The Professionals Circuit Archive - Trifles and Confirmations      
Trifles and Confirmations

 

by Sally Fell 

 
 *Trifles light as air 
 Are to the jealous confirmations strong
 As proofs of holy writ.

 ‘Othello’ - William Shakespeare*

 Ray Doyle gave out a heartfelt groan and flopped thankfully onto the
sofa. "Christ, it's good to be home," he sighed. The fact that he was
actually in Bodie's flat and not his own was irrelevant. He and his
partner had always been just as much at home in each other's flats as they
were in their own, a feeling that had only increased with the new
direction that their relationship had gradually taken over the past year.
He tipped his head back against the soft cushions and watched from
heavily-lidded eyes as Bodie dumped his holdall inside the door and made
his way across to the kitchen. 

 "Hungry?" Bodie enquired as he passed, subjecting Doyle to a quick,
all-over glance which was no doubt intended to look innocent but was
revealed for what it really was by the obvious concern in his eyes.

 "Not really," Doyle replied, attempting to stifle a yawn as he spoke.
"More knackered than anything. Can never get a decent night's kip in
bloody hospitals. I swear they make some of those nurses wear hobnail
boots."

 "Only the kinky ones, sunshine." Bodie grinned as he joined his partner
on the sofa. He rested a hand on Doyle's thigh and rubbed gently. "I'm
glad you're back, Ray." 

 Doyle smiled back at him. "Yeah, so am I. Always did hate solo ops. Even
worse now…"

 Bodie leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Didn't have to go and
prolong the agony by getting concussion and spending two nights in
hospital though, did you?" he complained, with just the slightest hint of
amusement in his voice.

 "Terribly sorry. I'll have to try and remember not to get my head kicked
in next time. Can't have Sir missing out on his conjugals, can we?"

 "I should think not. What's the world coming to when a man can't rely on
his conjugals, eh?" Bodie stole another quick kiss before pushing himself
up from his seat. "Sure you don't want something?" he asked as he made his
way towards the kitchen. "I'm starving."

 "No, you go ahead. You could make us a cuppa." Doyle raised his voice as
his partner disappeared from sight. "What's the Cow had you doing while
I've been away then?" he asked.

 "Babysitting," came the shouted reply. "Two bloody weeks of it. Hardly
set foot in this place during all that time. Nearly drove me crazy."

 Doyle rested his head back against the sofa again and listened to the
noises emanating from the kitchen as Bodie clattered around, allowing
himself a small smile as the sound of the other man singing softly to
himself reached his ears. They had a good thing going, him and Bodie.
Partners and friends for four years, there were no surprises left for
either of them when they had eventually taken that extra step and become
lovers just five months earlier. Not for the first time in the course of
the past three weeks, Doyle wondered at Cowley's decision to send them on
separate assignments. It was only the second time since they'd been
partnered that it had happened, and he could not shake off the thought
that the old man suspected something. It was just the sort of reaction
that Doyle would expect from him if he ever were to discover the change in
their relationship. Doyle knew that they would have to deal with the
situation sooner rather than later, but their newly discovered attraction
towards each other was something that they were still coming to terms
with, and as yet they had no wish to let anyone else in on their secret.
In fact, if he was entirely honest with himself, the secrecy added a
strange sort of excitement to the whole situation for him. 

 Bodie was still popular with women – nothing had changed about that. What
*had* changed was his lover's response to the signals that were invariably
put out by the females who crossed Bodie's path. The polite but firm
rebuffs that left these would-be admirers disappointed and more than a
little bewildered never failed to send a little shiver of anticipation
down his spine, followed as they always were by a sly wink and a quick
grin aimed in his own direction. He still found it difficult to accept the
fact that Bodie was his, and his alone, despite the other man’s constant
assurances, but it was what he'd been waiting for all his life and so it
seemed, to his continuing amazement, had Bodie. 

 The smell of frying bacon wafting from the kitchen brought his thoughts
back to the present. He briefly toyed with the idea of eating something
before deciding that a shower and then sleep were his main priorities, and
he dragged himself wearily off the sofa and over to the door of the
kitchen. The sight of his lover tucking into a bacon sarnie at least four
inches thick caused him to laugh out loud.

