The Professionals Circuit Archive - Insight	    Insight

 

by Ashlea

  
 "Saturday night, just got paid..."

He couldn't help grinning at his reflection. Yeah, Saturday night -- He
was off-duty with a long weekend ahead, and he was heading for a good time
at the disco. He dragged the comb through his hair once more for good
measure, flipped it into his back pocket and checked his jacket: wallet,
keys -- all set. He flicked the lights out, slammed the door, tripping the
Security locks as he went. Saturday night and he was going to ball it
up...

The first hint of trouble came as he was standing by the bar. Angie had
gone off to powder her nose and he used the time to fetch their drinks. At
the other end of the counter was a youngish bloke, with bottle-blond hair
and a pretty face. Gay, he thought dismissively. He shifted uncomfortably.
Not that he had anything against homos -- well, he didn't know an awful
lot about them, except what he and his mates had learned in school -- he
just didn't fancy the idea of, you know, fellas doing -- things -- to each
other. His world was a hard one, with no room for faggots and fairies --
people like Bodie {whom he was secretly trying to emulate) and Doyle,
whose temper was legendary in the corridors of Whitehall. Then there were
guys like Cookie, happily married with a sprog; and his own partner,
Lucas, who had just gotten engaged...

Two men had closed in, one on each side of Blondie. They were talking to
him, but McCabe was too far away to hear the words over the driving beat
of the music. He watched the younger man's face: the lad looked distinctly
unhappy. One of the strangers caught hold of his elbow and tried to pull
him off the bar-stool, but Blondie struggled.

Without conscious thought, McCabe moved to the opposite end of the bar.
"These blokes bothering you, son?"

Hope flickered in the frightened eyes. The man who had grabbed the boy
turned on the agent, sneering. "Think your playmate wants to join us?"

McCabe raked a glare over the antagonist: no problem to take him, he
reckoned, but there were strict rules about brawling in public -- like,
you didn't.

"Why don't you leave the kid alone? He doesn't want to go with you -- do
you, mate?"

Blondie shook his head quickly. The hand on his elbow tightened, and he
flinched. McCabe caught the bigger man's wrist and exerted digital
pressure to inflict maximum discomfort. The beefy mitt relinquished its
hold. The sneer became a scowl and the man rubbed his injured arm.

"I'11 remember you, POOFTER!" he spat and backed off gracelessly with his
accomplice.

Blondie watched them wend their way through the dancers, heading for the
exit. He turned back to his rescuer. "Thanks -- thank you," he gulped.
"You didn't have to -- can I buy you a drink or something?"

McCabe shook his head. "No thanks," and walked away.

Blondie started after him, stung by the curt dismissal. He edged off his
stool and followed the agent with his eyes.

Angie was standing at the other end of the counter, looking upset. McCabe
pinned on his brightest smile and jostled in beside her. "Come on, Angle,
let's dance..."

Her tiny nostrils flared in anger. "If you think I'm dancing with a bloke
who chats up other fellas --" 

"Angie!"

She gave him a shove and stormed away. He caught up with her as she bolted
across the dance floor.

"It wasn't like that!" he protested, dragging at her wrist.

"Let GO!" she swiped at him with her free hand and one of the dancers
bumped him so that he lost his grip.

"Angle, please, love --" he called, but she had gone.

Angrily, McCabe turned back towards the bar... Tempted to sink as much as
possible, get himself blink drunk and have a good time with first
available bird that walked past, he was sorely disappointed. No sooner had
he worked his way back to the counter, than Blondie appeared at his side.
"What do you want?" snapped Mac.

"To buy you a drink, to apologise. I -- saw your girlfriend leave --" He
was studying the CI5 man intently.

"Look, mate, let's get one thing straight. I -- don't -- drink -- with --
queers. These guys were leaning on you, looking for trouble. I was just
preventing a fight, NOT picked you up. Clear?"

Somewhat crestfallen, Blondie nodded. "I'm sorry you bothered." 

"Right at this moment," retorted McCabe, "so am I!"

Blondie backed off and Mac found himself alone in the crowd.

