyle's lap; Doyle balanced it automatically. He glanced up as Bodie immobilized him with one hand bracing the back of his neck, leaning forward to secure a kiss. Without thought, Doyle responded, his mouth tasting Bodie's toothpaste-freshness with pleasure. When Bodie finally pulled away, however, Doyle wrinkled his face.

"Should've waited till I cleaned my teeth. I must taste awful."

Bodie snagged the paper off the tray and settled with one leg folded under him at the foot of the bed. "That's all right," he said generously. "I taste great, so it all balances out."

Doyle took a long, noisy pull at his tea. "Let me stir the sludge around, and we'll try that again."

A page was turned with conspicuous deliberateness. "Huh-uh. Time we were up and about."

"At five a.m.? You're usually pounding the pillow for another hour yet, mate. What's the rush, then?"

Bodie dropped his hauteur. "Want out, that's all. Been cooped up inside for too damned long."

"Way too long, if you're willing to start this early," Doyle agreed. He added softly, "Thought we might lie in a bit."

Bodie's gaze slid away, then returned, wide and guileless. "Can do that tomorrow, okay? Still have four more days, after all. It's just... There's things I'd like to do today."

"Such as?"

"A good, hard run, first of all. Then some shopping; y'know, pick up enough food for both of us. Maybe take in a movie later."

"Do we get to come home eventually?" Doyle asked plaintively. Bodie wasn't being evasive, precisely, nor did he seem to be trying to distance them. But it was clear that he wanted to postpone the moment of physical intimacy, at least for a while. Bodie's kiss had awakened Doyle's neglected libido with a vengeance, but he was hesitant to force the issue.

"Sure. This evening, just you and me."

"Promise?"

"Yeah," Bodie conceded. Then, with an infuriating smile: "There's a match on, y'know. Can't miss that."

"Try and stop us," Doyle said mechanically, holding back confusion, anger and a killing case of frustration. He waved a hand over the tray and asked with a trace of pique, "Can expect this from now on, can I?"

"If you want," said Bodie.

Doyle groaned. Before his mouth could get away from him, he shoved a piece of toast into it, chewed furiously and with little decorum, then gulped down the mangled paste as he climbed out of bed. Bodie looked askance at him, but Doyle merely drained his cup as he headed for the bathroom. "Wouldn't want to slow the day's events, would we," he explained sardonically, then shut the door upon two very watchful blue eyes.

Doyle didn't know what Bodie was thinking; but for a man who claimed to crave his charms, he was playing awfully bloody hard to get. By the time Doyle had shaved, given himself a brusque scrubbing, scoured his teeth, and was raking a comb through his hair, he was a bit calmer. Nothing like a little personal abuse to put a bloke in the proper frame of mind, he thought mockingly, hissing as his scalp protested the callous treatment of a recalcitrant tangle.

The bed had been made and the room set to rights by the time Doyle stepped out amidst a cloud of humid air. He dressed quickly and was putting the finishing touches to his shoelaces when Bodie came to stand in the doorway. At once, and for no specific reason Doyle could put a name to, he was reminded of the stiff figure that had lain awake beside him in the middle of the night. Schooling his features to something more closely resembling welcome, he said matter-of-factly, "Almost ready. Where're we running?"

Bodie's arms, folded tightly across his chest, slowly came to hang loosely at his sides. "Your choice. Haven't done the Embankment for a while."

"Yeah. But that was closer to your flat. How about Brompton?"

"Cemetery? S'pose we could. Feeling ghoulish this morning?"

"Unsociable." Doyle dropped his foot to the floor. "Might feel like sneaking a grope; don't want an audience."

The corner of Bodie's mouth twitched. "Might set a few dear departeds spinning."

"They can use the diversion."

---

Luckily, there were no services being held, so they had the damp, solemnly quiet graveyard to themselves. For once, they ran the distance, falling into a familiar pace and keeping it for the next hour. Conversation was companionable, but inconsequential. Doyle did not question Bodie as he longed to do. He knew how to channel his frustrations and Bodie's suggested distraction had been a well-chosen one. Running was a way to alleviate the torments of both body and mind. Running with Bodie elevated it from mere exercise to shared enjoyment.

As they rounded the monument at the southeast corner of the cemetery, Doyle mulled the possible reasons for Bodie's behaviour. He narrowed the field to three very quickly: Bodie was afraid and had changed his mind; he was afraid that Doyle regretted his decision and would change his mind; or -- Bodie was just afraid. And maybe, he allowed, it was a combination of all three.

He didn't think it would help to assure Bodie that he himself wasn't frightened, as that would be a bit of a lie. Yet, after the first wave of disbelief, Doyle had found himself far more intrigued by the idea of sleeping and living with Bodie than put off by it. In fact, he had to wonder at himself be-cause of the ease and rapidity of his acceptance. Maybe I'm bent, too. The notion made him frown, not so much with dismay, but rather at the possible implications. After all, if he didn't know himself, who did?

Bodie, of course. Had Bodie seen that in him, then, and reacted to it? Doyle expelled a lungful of air that had nothing to do with exertion, letting his mind wander the cluttered attic of the past, recognizing almost at once that occasionally his demonstrations of affection might have been viewed as outright flirtation, although they were certainly never intended as such. Not knowingly, anyway.

And unknowingly? Well, being thought attractive -- by either sex -- -was no hardship, and being desired by another person was a well-known aphrodisiac -- so long as the one sending the messages was fanciable enough to warrant reciprocation, of course.

Doyle almost laughed out loud. Guess that answers my question, he thought, for obviously he did not find Bodie unattractive or he would never have agreed to this, partnership or no.

So what could he do to ease Bodie's mind? Unfortunately, as far as he could see, nothing overt. Give him breathing space and be ready when the wally got his head together.