 Bodie looked back at him innocently. "What?" he mumbled. "'s lovely,
this. Sure you don't want one? Here's your tea." 

 Doyle smiled and shook his head as he took the proffered mug. "I'm gonna
have a shower while you're feeding your face, okay?"

 "Mmmnnhhm," came the unintelligible reply as Bodie tackled his sandwich
once more. Doyle continued to grin to himself as he entered the bedroom.
If it ever came down to a toss up between him and a bacon sarnie, he
wouldn't like to bet on which one Bodie would choose.

 He took a mouthful of tea, set his mug down on the bedside cabinet and
looked longingly at the bed. He was so damned tired that he could just
crawl in as he was and bugger the shower. That wouldn't do though; his
personal hygiene over the past three weeks had of necessity been patchy to
say the least, and he had no intention of submitting Bodie to the dubious
delights of a less than fragrant bedmate. Leaving his clothes where they
dropped he carried his tea to the bathroom, slurping at it noisily as he
went. 

 He considered his reflection in the mirror as the shower heated up,
surprised at how totally exhausted he looked. Not that he should have
been, considering that he felt like death warmed up. A shave was needed,
no doubt about that. And about twelve hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep.
Deciding that the shave could wait until the morning he slipped under the
relaxing spray of hot water and allowed the tingling sensation of warmth
to cascade over him as he leant against the tiles. The click of the
opening door hardly registered with him as he stood immobile under the
water. His eyes were just closing as the shower curtain was pulled briefly
to one side and the solid figure of his naked partner slid into the shower
behind him.

 "Thought you were eating," he murmured, catching his breath as two
muscular arms encircled him.

 "Finished," came the low reply in his ear. "Fancied a bit of dessert."

 Doyle sighed as a hand was wrapped around his cock and he felt the
involuntary response as it twitched in Bodie's grasp. "Don't think I'm up
to much tonight, mate. Too bloody knackered." He knew it was a feeble
protest, said without any conviction; even as the words left his lips he
could feel his cock growing harder and he groaned at the familiar
sensation as his lover's hand began to slowly trace the length of it. 

 "That doesn't feel knackered to me," Bodie's voice in his ear smugly
contradicted as the hand on Doyle's cock increased the strength of its
grip and quickened its stroke. Doyle groaned again as he rested his head
back onto Bodie's shoulder, exposing his neck to a series of delicious
little nips that travelled from his collarbone to his earlobe. He gave
himself up completely to the combined sensuousness of the hot water upon
his skin, the press of the other man's hardness against his backside, and
the ministrations of Bodie's more than capable hand upon his cock. Just a
few luxurious seconds later, however, he felt himself released and he gave
a small cry of complaint as he reached out to bring his lover's hand back
again. Instead Bodie placed both hands upon his shoulders.

 "Turn around, Ray," Bodie whispered, barely audible above the hiss of the
shower. "Turn around and touch me."

 Doyle opened his eyes as he turned and drank in the sight of Bodie's
nakedness, feeling himself harden even more as Bodie's cock brushed
against his own, and his gaze followed the rivulets of water on the other
man's body as they traced a path downwards. They reached for each other
simultaneously, each of them gasping with pleasure at the other's touch.
As Bodie's arm snaked around his waist and held him tightly, Doyle's free
hand strayed upwards to thread itself in the dampness of his lover's hair
and pull him closer. They were both oblivious to the streams of water
which cascaded over their faces as they kissed, conscious only of the
taste of each other and the increasingly frantic rhythm of each other's
strokes.

 The kiss had barely ended when Bodie shuddered and came in Doyle's hand,
sinking his teeth into the other man's shoulder as he slumped forward with
a groan. It was all Doyle needed to precipitate his own climax and he
clung to the solid frame of his lover as his semen spilled over Bodie's
fingers and was immediately washed away. He stretched out a hand towards
the tiled wall and steadied himself, as Bodie remained sagged against him,
breathing heavily. As his own breathing evened out Doyle felt Bodie's grip
on him relax.

 "Three weeks is too bloody long," Bodie groaned as he straightened up. He
leant forwards and kissed Doyle briefly. "Think I'm becoming addicted to
you. Can't go that long without you any more." 

 Doyle grinned lazily back and replied with an equally brief kiss. "I
dunno. A homecoming like that almost makes it worthwhile being away."