By nine, he was bored with his own company, had had one pint of beer and
was forced to admit that the evening was a washout. He got to his feet,
and decided to make an early night of it. He fished into jacket pocket for
his car keys and skirting the dance-floor, he made for the exit. His car
was on the far side of the parking lot beneath one of the security
lights...

Mac glanced round, a habit he'd cultivated from watching Bodie and other
senior agents. Someone grabbed his elbows from behind and shoved him into
the bonnet of an Escort.

There came a rasping, familiar voice. "Well, well, if it isn't our little
bum-boy..."

Mac spun round, on the defensive. There were three of them this time, all
bigger than him, menacing in the semi-dark.

It wasn't so much of a fight as a massacre: Mac's training stood him in
good stead, but it was unequal from the outset. A clout round the head
knocked him to his knees and a boot in the kidneys put him onto the
ground. After that, he was busy trying to keep his brains and his balls
intact.

It was a while before he realised that his attackers had gone and a long
minute later it registered that the anxious face and enquiring hands
belonged to Blondie. He was too weak to fend the boy off. 

"I'11 phone the police," the kid offered.

If he did that, Cowley would get too hear the whole story and he'd get
bawled out for brawling by the controller and ribbed rotten by the rest of
the squad. "No police."

"But you're hurt -- shall I send for an ambulance."

The same logic applied to medical help and Mac was fairly certain he
wasn't seriously injured. "No ambulance. Just get me a taxi..."

Blondie leaned him up against the side of the Escort and took off his own
jacket to cover the agent. "Stay quiet -- I'll be back in a minute..."

"Take your time -- I'm not going anywhere," Mac assured him. Then he
closed his eyes and toppled over.

"I didn't know who else to call."

The plaintive voice belonged to the kid, of that Mac was sure. "I know
it's your free weekend and all --"

"We'll take care of him.'

There was something familiar about the darker tone -- older, deeper, with
the hint of an accent.

"Can you see his car anywhere? A white Dolomite..." A third voice, also
known but unplaceable. "D'you want to drive him home?"

"Won't be anyone there to look after him. Looks like it's back to my
place. Give us a hand, Ray..."

Ray -- Doyle -- 4.5, a fellow agent. And Bodie. How the hell had Blondie
known where to find them?

The two operatives got their battered colleague to his feet between them,
and sent the boy to open the Capri. McCabe was semi- coherent when they
strapped him in the front seat and remembered telling Doyle that he was
fine, really.

"We'll get you to the flat, put you to bed --" Doyle glanced at Bodie,
"and we'll get you a doctor." 

"No doctor," insisted Mac groggily.

"How about an undertaker instead?" Bodie suggested dryly.

"I may take you up on that." the younger man threatened as he passed out
yet again.

Bodie and his partner exchanged glances as they opened the door of the
Capri. McCabe was well past making it up the front steps under his own
steam.

"Take him to the hospital," Doyle advised his mate.

"Can you see the accident report on Monday -- beaten up for defending a
queer? We can get Barnet over --" The jingle of keys. "Open up, and I'll
carry him in..."

"Can you manage on your own?" There was more than a hint of amusement in
Doyle's enquiry that McCabe didn't understand at the time. "I mean --"

"I," Bodie assured, "can manage quite well, thank you. Lead on, McScruff!"

Footsteps receding, and then a strong pair of arms reaching round
him...Bodie was lifting him out of the car with just a little difficulty.
He felt himself being propped against the front wing while Bodie locked
the vehicle. "Come on, Mac -- "

Bodie swung the agent into his arms, carrying him up the steps and through
the door that Doyle was holding for them.

Once inside the apartment, they left him on the sofa while Bodie went to
change the linen. Doyle phoned the doctor and went to put the kettle on.
Mac faded in and out of consciousness, half aware of the activity round
him. Bodie sat him up, to ease the jacket from his shoulders carefully, as
Doyle undid his shoes. Between them, they took him into the bedroom and
dumped him gently on the mattress where they proceeded to strip him. Doyle
winced in sympathy as he tugged off the blue jeans to reveal the extent of
the bruising.

"Got a real beauty there," he remarked to his partner.