Doyle could do that -- for a while. However, this wasn't simply a matter of intellectual speculation: his glands were as wholly committed to this undertaking as were his emotions. If Bodie couldn't see that -- -and that he was genuinely desired -- then he must be more of a loon than Doyle already sometimes thought him.

Still, despite his impatience, he knew it was only a matter of time. Bodie had in essence pledged himself -- and Bodie never, ever broke a vow.

Braced by these musings, Doyle maintained his equilibrium throughout the rest of the day. They followed the gameplan Bodie had originally proposed, save that they spent the tail-end of the afternoon at Doyle's local rather than trying to hunt up a film they both wanted to see. As the place filled up around them, Doyle found himself viewing the world through different eyes. Appealing women held his attention only briefly, categorized according to hair and shape and facial features, then were forgotten. Gone was the predatory gathering of confidence prior to initiating contact. In its place was a sense of something very like deliverance. No more for him the unending search for what he could never have. Content, he shot a glance at Bodie, packed close beside him because of the crowd, and gave his knee a shove with his thigh. Bodie carefully set down his mug and raised his brows. Doyle merely smiled and bent his nose into his own glass.

His mood lasted until they returned home. Bodie put his jacket away and went straight to the television set and switched on the station that was airing the match, then vanished into the bathroom. Forgoing comment, Doyle tossed his own coat onto the back of the sofa and went into the kitchen. He collected two beers and carried them to the living room. He set one for Bodie on the coffee table in front of the sofa, and took the other with him to the overstuffed chair. He was draped in it and back on page 73 of his novel when Bodie returned.

Blue eyes took in the arrangement and darkened with fleeting uncertainty. Silently, Bodie picked up his partner's jacket and hooked it on the coat-rack. Then he settled at the far end of the sofa, mutely leaving the open space an invitation for Doyle to join him.

Doyle let it be seen that he was unmoved, sipping at his drink while he studiously attended to the book.

Resigned, Bodie stared mindlessly at the tv until the game started, then allowed himself to be sucked into the action with resolute complicity.

At the break, Doyle stirred, yawning noisily as he stretched his legs and shoulders.

Bodie glanced over, his expression successfully concealing the shock of desire that jolted through him. The abstracted green eyes drew him like a lure, and the raw hunger filling his belly threatened to betray him in the intensity of his gaze. "What're you reading?" he asked mildly, reassured that he could sound so normal.

Doyle languidly flipped the book cover to face him, then dropped it on the table. "Who's winning?" he countered, reaching for the empty can as he rose to his feet.

"Manchester," Bodie replied with disgust.

"Want another?" The can was tipped in display.

"Yes, please."

Doyle ambled into the kitchen, reflexively rubbing his back as he went. He pottered about for a bit, downing a glass of water and staring out the window into the light-fractured darkness beyond. Returning at last to the lounge, he was not unconscious of the faintly anxious regard that followed his movements as he handed the fresh can to Bodie, then picked up his book. This time, he slouched onto the sofa beside his partner, extending sock-encased feet onto the table. At once, Bodie's arm came around him and he rocked his shoulders until they were both comfortably arranged. The game came back on and he resumed his reading.

Doyle was several pages deeper when Bodie's fingers began an idle caress of the hair curling behind his left ear. At first, he managed to compartmentalize it, a peripheral sensation that was pleasant but undemanding. Bodie's touch was very light, the tips of his fingers sifting through wayward tendrils, rolling individual strands between use-roughened pads to assess their softness. Eventually, Doyle sat forward to take a drink from his almost-forgotten can; Bodie's arm was waiting for him when he settled back.

This time, Doyle was anticipating him, and it was then he realised that the last pages of the novel had left no dent on his consciousness at all. Surreptitiously, he went back in search of familiar territory, finally latching onto a sentence he recalled. Bodie moved beside him, lifting his beer to his lips. Ridiculously, Doyle caught himself listening intently to the fluid sounds of Bodie's throat working. He could tell by the hollow last swallow that the can was empty. A slight shifting of muscles and it was lowered to the floor at the end of the sofa.

Yawning dramatically, Doyle made a great show of stretching, purposely involving contact all down Bodie's left shoulder and flank. With a grace of motion peculiarly all his own, he lowered himself onto one elbow, then lay on his side, legs tucked up behind him, just fitting into the length of the couch. Bodie turned a little to accommodate him, his palm cupping Doyle's cheek as soon as his head was resting against Bodie's thigh.

Heart thudding, Doyle stared blankly for a moment at the frenzied movements on the television screen. Then he raised the novel he had not put down and opened it back to the section tagged by forefinger and thumb.

"Comfy?" Bodie asked, his voice a lazy murmur.

"Yes, thank you," Doyle replied politely, he took hold of Bodie's hand and swiftly impressed a kiss in its centre, then laid it on his shoulder. There was a great creature forming within him, a primal, lust-feeding force that wanted to rage out of control. Making himself focus on the printed page, Doyle couldn't repress a shiver when Bodie's hand moved down to the curve of his throat, coming to rest where it met the swell of his shoulder. A large thumb detailed the ridge of collar bone, pressure easing as it followed the rigid tendons buttressing Doyle's neck.

Head swimming, Doyle seized the hand and bit it, not gently. Bodie gave a grunt of surprise and glared down at his partner. Doyle tossed the book on the floor and pitched himself over to lie on his other side.

"Will you settle down, for..." Bodie's incipient complaint ground to a halt, every muscle in his body locking into place as Doyle's right hand covered his crotch.

There was no denying the instant reaction that simple touch provoked. Yet Bodie moved immediately to dislodge it, only to have his efforts forcefully deflected.

"Doyle...."