 ******

Despite his previous weariness – and especially despite the exertions that
had taken place in the shower - Doyle felt surprisingly refreshed as he
re-entered the bedroom, and he heard his stomach growl as the lingering
odour of Bodie's culinary efforts reached his nostrils. Wondering if he
could prevail upon his partner to provide him with a sarnie of similar
proportions after all, he bent to gather up the rather unsavoury
collection of clothing that was currently occupying the centre of the
room, and as he reached to pick up one trainer that had somehow managed to
make its way under the bed a flash of colour caught his eye, a vivid
orange against the bottle green of the bedroom carpet. Intrigued, he
forgot the trainer entirely and stretched to grasp whatever it was that
was lying under the bed, looking oddly out of place in Bodie's normally
tidy bedroom. 

 As he straightened up he studied the scrap of material that he held in
his hand, reluctant to believe at first the evidence of his own eyes. That
the article in question was made of silk was obvious to the touch. He
turned it over in his hand, the swirls of the paisley-type pattern upon
the material suddenly seeming to reflect the churning of his stomach. It
was a lady's scarf, and a bloody expensive one at that - "Hermes"
according to the label which was rapidly being crushed in his fist. The
pile of clothing which he held under his arm dropped to the floor again as
he stared at the scrap of silk in disbelief, aware of a growing feeling of
nausea welling up inside him. Without realising that he'd moved he
suddenly found himself back in the bathroom and on the receiving end of an
appreciative leer from his partner as Bodie towelled himself dry.

 "Christ, you're not back for more, are you? Bloody insatiable, you are…" 

 Oblivious to his nakedness Doyle thrust the offending article into the
other man's face. "What the fuck's this?" he demanded. The smirk upon
Bodie's face disappeared immediately.

 "What's what?" Bodie fingered the scarf tentatively. "Ray? What's up?"

 "It was under the fucking bed. OUR fucking bed. For fuck's sake, Bodie.
Three weeks I was gone. Three bloody weeks! Couldn't get a woman in here
quick enough, could you?"

 Bodie's expression blackened as he caught hold of Doyle's wrist. "I don't
know what the fuck you're going on about, Ray. What is it, anyway? I've
never seen the bloody thing before in my life."

 "It's a woman's scarf. And as neither of us are in the habit of wearing
such things, I think I can safely assume that there's been a woman in
here. In the bedroom, to be precise."

 Bodie's jaw dropped as the accusation being levelled against him sank in.
"Ray, for Christ's sake…"

 "How could you, Bodie? After everything we said, too. And I almost bloody
believed you as well." Doyle ran a shaky hand through his still damp hair.

 "Ray, I've never…" Bodie stopped as his eyes finally focussed upon the
wildly patterned article that was being waved frantically in front of him.
"No, hang on a minute. I *have* seen it before. It was…"

 "You're not even going to deny it, are you? You make me fucking sick. How
the hell did I ever think that you could change?"

 Bodie flinched involuntarily as the scarf was flung in his face and Doyle
turned on his heel, stalking back to the bedroom and slamming the door
behind him with a resounding crash. Bodie stooped and picked the silken
scrap up from the floor, screwing it into a ball in his fist as he looked
at the determinedly closed bedroom door that separated him from his
partner. Crossing the passageway, he threw the door open and watched as
the other man struggled into the dirty clothes that he had recently
discarded.

 "Ray, it's not what it looks like…" Bodie entered the bedroom and grasped
at his lover's arm, only to lose his grip as Doyle pulled away violently.
"Ray!" he began again. "Just calm down and listen to me!" The face of his
partner was barely recognisable as Doyle whirled to confront him, and
Bodie involuntarily took a step back as the full force of the other man's
fury was directed at him.

 "Listen to you? That's a good one. I listened to you once before,
remember? Right there in that bloody bed. *'Nobody else, Ray'.* Remember?"


 Bodie did remember. How could ever forget? For the first time in his life
he'd pledged himself to another human being, uttering promises of fidelity
and commitment that he had never spoken to another soul before. And now it
was all being thrown back in his face. The feelings of confusion and hurt
that Doyle's accusations had aroused began to drain swiftly away as a
rapidly growing sense of outrage took their place. He reached out again
for Doyle's arm and this time his grip was like iron.