"Stop admiring his dick, and get on with it!" teased Bodie, who had Mac
resting against his chest, while he tackled the shirt-cuffs.

"You know, you've got a mind like a Welsh railway," Doyle accused.

"One track, you mean?"

"And dirty with it," Doyle agreed, tossing the jeans onto the floor.

Bodie plumped up the pillows and arranged them comfortably as Doyle threw
the duvet over the semi-lucid operative.

Bodie looked down at the pitiful mound in the bed, and behind him Doyle
sighed. The doctor had pronounced McCabe battered and bruised with the
possibility of mild concussion. He had prescribed a good night's sleep,
but with somebody checking on him, in case of complications. "Fucked our
weekend, hasn't it?" grumbled Doyle. 

"I'd still like you to stay."

Doyle laughed softly. "With Mac next door?"

"He's out of it."

"Floor's too hard and there's not enough room on the settee..."

"The sofa opens into a double bed," Bodie informed him with an impish
grin. "He won't be able to move without one of us hearing him -"

Doyle went to shift the coffee table.

Sofa sounds drifted through the open door, filtering into McCabe's mind.
Tender words and heavy breathing, half stifled giggles...Bodie had someone
out in the lounge with him, was probably having his end away with some
bird...

Mac didn't want to intrude, but if he didn't get to the bathroom, there
would be an accident in a moment. Cautiously, he stretched and rolled
across the mattress. His feet touched the carpet and found the edge of a
battered tube. He crouched, steadying himself against the bed to pick it
up. He frowned at it, but couldn't quite make out what it was. He put it
on the night-stand and crept forward, alert for any sound in the semi-dark
flat. Using the wall for support, he slipped into the living room, and
paused to re-orient himself. Bodie would be sleeping on the sofa - it
opened into a double bed, Mac recalled him telling Doyle...

The rhythmic breathing was broken for a minute as the sleeper wriggled
into a more comfortable position, with a gentle protest from the
furniture.

"Maggot," Bodie accused affectionately. He kissed the offender -- Mac
heard the tiny sound, and the unladylike grunt it elicited. Something
wasn't right -- but his bladder was bursting. He edged forward, hoping
against hope that his host wouldn't hear. The rustle of a cover, a soft
warning -- "Hold on, love --"

Mac froze. Bodie was out of bed, belting his robe around him. A moment
later and the agent had turned on the bathroom light and was coming to
help.

"Sorry, Bodie," groaned McCabe. "Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do -- "

Bodie looked mildly amused and waited till he'd finished. "Give us a shout
if you need anything else, mate."

Mac nodded carefully and drooping against his colleague, allowed himself
to be taken back to bed. "Apologise to --"

"I will," Bodie assured, as he tucked the younger man up. "Go to sleep."

Obediently, Mac closed his eyes. The sense of disquiet persisted. He
caught the tiny scrape as Bodie removed the tube from the cabinet and he
strained his ears listening to the soft noises in the flat. The door
shushed halfway again, so he sat up and homed in on the whispers as they
spoke...

"It's okay, he's asleep now -- slide over, will you?" Then, "Look what I
found --" Bodie presented the tube.

"It's illegal, you know," mumbled Doyle, budging reluctantly onto his
back.

"What, having a pee at two o'clock in the morning?" Bodie was being
deliberately dense. 

"Having it away, with another person in the flat."

"I'm not having it away with another person -- I'm having it here with
you..." Bodie's mouth covered his briefly. "Come on, Ray..." he cajoled.

"Acts of indecency," Doyle quoted dryly, knowing how to wind up his other
half. "Buggery -- " 

"With a consenting male over the age of twenty-one is not a crime..."

"It is if there's anyone else involved," Doyle snorted, sticking to his
guns. "And Mac being under the same roof constitutes involvement. Go to
sleep, Bodie. We can make up for it tomorrow --"

"It's tomorrow now," Bodie pouted, placing the lubricant under the pillow
between them and turning away from his partner. He squirmed back against
Doyle's flank and waited. One minute -- two...

Doyle sighed. "All right, where'd you put the gel?"