"I'm not moving, so let go," Doyle said unsympathetically. His gaze was hard and set; short of hurting himself, Bodie recognized there was no way he could get free. Doyle demanded, "Why have you been holding back?"

Bodie looked down into that unyielding countenance and could only manage an unenlightening shrug.

Doyle's fingers tightened, not painfully, but carefully kneading, encouraging the independent growth uncomfortably filling Bodie's trousers. "I don't know what you've in mind, mate," Doyle said quietly, "but it's been six weeks for me and I'm ready now. So if you don't want to...."

Bodie waited, expecting rejection, almost relieved in a perverse way that Doyle would finally deliver it.

"...then I'll have to do meself."

Thinned lips fell apart, but Bodie's mouth worked to no effect. He was drowning in Doyle's compelling eyes. He glanced aside, temporarily breaking the enchantment, and forced a grin. "You don't lack inches, Doyle, but not even you can do that." At Doyle's expression of exasperation, he added desperately, "Didn't you get any, then, the other night?"

"Nope." Doyle rocked his cheek thoughtfully against Bodie's leg. "Yawned in her face; she was probably afraid of being bored to death." Green eyes narrowed with speculation. "Is that what you thought I was going to say just now? That I want a bird?"

Bodie shrugged again, that same uninformative gesture that told Doyle absolutely nothing.

"Is that why you've been putting this off? To test me?"

That jarred loose an immediate response. "No. No, don't think so. Told you, I want this to be right."

"So what is it, then?" Watching Bodie's expressive face, noting the pale flush that brightened his cheeks, Doyle stated smoothly, "Scares you, does it?"

Bodie considered that, then nodded, a single, tight movement. Then he gathered Doyle against his chest, squeezing him with devastating force. "Does scare me. 'M afraid I'll foul everything up. That things'll change between us, that we won't like each other the way we did before, that you'll come to resent me...."

Tickled by Bodie's hot breath pouring out against the nape of his neck, Doyle squirmed. Bodie eased his bearhug immediately, but did not let go altogether.

"What makes you think we can go back?" Doyle said meaningfully. "Even if we never make love, Bodie, things have already changed."

Sheer misery flowed across the already drawn features. "I know. It's just...." He heaved a painful sigh. "You asked me before if I'd ever loved anyone I hadn't run out on."

"Didn't really mean...."

Bodie gave his head a shake, stilling Doyle's guilty protest. "You were right, I haven't. But that's only because I don't think I've ever loved anyone before you."

Doyle felt a sudden twinge deep inside. "You mean that?"

"'S true," Bodie said simply. "I've cared about a few women; called it love, before -- until I came to feel this way about you." He ducked his head, hiding his face under Doyle's chin. Doyle crept up until they could hold one another with less contortion. "Puts the wind up me something awful," Bodie owned.

"Yeah," Doyle murmured soothingly, suddenly and totally at peace. "Can see how it might." He moved his lips slowly over Bodie's silken hair. "So what d'you want to do? Call it off? Pretend none of this ever happened?" He felt the chest pressed against his go still.

"Do you?"

Doyle bit his bottom lip hard, choosing his words with utmost care. "If it'll make you happy."

"As easy as that?"

"Ever since I agreed to this," Doyle said patiently, "you've been holding me off. Either we're in it, or we aren't."

With a helpless bewilderment that caught Doyle between lust and chivalry, Bodie declared, "I'm in it, mate. No choice. But you -- I... blackmailed you into this, Ray. Thought you should have some time to see what you're really getting into. Like today, at the pub; the pretty girl you were talking to when you got our drinks. Saw you watching 'em when we were eating, too. You're going to regret this; I know you are. And then you'll hate me, and I -- "

"Stop it, Bodie!" Doyle gave him a fierce shake. "You've got it all wrong -- as usual. I was sitting there, feeling like the smuggest bastard in the world. Wasn't comparing you to what I can't have anymore, mate. Just the opposite."

Absorbing Doyle's words almost as though they were blows, Bodie only slowly assimilated their meaning. On a rush of unadulterated exultation, Bodie whispered, "You're sure?"

Doyle bared his teeth, his expression dangerous. "Yeah," he growled. "And some people would consider it impolite to try and return the merchandise before sampling it, y'know."

"You're not merchandise, Doyle."

"Damn right, I'm not. I'm the man you married and I don't think much of you calling it quits before we've even consummated our vows."

"Ray...."

But the words were lost in Doyle's mouth as, hot and impatient, it clamped onto Bodie's. At once, Bodie was dragged into the tempest of his partner's wanting, made dizzy by the animal intensity of it. He had held back for so long that this sudden plunge into raw passion took him unawares. Doyle's hands held his face, then began to hunt, baring his chest to the brief, but savage, assault of raking fingers, undoing Bodie's belt as Doyle rose up and straddled him, then breached the very thin barrier of Bodie's briefs. A fireball of sensation flared inside Bodie's abdomen, pouring heat into his veins, making his heart race out of control. His prediction held true, and it took very little, only Doyle's hand curling around him, fingers tightening once, twice; and he was clinging to Ray, Doyle's name spilling from his lips as he came, the utterance drowned in the kiss that had yet to end.

Doyle finally let him breathe, moving his face against the dark comfort of Bodie's throat, lapping up salt as his other hand fumbled with his own clothing. "God, Bodie, please," he breathed. "Help me!"

Sobered by that desperate voice, sanity quickly returned; and Bodie was more than willing to oblige. He had ached for this instant, and now the incredible reality of it fairly swamped him. Knowing that Doyle was beyond wanting finesse, Bodie jerked the t-shirt free of his half-undone jeans and braced one hand against the small of his back. The other advanced the job of disrobing that Doyle had begun and with him held close, Bodie reached into the snug confines of stretchy material and pulled him out, taking precious seconds to take his measure, delighted by the weight of him, the length, the velvet smoothness, even the delicate tracery of swollen, blue veins. Doyle groaned and raised his head, blindly searching for Bodie's lips. And, as in a dream, Bodie kissed him as Doyle surged into the tunnel formed by his hand.