 "You *will* fucking listen to me!" he hissed. "We're supposed to trust
each other, for Christ's sake! Is that really what you think of me? That
I'd go off with somebody else the first time your back's turned?"

 For one brief second the fire in Doyle's eyes died and he looked back at
Bodie almost pleadingly. But then his temper flared again and he struggled
to get loose. "You forget how long I've known you, Bodie. Seen all your
little games before, haven't I? Seen you stringing two or more birds along
at the same time and not giving a shit about any of them. Well, that's not
gonna happen to me, sunshine. All or nothing. Told you that right from the
start."

 "Are you going to shut up long enough for me to say something?" Bodie's
voice began to increase in volume as his temper rose to match that of his
partner.

 "Not interested in anything you've got to say. And get your fucking hands
off me." Doyle wrested his arm once more from Bodie's hold and pulled his
still-fastened shirt over his head, turning his back on his erstwhile
lover as he tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. 

 The action infuriated Bodie. "You self-centred, arrogant little sod," he
yelled. "Got it all worked out, haven't you? Bodie's a prize arsehole.
Don't believe a word he tells you. Only to be expected when he lets you
down. Well, let me tell you something. I meant every bloody word I said to
you. Still mean it, though Christ knows why I'd want to. And if you're too
bloody stupid to realise it then I don't know why I bother." 

 Doyle's back remained resolutely turned towards him throughout his
tirade, and in the face of his indifference Bodie gave full rein to his
temper. "There's not even any point in me trying to explain anything to
you, is there? You've already got it cut and dried in that tiny little
mind of yours. Well, if that's the way you want it, mate, you can just
bloody well get on with it."

 As he paused for breath the echo of his noisy outburst reverberated
around the tiny bedroom. At last Doyle turned to face him and the pair
stood glaring at each other in seemingly mutual hatred for several seconds
before a discordant whine gradually began to impinge upon both their
consciousnesses. Pointedly ignoring the intrusive beeping noise, Bodie
opened his mouth to continue his verbal assault but was forestalled by a
nod of his partner's head. "You'd better get that before half of CI5
descends on the place," Doyle observed coldly. 

 "Fuck it," Bodie muttered as he stormed from the room to find his R/T. 

 Doyle stood his ground, hands on hips, as he listened to the murmured
one-sided conversation coming from the living room, his years of training
kicking in as he waited to find out the reason for Bodie's summons despite
every other instinct screaming at him to get as far away from the bastard
as possible. He heard his partner sign off, followed by another mumble of
"Fuck it", and then Bodie suddenly appeared in the doorway. The clothes
that he'd thrown carelessly onto the bed in his hurry to share his lover's
shower were pulled on again with grim determination, and he swore again
loudly as he wrestled with an uncooperative sleeve of his jacket. His face
was still a picture of rage as he glared at Doyle. "Don't you move from
here," he ordered with a scowl. "We've got some sorting out to do when I
get back." And with that he turned on his heel and disappeared from sight.

 "I'll bloody go if I…" Doyle began, only to be interrupted by the
slamming of the front door. "…want to." He stood, not moving for a while
as a new feeling of resentment towards his partner began to arise. Trust
Bodie to get himself called out just when he was in the mood for a bloody
good fight. 

 The absurdity of the thought did not even occur to him in the midst of
his anger. Pulling on his trainers he strode into the living room and
looked around for his jacket. If Bodie thought he was just going to hang
around here waiting for him he had another think coming. What would be the
point anyway? Everything was over between them. There was nothing that
Bodie could say to put things right. It was lucky that he had been ordered
to take the next two days off sick; he didn't think he could have faced
having to work with the other man without having had time to sort out in
his mind exactly how their working relationship was going to fare. 

 Now that he was alone and the object of his fury was out of sight, Doyle
suddenly felt completely exhausted. God knows he'd felt knackered enough
before all this blew up, now he felt dead on his feet. He shrugged into
his jacket and felt in his pocket for his car keys, swearing under his
breath as he suddenly remembered that they had come from the hospital in
Bodie's car and that his own Capri was at that moment sitting in the CI5
car pool. Checking his watch he was surprised at the lateness of the hour;
the tubes and buses would be long finished, and getting a taxi would be a
lottery at this time of night. And the way he felt meant that walking the
four or so miles to his flat was definitely not an option. 