The morning seemed brighter than it had a right to be. McCabe opened his
eyes slowly, winced and rolled gingerly over. He remembered Blondie and
Angle storming off, and being beaten up -- at least his head didn't hurt
as much this morning, unless he moved it suddenly -- then Bodie had
brought him home and put him to bed...

Bodie's bedroom was spartan after the comfortable clutter of his own
place. Everything was neat and tidy -- even the jeans Mac had been wearing
were folded on the chair. He struggled into a sitting position and
swallowed. His mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot's cage. Carefully,
he got to his feet, glad to find the room wasn't spinning too much. He
made it to the door safely.

The kettle was warming and the delicious scent of bacon drifted through
the lounge. As he leaned against the frame, a jean-clad Doyle emerged from
the kitchen and thumped down on the sofa bed. He leaned over, his head
disappearing from view behind the back of the settee. He snuffled a bit,
then blew sharply. There was a grunt and a dark head bobbed up for a
second, cropped hair sticking out at crazy angles.

"Morning, sunshine," Doyle greeted. "How'd you like your eggs?"

Bodie gave an exaggerated yawn. "Like you --" he struck with the speed of
a cobra, tipping Doyle across the mattress, pinning him there, "Over 'n'
easy!"

Doyle made a token struggle -- for a moment, Mac was tempted to believe
Bodie was hurting him -- then their breathing altered and he knew they
were kissing... Mac swallowed, not wanting to believe the evidence before
him.

The curly head jerked up and for a second as their eyes met, he could've
sworn that Doyle could not see. Sanity returned with earth- shattering
speed, and Doyle knew there was no way he could deny what he and Bodie had
been doing. The question that sprang to mind was how much their unexpected
lodger had seen or could guess at. There might be a remote chance that
they could pass it off as high jinks --

Bodie struggled up and half-twisted so that he could see what his lover
was starting at. "Oh, morning Mac," he greeted the younger agent as if it
were the most normal thing in the world to be caught snogging with another
man. He put his hand to Doyle's chest -- between nipples he had lovingly
sucked only hours before -- and gave him a friendly shove. "Time to turn
the bacon, Ray." He returned his attention to McCabe as Doyle unfolded and
disappeared kitchen-ward.

"Come in, Mac." Bodie sat up properly.

McCabe pushed off the wall and ventured into the living room, a blank look
on his face. He stopped short of the make-shift bed and spoke the first
words that came to mind. "I'm sorry -- I didn't know you were --" He
halted. "Christ, how was I supposed to know..."

"You weren't," Bodie told him dryly. "It's my fault -- for being - -
indiscreet."

Mac laughed incredulously. "Indiscreet! I walk in here and find you
kissin' your partner..." Doyle appeared with three steaming coffees, and
silently handed one to Bodie before kneeling on the mattress to reach
McCabe. He folded down to sit beside his mate, regarding the situation
over the rim of his mug.

Mac kept staring at them. "I don't believe this -- any minute now I'm
gonna wake up and this'll all be a dream -- YOU can't be bent?

Bodie frowned. "Why not?"

"Because -- because you're always going out with birds, and you go
climbing, and you're the best rifleman we've got."

"So?"

McCabe stopped, gathering himself. "So -- it doesn't go together - - you,
doing all that --"

"And me as well," Doyle added, then at Bodie's glance, "you, doing all
that, and doing me on the side..."

"What I get up to in bed doesn't affect my performance in the field,"
Bodie glanced at his companion for confirmation. "Does it?"

"If anything," Doyle took up the theme, "I'd say it gives us the edge.
More incentive to stay alive -- to keep each other alive. That's why we're
Cowley's top team."

Mac shook his head slowly, eyeing each of them in turn. "Do you know what
the Old Man'd do if he ever found out?"

Bodie raised an eyebrow.

"Threaten certain parts of our anatomy with extinction," Doyle hazarded,
sipping his coffee. "Oh, sit DOWN, Mac, before you fall down -- I'm
serving breakfast in a moment -- that is," he smiled at his partner, "if
Sleeping Beauty here would care to shift his carcass --"

Bodie lolled back in the bed, with the obvious intention of staying put.

"Come on through," Doyle got off the mattress and turned back to the
kitchen. Mac followed him, still in shock.