At the instant of Doyle's release, Bodie knew why he had been so frightened before. The completeness of Doyle's surrender was terrifying, offered as it was with the trappings of unquestioning trust and freely rendered vulnerability. Never had Bodie dared accept such gifts and, now, he could not believe they were his to command. The weight of the lives he bore every day were as nothing compared to that of Doyle's well-being.

Exhausted, Doyle rolled limply forward, turning his cheek against Bodie's shoulder. He marvelled at their state, both of them wet and sticky, the shrunken remains of their ardour still cradled in loosely gripping hands, caught close between the press of their abdomens.

Doyle wriggled a little, trying to ease the stricture of his inconveniently hitched trousers. The zipper was just shy of doing serious damage. Bodie recognized the problem and immediately helped him to shed the hindrances without once letting go. Doyle chuckled weakly, cool air on his sweat-sheened body raising tiny hairs all over. Bodie's free hand moved firmly up and down his back.

"We're a mess," Bodie commented unnecessarily.

"Yeah. Be needing a shower, don't you think?"

"At the very least. Don't know if I ever want to wash this hand again, though."

Doyle threw his head back, smiling broadly. "Be hard to explain, that." He bent closer and planted a lingering kiss full on Bodie's mouth. "Tell you what, you can do that again sometime. Keep it fresh, like."

Bodie could not hide the happiness glowing within him. "Promise?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah."

Half-dozing, they remained on the sofa for a while longer, until the discomfort of their respective positions and the less than delicate state of their persons drove them to the bathroom. They took their time showering, frequently losing sight of their purpose in favour of simply embracing beneath the tranquillizing water. At last, Bodie chivvied his partner into a wide, warm towel. Dripping on the linoleum floor, Bodie rubbed Doyle dry, then obediently held still while Doyle returned the service.

Reluctantly, they separated, Bodie to turn down the bed and permeate it with his body heat, Doyle to perform the evening routine of checking the locks and shutting off the television and the lights. They met again in the centre of the mattress, heads snuggling onto a single pillow.

"Reckon we'll last longer next time?" wondered Doyle, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Have to," Bodie replied, his snort of laughter muffled by Doyle's hair. "Any quicker than that and we'd probably break something."

"Think I already did," Doyle revealed. "Maybe you can fix it for me?"

"Do me best, sunshine." Bodie placed a tender kiss squarely between the lambent eyes. "But part of your treatment will require leaving off those tight jeans of yours for long spells at a time."

"Think I might be able to manage that," Doyle said breathlessly.

"Then we'll see what a little oral first aid will do for you."

There was an audible contraction of throat muscles. "Yeah?"

"Shh, settle down, lad. Can't expect to be cured if you rear up like that all the time."

"Might have to get used to that," Doyle said abstractedly. "You seem to be more in control of it than I am "

Bodie moved his lips to Doyle's ear, experimentally gnawing at the crescent of the inner flap. "Just the way I want it."

"Bodie...." Doyle's hips moved forward aggressively, his hands spread implacably around the base of his partner's spine. Bodie let him set the rhythm, concentrating on Doyle's face and neck. He laid down a trail of tiny kisses that employed both teeth and lips, eliciting mingled gasps of pain and helpless moans that had nothing to do with suffering. Doyle squirmed out of control, aware that the luscious friction and pressure of his movements were inciting a most gratifying response from his partner, but quite beyond the ability to cater to it. He needn't have worried. In this, as in most aspects of their lives, they functioned as a perfectly suited team. The breath froze in Bodie's chest at the same instant that Doyle sank his teeth into the nearest, impossibly taut shoulder.

Eternity was theirs for a moment, lifting them outside the normal constraints of time and bodily needs. Too soon, they were forced to gather air for starving lungs and to give relief to muscles singing with tension. Bodie slowly relaxed onto his back, bringing his boneless partner with him.

"Pitiful, mate," he mumbled mournfully, hardly capable of speech.

"Bad as the first time?" Doyle asked groggily.

"Bloody near. 's okay, I intend to keep track. Out of a thousand tries, we should manage to get it right eventually. Two down, nine hundred and ninety eight to go."

Doyle forced himself to shift up until he could view his partner's face properly. "By Monday?"

"Dreamer!" Bodie's scornful tone was subverted by a massive yawn. "Fast we may be, but it'd take at least a week to rack up that many."

Doyle tried to calculate the daily rate necessary to accomplish such a feat, but in his present condition even basic maths were beyond him. Letting his head drop down again, he sighed wearily. "Let me know when we get there. We'll celebrate."

"Deal. Ray?"

"Did I tell you I love you?"

Bodie felt a lazy grin spread against his chest. "Yeah. You even said it out loud a time or two."

"That's all right, then."

With nothing more than a vague hope that by lying close together they could avoid disaster to the sheets -- for neither had any intention of moving -- then sank heavily into a seemingly bottomless well of sleep.

---

By the following Monday, they had come nowhere near the thousandth event, but not for lack of trying. Having overcome his peculiar ethical considerations, Bodie suffered no inhibitions in testing the limits of his partner's sexual tolerances. And Doyle, matched for the first time in his adult life by a bedmate of equal fervour and endurance, was his willing confederate. In an idyll of lust and openly expressed affection, they spent hours exploring, charting one another's erotic landmarks and lesser, but notable, points of interest. Acts that might have repelled before came to them easily, their primary motivation to please as much as be pleasured. Yet neither was ready for the final -- and greatest -- intimacy, and discussion of it was tacitly avoided.

Other topics did come up: CI5, their future with the Squad, how they would 'come out,' and more pedestrian matters, such as combining their funds and the division of housekeeping labour.

Playing the devil's advocate, Doyle questioned the sense -- or even practicality -- of their remaining with the Squad. Bodie, however -- guessing that Doyle was just pushing buttons -- was sanguine.

"It's all I know, Ray. Sure, I could get into security, softer job, no weapons, but it wouldn't pay as much and I could get killed crossing the street just as easily, y'know."

"The way you cross the street, that's not surprising," Doyle said. There was no humour in his voice.

"You want us to get out?" Bodie asked.

Doyle gave a noncommittal gesture. "Be nice to have you around for a while."

"Will be, so long as you're there to cover me"

"Not that simple, Bodie, and you know it. What about me? What'll you do if I buy it first?"

"You won't." Bodie's expression was calm and serious. "Won't let you."

Doyle scowled at him, then pointed out, "Doesn't work that way, mate, just in case no one's bothered to tell you."

Dark lashes fell over unreadable blueness. When Bodie looked up, there was a chilling certainty etched into the set of his mouth and the line of his jaw. "You forget, Doyle: I've been living with this for almost a year now. You won't die; not while I'm there to prevent it."

Stunned, Doyle took a moment to collect his thoughts. Then: "Guess if you can handle it, so can I. 'Sides, didn't say I wanted to; just thought I should ask." He sensed that somehow this was a point of faith for Bodie and to discuss it further would be 'bad medicine.' They spoke no more about leaving CI5.

Despite Cowley's edict that their relationship become common knowledge, they decided a slow process of discreet dissemination would better suit their purposes.

Doyle playfully argued the matter: "Could have got a nice pressie out of it, y'know."

Bodie guffawed. "More likely a rude surprise in the post. Bis are not among that group's favourite subcultures." Darkly, he added, "Even if there are more than a couple that I've...." He hesitated until Doyle raised a brow at him. He shrugged and finished, too casually, "...That I've wondered about."

"Like who?"

"Malicious rumours, Doyle. Could ruin a bloke's career, that."

Rather than taunt his partner -- had someone made a pass at him? -- -Doyle allowed the subject to drop. Someday, he knew, it would come up again. Bodie would likely feel more inclined to discuss it then.

A rudimentary schedule of chores was drawn up; if they had time, Doyle would cook, Bodie would wash up, and when necessary, both would bend their backs to serious cleaning.

In the matter of their personal affairs -- and specifically the disbursement of their effects in the event of death -- Bodie was adamant that they collect all of the necessary paperwork and store it in an easily accessible location as soon as possible. It came as no great surprise to either of them to learn that each was the other's beneficiary. Bodie simply wanted the appropriate documents shifted out of Cowley's control, where he had placed them long ago, having no family to depend upon for this service. Doyle would rather have put it off. For all that he had argued that they must treat this like a marriage, or at the very least, a consensual agreement, he was taken aback by Bodie's assiduous -- and rather disconcerting -- persistence that it be done now.

It was the good soldier showing through, and he understood that in Bodie, had in fact, seen it before. But his immediate impulse was to balk, simply because he had never liked being manoeuvred into anything, even something as laudably sensible as this.

It might have become a source of contention between them, had Bodie not been so clearly dependent on his partner's good graces. Doyle knew an almost suffocating sense of responsibility for this man-child who had placed his heart and soul -- nothing more, nothing less -- at his feet. For Ray Doyle, who, despite delusions to the contrary, was terrified of wholesale commitment, it was an immense offering. But Cowley -- damn him! -- was right: Doyle had wanted someone to love for too many years, and Bodie, crazy as he was, was precisely what he needed. Doyle hoped he did not fail him, for a tiny, niggling voice questioned whether this was what Bodie needed. To salve his conscience, and to satisfy Bodie's protective instincts, he finally agreed.

Monday arrived far too soon. Bodie was apprehensive about what would befall them upon their return to work, but hid it expertly. Relief that things had gone so well with Cowley had made him incautious, and although he had not spoken of this to Doyle, he fretted over what the old bastard might yet have in store for them. That relatively uncritical assent had been very unlike their employer -- and Bodie himself could cite many of the possible repercussions their "liaison" could have. So he was a little more quiet than usual, and a little more aloof, as he and Doyle walked side-by-side through the corridors leading to the briefing room.

Doyle was too enmeshed in his own ruminations to even notice. He, perhaps more so than Bodie, harboured a deeply ingrained distrust of their boss; he expected the unexpected.

As it turned out, Cowley was his usual, dour self. He outlined their new assignment with familiar terseness, to all appearances forgetting their existence the instant he turned away.

Reprieved, they set about their business with unusual alacrity, grateful to escape so easily. Once settled together in the silver Capri that Bodie requisitioned from the motor pool, they were no longer lovers but brothers-in-arms. It was the way it should be, and for them, the only way it could be.

They were several days into the week before they began to see a pattern to the kinds of assignments they were being handed. Not that it was unusual to draw a spell in records or to occasionally waste an inordinate amount of time playing errand boys. All the same, they only had to make a quick survey of their fellow agents' current roster to perceive what had been done.

Over dinner, the subject was brought up again and they agreed to confront Cowley first thing the following day. And then they let it go, neither willing to mar the admittedly indulgent week they had enjoyed. They were both pleased with the ease with which they seemed to be adjusting. During the day, they were agents of CI5; they performed in the same manner they had always done and nothing in their behaviour or appearance argued otherwise. But at night, in the privacy of their flat, they were free to speak and touch as they wished.