As soon as they disappeared, Bodie scrambled out from beneath the covers
and headed for the bathroom.

Mac sat, head in his hands as Doyle dished up the bacon and eggs. He
studied the other man covertly, trying to resolve what he knew to be true
with what he'd seen in the past few minutes. Doyle slid into the empty
seat opposite and watched him in return.

"You're dying to ask, aren't you?" He helped himself to toast. "Go on,
what do you want to know?"

"I -- how -- WHY?" asked McCabe.

"How," Doyle mused, "was by accident."

Mac's expression was one of disbelief and Doyle couldn't suppress his
laughter.

"It's the truth. We got drunk one night -- I sort of wound up on his sofa
-- haven't you ever been out with Lucas and gotten well-oiled? Then you
know, you talk about the weirdest things -- things you wouldn't say if you
were stone-cold sober..." He struggled. "That's how it was. I said
something about how nice it was not having to spend the evening with some
bird chattering away, and we just... started fooling around." He paused to
judge the younger man's reaction. "If you had a bird, who started teasing
you -- touching you, cuddling up, what would you do?"

"I'd," Mac had to clear his throat, "I'd think that she was giving me the
come-on, and I'd let her have it."

"Same with a bloke -- we ended up on the settee all night. Was strange,
waking up in the morning -- thought I'd been dreaming -- then he woke up
and kissed me again, and WHAM! that was it --"

"But -- WHY, Ray? I mean, you and Bodie've both got girls falling over
themselves to go out with you..."

Doyle shrugged again. "Dunno -- well, actually, that's a lie. I DO know.
Bodie understands me. He's my best mate -- share anything with him, and
he'll stand by me in a situation even after we've argued... All the nice
things about going out with a girl, without all the hassle."

"It's cheaper as well." Bodie breezed in, the robe belted modestly about
him, his hair still wet from the shower.

Doyle poured his coffee and looked a question at his other half.

"He doesn't have to buy flowers or chocolate, or spend a fortune on a
night out to make up for some piddling broken date..." He dragged over a
chair and parked himself at the table. Doyle conjured the breakfast from
under the grill. The situation was so -- ordinary -- Bodie, wolfing his
meal, while Doyle picked at his meat -- it was hard to imagine that they
could've been in bed together, let alone...

"If you don't want that bacon," Bodie eyed Mac's plate, 'I'll finish it."
His fork hovered menacingly. 

McCabe staked his claim; Bodie looked mournful, so Doyle passed over his
as a consolation. It disappeared rapidly. Mac couldn't help a wry smile of
amusement. He'd seen them do things like this so often in the canteen --
well, he and Lucas did the same... Perhaps their relationship wasn't quite
as inexplicable as he'd first thought. There were times, he admitted, when
he felt -- something -- for Lucas, but Lucas had gotten engaged, so, of
course, he couldn't...

Doyle put the kettle on again. Bodie collected up the dirty dishes.

"Forgot to ask how you're feeling this morning." Bodie glanced over his
shoulder. "Your bruises are coming out nicely."

Mac looked down at his chest and stomach to find himself splotched with
various shades of purple and blue.

Doyle told him to stand up, and (he) placed a gentle hand on his shoulder
to turn him, presenting his back to Bodie.

"That looks bad. You're not fit to be left on your own today," Bodie
pronounced. "Hope you don't mind sharing with a pair of limp- wristed
poofters." He quirked a devilish eyebrow at the younger man, knowing
exactly what McCabe thought of him.

"Won't I be in the way?" Mac shot a troubled look at Doyle who shook his
head.

"Nah, we'll just pack you off to bed and check on you from time to time.
We promise we won't jump you while you're sleeping," he assured the other
agent with an impish grin. 

"That's -- nice to know," Mac replied unconvincingly. Bodie started to
laugh.

Had he been at home, Mac would've made the effort to finish his chores.
Here, with the others, he was put to bed and spent the morning asleep,
which eased the nagging headache.