And yet, for all that onlookers would label theirs a hugely altered relationship, in reality, it was not. Years of involvement and close friendship had laid the groundwork for the ways they spent their time together. More evenings than they could count had been passed in undemanding companionship. The greatest difference was the physical expression of affection: a quick kiss seized as they dressed in the morning, a quiet hug enjoyed in the kitchen following clean-up, a languid cuddle on the sofa during the adverts. And, of course, once they closed the door to their room, the passion witnessed by their bed was not that generally exchanged between good friends.

It made for an almost effortless transition, dependent on fine tuning of custom far more than major psychological overhaul.

So they were steeled for argument when they made their way into the briefing room on the Friday morning. Cowley outlined the day's major concerns, then dismissed all assembled save four teams, of which Bodie and Doyle were one.

"You're up for re-evaluation," he said, wasting no time. "Jack Craine is expecting all of you on the grounds by noon today. Doyle, Bodie, you'll have an extra week to make sure you're both fit, before testing begins. Pack a kit. That's all."

"Re-eval ..." Bodie blurted.

"You have a question, Bodie?"

"Well, we... Only six months ago..."

"Aye, and you've spent nearly two months on observation and light duties, since."

"But that's not why...." Catching himself before he could say something exceedingly stupid, Bodie clamped his jaws together, nostrils flaring as he controlled his fury.

Doyle contented himself with a slit-eyed glare, just as aware of Cowley's machinations as Bodie was.

"You were saying?" Cowley asked silkily.

"This isn't just a physical re-evaluation, is it, sir?" Doyle said.

"No, it isn't," Cowley agreed. "Following Craine's assessment, you'll be put through the usual battery of psychological and medical tests." Smoothly, he passed his eyes over everyone in the room. "Any other questions?"

The other victims, no happier than Bodie or Doyle, but far less keen on being singled out for Cowley's attention, said nothing.

Bodie fumed all the way back to the flat. Doyle saw no point in precipitating an argument, and so said nothing. He knew Bodie resented Cowley's heavy-handed tactics, but felt sorriest for the other blokes who had been dragged into this just to give the charade credence. Not that they -- and the other blokes -- couldn't use a bit of a work-out. Cowley rarely did anything that wouldn't provide some benefit for his Department. And for himself, there was a considerable degree of relief. This was the least offensive method of checking up on them that Doyle had thought of, himself. But then, perhaps it was only the first of many, until they reached the stage where CI5 forced them to resign. Doyle could not be sure, but he doubted that that was the rationale behind Cowley's actions. He could be a dangerous old bugger, but there were simpler means of eliminating troublemakers like Bodie and him.

In any case, angry or resigned, they were on their way to Jack Craine and his human proving grounds. Doyle tried to convince Bodie of that as they headed out on the M4 after throwing together a couple of hold-alls and preparing their flat for a week or two away.

"'S bloody stupid, that's all." Bodie's voice was acrid. "If he didn't trust us, why didn't he just bloody say so?"

Doyle spoke mildly in contrast. "We were due a spell in the mines, mate. Got soft sitting round on our bottoms for so long."

"That isn't what this is about, Doyle," Bodie shot back. "It's just so he has an excuse to bring out his pet trick cyclist,"

"That's what you're really worried about, isn't it?" Doyle surmised. "Ross."

Bodie sat back in the passenger seat, his hunched form fairly radiating frustration. "Don't like her. She wants to make us look stupid."

"Too bad we're so quick to give her a hand." This statement was met with a poisonous look. "Ah, c'mon Bodie," Doyle entreated. "What are you concerned about? Jack's fair, and he's a damn sight easier to please than Macklin. We'll do our bit there, then we'll see Miss Doctor Ross, who can bleeding well come up with whatever conclusions she pleases, and then we'll be back on duty. Maybe we should consider this a holiday, y'know."

"Will we?"

The bleak tone tore Doyle's eyes away from the rain-washed road. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Bodie's face was turned toward the farm racing past his window. "Maybe Cowley's decided this is the best way to get rid of us. Let Ross do a little excavating in our psyches, let her raise a stink about...about us sleeping together, and then he can show us the door."

Discomfited by the uncanny echo of his own thoughts, Doyle chose to focus on the equally disturbing undercurrents of Bodie's statement. "'Sleeping together,' eh?"

Bodie waved a negligent hand. "You know what I mean. That's how she'll see it, anyway."

"Maybe. What's it matter? If Cowley wants us out, we're out. Right?" There was a slight pause that made Doyle's heart advance a beat. "Right?"

"Hm?" Bodie glanced across at him, his face blank. "What'd you say?"

Doyle exhaled sharply through his nostrils. "I said, if Cowley wants us out, we'll go."

Bodie looked askance at him. "Of course. Why d'you ask?"

Seconds ticked by as Doyle silently recovered himself. "'S got you that nervous, has it?"

"Don't like it," Bodie agreed petulantly. "She gets her jollies from twisting goolies. She's going to have one hell of a laugh out of us."

"Because we love each other?"

Bodie turned and stared at him. A slight smile touched his sullen lower lip, before he came back, "Doesn't know what love is, does she. She'll just accuse us of having it off together, and produce some idiot explanation that harks back to how old we were when we gave up our nappies."

Doyle's thumbs thoughtfully rubbed the steering wheel. "Does it embarrass you, her knowing?"

Bodie leaned his head against the fogged window. "Nah. Knew that'd happen sometime. It's just...." He pursed his lips, then let a telling breath hiss out through his teeth. "Guess I wanted Cowley to accept it, y'know, the way he seemed to. Knew it was too good to be true...."

Understanding softened the hard set of Doyle's mouth. Bloody Cowley. He wondered if Bodie had any idea how much that fierce old wardog figured in his life. "He's got to cover the Squad, sunshine. You know that. An' us. Anyone tries to back him into a corner about you and me, he'll have expert opinions to support his decision for keeping us in."

"Think so? You really believe that's what this is for?"

"Yeah, I do. It'll be all right, Bodie," Doyle promised. "Cowley's a devious old bastard, but if he didn't want us anymore, he'd just tell us."

Bodie's expression lightened fractionally. "Yeah, you're right," he agreed finally.: And then a thought occurred to him that brought glinting malice to his eyes. "You don't suppose the others -- Lewis and McDonough, Partridge and the rest -- you don't reckon he chose them for the same reason as us?"

A slow smile stole its way across Ray Doyle's face. Enchanted with the idea, he began to laugh, and soon he and Bodie were describing battalions of bent CI5 agents, the very flower of mankind, dedicating themselves to the preservation of humanity, and George Cowley....

---

All in all, the week and a half spent under the auspices of Jack Craine proved more beneficial than otherwise. The weather was generally foul, the grounds soaked and muddy, and the accommodations were far from appealing. Given the incentive of escaping the place as soon as possible, everyone worked more diligently than the circumstances should have warranted. Although Cowley had accorded Bodie and Doyle an extra week in order to regain their usual standards, within three days they were topping the scales on everything. Rather than belabour the point, Craine began their formal testing on the fourth day and in short order, had rated them virtually faultless.

The enforced physical rigours eliminated the last of the lingering staleness acquired by seven weeks of stultifying boredom. Bodie in particular felt as though he had been freed from strictures he had not realised existed. With Doyle at his side, goading him through his part of the hurdles, he grew more at peace with himself and the prospect of the upcoming trials. And before long, ridiculously, he came to view their sojourn there as the holiday Doyle had suggested

It lacked certain refinements, however, and the spartan living quarters housing eight agents in barracks-style splendour, was a very sore point, indeed. Finding time alone was impossible. Although Bodie and Doyle bunked side-by-side, they dared not risk exposure, and so maintained strict observance of all appropriate behaviour -- except when it was very dark and all the lights were doused. Then they could span the thirty-six inches separating their beds, fingers linked silently together, no more physical contact than that reaffirming the bond between them.

At the end of eight days, Jack Craine sent them back to London, along with the three other teams.

A morning was spent at the mercies of doctors and lab technicians, who appropriated various bodily fluids and performed batteries of tests as though their persons were theirs to command at will. The psychological drills followed soon after, but by this time Bodie was more than ready for the ever-watchful Kate Ross. He loathed hospitals, even the CI5 infirmary, and facing her meant emancipation was at hand.

She demanded the remainder of the day with them, interviewing the two agents separately and together, in between judgement and reaction tests. Never once did she touch on their relationship, which led Bodie and Doyle to guess that she knew nothing at all about it. Which made sense, of course. If none of their evaluators were swayed by extraneous information, then the subsequent appraisals -- and presumed approvals -- would argue their ability to do the job, regardless of the nonfraternization rules. Whatever conclusions she came to, however, she kept to herself -- and Cowley.

"At last!" Doyle gasped dramatically, falling against the wall outside Ross' temporary offices in a bedraggled slump. "I can't believe it, mate, she did say she's through with us, didn't she?"

Bodie took a firm grip on Doyle's right earlobe and pulled. "That's right, Doyle, and standing about here when we could be miles away is the last thing I want to do."

"Yow. All right, let go, you bastard. That's attached, y'know -- or it was."

Bodie leaned close, his breath hot on Doyle's cheek. "Got a cure for that."

Tenderly kneading the stinging appendage, Doyle merely glared at him. "Think I'd let you at it with that gob of yours after what you just did?"

Perversely, Bodie displayed his teeth at him, then slowly, provocatively, traced the hard enamel surface with the tip of his tongue.

"Disgusting, that is," Doyle muttered, his wide luminous eyes repudiating the statement.

Bodie dropped the taunting expression, every molecule in his body responding to the entreaty Doyle could not disguise. "Let's go home, Ray?"

"Yes, please," Doyle said simply and started down the hall before his partner could even move.

"Doyle! Bodie!" The unforgettable bark sounded down the corridor, halting them mid-stride.

"Soddin' 'ell," Bodie moaned, only loudly enough to be heard by his partner.

They turned, faces wearing improbable smiles. Cowley stood at the end of the hall, one hand upraised in summons. Two chests rose as they mustered their strength, and they began to retrace their steps.

"Sir."

Scrutinized intently for several seconds, Doyle toyed with the idea that Cowley would next ask to see their teeth. Instead, the head of CI5 gave a little nod, as though satisfied with something he had done. Tickling his brain to guess what that might be -- other than the two of them standing before him like dimwitted clods and both of them certainly feeling as though they had been thoroughly done -- Doyle smiled again vaguely.

That seemed to decide the older man. With a slightly exasperated tone, Cowley announced, "Craine said you did well. You're on standby for the next seventy-two hours." He pivoted toward his office, then stopped himself. "You've an appointment, Bodie: Dr. Anthony, nine a.m., Thursday next."

Panic touched Bodie's blue eyes. "Appointment?"

"Dentist," Cowley informed him succinctly. "I expect you to keep it." Leaving Bodie with his mouth ajar, Cowley returned to his office and closed the door firmly behind him.

"Sir," Bodie managed, then jerked Doyle's arm before he could become rooted to the spot.

"Appointment!" Doyle snickered. He risked being left behind, however, and quickly fell into step beside his partner.

"Doesn't matter. We can go home, now. You wanted to go home before, didn't you?"

"'Home.' That used to mean something...."

"And will again, soon as we get you into a nice hot bath, scrub the crud out of your short and curlies, and wrap your neck around something warm and tasty."