Doyle produced a very good lunch -- with more hindrance than help from his
partner -- and Mac dozed off again in the afternoon, coming round once in
a while to listen for any tell-tale noises from the living room. He made a
couple of sorties to the bathroom. First time he emerged, he found Doyle
sharpening a vicious-looking knife. Bodie was on the -- reassembled --
sofa, in the middle of cleaning both his own weapon and his partner's.

"How's the head?" Doyle enquired as he tested the blade.

"Fine." Mac eyed the knife suspiciously. "Is that regulation issue?"

"Only for Government troops in the Congo," Bodie replied dryly. "Some
idiot was waving it about, threatening to use it -- I took it off him."

The tone left the younger agent in no doubts as to how Bodie had acquired
it. McCabe carried on to the bathroom. The second time he entered the
lounge, Bodie was lying on the settee reading a book, while Doyle sat on
the floor watching the TV. An ordinary Sunday, two friends spending a
peaceful afternoon together...

Hearing Mac moving about, Bodie ruffled his lover's hair. "Coffee?'

"Please."

Neither man made a move towards the kitchen. McCabe reappeared. "It's part
of your forfeit,' Bodie reminded. 

"Meals only," Doyle corrected.

"Make the drinks now, and I'll count that as supper," Bodie bartered.

With a snort, Doyle scrambled to his feet and trawled off to put the
kettle on.

Grinning, Bodie glanced up at McCabe. "There's no sense in having a
partner if you can't make use of him!"

It was almost midnight. He rolled off the bed more smoothly now that his
muscles were easing, and padded into the lounge. The reading lamp was
still on and McCabe finished his call of nature without resorting to the
bathroom light.

Bodie was asleep in Doyle's arms, his face pressed against the hairy
chest. There was something appealing about the sight -- Bodie, all
arrogance and self-assured when he was awake, and now so vulnerable and --
childlike, as he dreamed. Doyle, however, was dog-watching, and opened his
eyes, alert for any potential danger to himself or his mate.

For a minute, the two agents regarded each other across the sleeping man,
then Mac smiled and passed on. He went to the bedroom, where he crawled
under the covers and dozed off quickly, to dream of warmth, and
loving...and Lucas...

Doyle drove him back to the disco the following morning so that he could
collect his car. Neither of them spoke much on the way -- there was an
unvoiced agreement between them not to discuss what had happened back at
the flat.

Doyle pulled his Capri up beside the Dolomite in the deserted car- park,
and they sat in silence for a moment. At length, Mac said awkwardly, "Well
-- thanks for -- the weekend, Ray. For -- looking after me and --
everything..."

Doyle smiled. "A friend in need..."

McCabe nodded and opened the door.

"Give my regards to Angie," Doyle added. "You've got tonight to make it up
to her -- just don't be late tomorrow morning!"

Mac stopped and looked pensive for a moment. "Somehow," he said slowly, "1
don't think I'll be seeing her again." He paused, gathering himself. "When
she said -- what she said about me and other blokes, I was hurt, angry --"
He met Doyle's eyes levelly. "I didn't understand how it could be --
between two men. I don't know if I could ever get involved -- have it like
you and Bodie, but --" he faltered. "I think what I'm trying to say is
thanks for letting me see how good it could be."

Doyle's smile became a full-fledged grin and he cuffed Mac lightly round
the ear before ruffling the dark hair. "Get out of here," he laughed,
"before I decide to take you back to my place for a practical lesson!"

With a chuckle, McCabe levered himself out of the Capri, and into the
bright sunlight of the day. His joints still creaked a little from
Saturday's pasting, but a long soak would sort that out. Clean clothes,
tidy up the flat, and later, a quiet drink at his local -- maybe he'd get
lucky with the barmaid... Or maybe, he mused, I'll phone Lucas and ask him
out...

Doyle watched him until he drove away. It wouldn't take young Mac long to
find out that he wasn't the only one on the squad who had doubts about his
sexuality, and his feelings towards his partner. He started the engine --
but for one drunken night, he would've been in the same position
himself... He swung the Capri out of the car-park and got his foot down...
Mac would work it out for himself, he decided. In the meantime, Doyle had
plans of his own for the rest of Monday...

-- THE END --

*For Ian, with suitably insincere apologies.*

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