As they thudded down the stairs heading toward the carpark, Doyle remembered, "Everything's in the freezer."

"Christ!" Bodie scowled furiously. "Pub, then. We'll clean you up later."

"What's this 'we,' then? Think I can't get at the nasty bits by myself?"

"It's more fun if you let an expert do it."

"Well, you let me know when we come across one, okay?"

"Sod off, Doyle. You'll make do with what you've got."

"If I must."

They reached the car and settled themselves inside. Guiding the key into the ignition by feel, Bodie turned his head and raked his partner with a long, scorching look. "You must. That's the arrangement, mate. Too late to back out now."

Doyle crooked a corner of his mouth at him. "Haven't backed in, yet," he said suggestively.

All at once, the inside of the car was very warm. Bodie opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. An odd screaming sound dragged his attention away from sylvan glades encircling dark promise.

"Starter, that is," Doyle informed him helpfully. "Keep that up and you'll burn it right out."

Bodie produced an unintelligible retort. He manoeuvred the vehicle out of the carpark and into the flow of traffic, heading toward their current local.

An hour later, they huddled tiredly over a tiny table, the remains of their dinner staining two plates. The room was crowded almost to capacity. They had contrived to snag a table with four chairs upon arrival. A couple of passing drinkers had briefly shared it before moving on. Bodie was beginning to think he was too worn out even to finish his drink, when the light before them was blocked by two well-endowed female forms. The women were young, just out of their teens, he decided, and also fresh-faced and attractive in very different ways.

Doyle had raised his head at the same instant, his wide-spaced eyes cataloguing the same attributes as his partner.

"Can we sit down?" the auburn-haired one asked. "There aren't any other seats."

"Of course," Bodie said. As the woman parked their drinks and arranged themselves to their comfort, he gave Doyle a sidelong look. The slightest shrug rolled off Doyle's shoulders, an indication that he recognized the situation, but also his lack of concern. Bodie relaxed again and took a long sip of his beer.

The women talked quietly between themselves for a minute or two, before the one with soft brown eyes and red-gold hair gazed impartially at one man and then the other. "I'm not really familiar with this part of Town," she said, her voice a low, pleasant contralto. "Is there anywhere round here to dance?"

"Yeah," Bodie replied immediately. "The one off...." He elbowed his partner. "You know the place, Ray: Free Trade, something like that. You've been there."

"So've you," Doyle reminded him. "It's a nice place," he told the woman. She smiled brightly as he gave her directions.

"Thanks. You -- " she addressed herself to Bodie, "wouldn't be going there later?"

Bodie smiled. "Sorry, love. Married."

"Oh." She glanced at her friend, who grinned at Doyle. "Reckon you are, too?"

Caught mid-swallow, Doyle nodded, then tipped his head toward Bodie. "To him."

He was the very picture of innocence as Bodie choked on the remains of his lager, offering an unnecessarily exuberant pat to the middle of Bodie's back on the pretext of helping him regain his breath.

The women, however, took his comment to be a rather cruel brush-off. "Could've said," the auburn one commented, her face flushed, "if we were being a bother."

"You weren't," Doyle said quickly.

Bodie added wryly, "He's telling the truth."

Two doubting faces measured them for honesty, and clearly found them wanting.

A little embarrassed, Bodie assured them, "Got me at a weak moment, didn't he."

Doyle rolled his eyes. "Not hard to do, with him."

The woman with red-gold hair sat back in her chair. "You're really serious."

Doyle conjured up one of his most affecting smiles. "Yeah."

"How long have you been together?" the other asked.

Not certain why they were encouraging this conversation, Bodie answered, "Eight years. Give or take a little." He winced as a heavy trainer slowly squashed his instep.

"That's fantastic!" Brown Eyes exclaimed. "I was married for two years and the little rat had another girl on the side." Her mouth twisted with reminiscent pain. "That was two years ago."

Bodie blinked. The pretty child was older than he'd guessed.

"It's different for gays, Yvonne," her friend said knowledgeably. "They expect their lovers to screw around on them."

Yvonne turned to Doyle. Her dismay barely concealed, she demanded, "Don't you get narked when he spends the night with another fella?"

"I...That is...." Doyle stuttered.

"We don't do that," Bodie clarified.

"For eight years?!"

Bodie slid his feet out of harm's way before answering virtuously, "Can be done."

The woman with auburn hair gave them a look of respect mingled heavily with envy. "Too bad you guys are gay. It'd be awfully nice if there were more men looking for something other than a one-night stand."

Doyle pursed his lips, gaze fixed, while beside him, Bodie smothered a laugh.

It was late when they left the pub, having bought a round for the girls, who returned the favour before allowing them to escape. Doyle was quietly content as they walked out of the brightly lit building into the damp night, inhaling soft air into smoke-furred lungs.

Beside him, Bodie mused, "Strange, spending that much time with a bird and just... talking."

Doyle was amused by the touch of revelation in Bodie's voice. "Pretty ones, too," he agreed.

"If only they knew," Bodie chuckled.

"Yeah." He was driven into an oily-looking puddle when Bodie gave his arm a forceful nudge.

"Saw that guilty start when they started in on blokes of callous and promiscuous natures. Talking to you like you're some kind of paragon or something."

"Or something," Doyle laughed. "Weird, wasn't it?"

"Very." They reached the side of the car. It was dark and quiet, but still all too public. Bodie unlocked Doyle's door and pulled it open. He wanted nothing more than to pull his partner into his arms and hold him very tightly.

Sensing this, and well aware of their circumstances, Doyle brushed a feather-light finger across Bodie's cheek. "Get in, sunshine. Time you took me home."

"Yeah," Bodie whispered. H