 So it looked as though he would have to spend the night here after all.
The thought infuriated him all over again. Tearing off his jacket he flung
it across the room and stomped back into the bedroom, only to come to a
sudden halt just inside the doorway as his eyes alighted on the bed and
the enormity of the situation suddenly struck him. To his disgust he felt
a tell-tale seizing up of his throat and a prickling behind his eyes. The
bloody bed – nothing special about it, not king-sized, not one of those
monstrosities with built-in radios and lights in the headboard – just an
ordinary double bed. 

 But Bodie had made promises in that bed. Promises that Doyle had
desperately wanted to believe that the other man would keep. The whole
backbone of their relationship – both professional and personal – was
based on mutual trust and honesty, and Doyle had never had reason to doubt
his partner’s word before. But when Bodie had told him that there would be
nobody else Doyle’s delight at his words had been tempered with amazement
at the fact that his partner would ever utter such a thing to anyone, let
alone to him. Doyle had, in fact, been waiting for the right time to
broach the subject of exclusivity himself; had been building himself up to
saying something to the other man for weeks, and when Bodie had beaten him
to it he had been utterly gobsmacked. Oh, he wasn't naive enough to think
for one moment that Bodie's feelings for him would ever run as deeply as
those he had for his partner, but Bodie's promise had been enough for him
for now. Enough to be getting on with...

 He banished the memory before he lost his composure completely. There was
no way he could sleep in that fucking bed now – the mental image of Bodie
and some anonymous woman writhing upon it assaulted his senses, made him
feel physically sick. Retracing his steps he made his way back to the
living room, collecting a blanket from the airing cupboard as he passed.
The sofa would have to do him for tonight; he'd grab a few hours and
hopefully be out of the place before Bodie got back from wherever he'd
slunk off to. Punching the cushions into place beneath his head he
stretched out along the length of the sofa, draped the blanket roughly
over himself, and waited for sleep to overtake him at last.

 But his mind was still racing, despite both his physical and mental
exhaustion. He tossed and turned relentlessly, as far as he was able to
within the narrow confines of his makeshift bed, but every time he closed
his eyes his mind was assailed by memories. And yet if he opened his eyes
the memories were still there; the entire flat was a constant reminder of
all that had taken place between them; the echoes of their lovemaking
seemed to linger in every corner of the place. 

 He cursed as he sat up and checked his watch again. It was still far too
bloody early to leave; it wouldn't even be daylight for two more hours
yet. As soon as it was he'd be off; once out of here and back in his own
flat he might be able to get his brain unscrambled a bit. Extricating
himself from the blanket, he stretched and wandered into the kitchen,
automatically picking up the kettle as he passed. He gave an ironic snort
as he turned the tap on to fill it. *The Englishman's answer to all his
problems - your granny's just died; make a cup of tea. Your house has been
burgled; make a cup of tea. The man you love has been fucking some woman
behind your back; make a cup...*

 And he did love Bodie. He must do, mustn't he, if the bastard was making
him feel like this? He rummaged amongst the detritus of the meal that
Bodie had made earlier, found himself a clean mug, made his tea, returned
to his place on the sofa and closed his eyes wearily as he sunk into the
cushions. 

 When next he opened them he was startled to find the sun streaming in
through the curtains and his tea standing cold and untouched on the floor
beside him. He rubbed at his eyes and attempted to pull himself together.
This wasn't the way he'd planned things at all. At least Bodie wasn't back
yet, that was one thing he was grateful for. There was no need for him to
search the flat to confirm that fact – he knew beyond doubt that he would
not have been allowed to carry on sleeping if his erstwhile lover had
returned. 

 He uncurled himself with a grunt from his cramped position on the sofa
and got stiffly to his feet, stretching his back as he rose. He couldn't
believe that he'd slept as long as he had, not after all the turmoil of
the previous night. For a moment he was almost inclined to believe that
he'd dreamt the whole thing, but he knew that he was deluding himself,
clutching at straws. Something was different this morning, though. The
anger had died down, leaving a kind of numbness in its wake. No longer did
he have the overwhelming desire to smash Bodie in the face. Instead there
was one word churning over and over in his brain and he was powerless to
stop it. *Why?*

 ******

He'd revised his plan. He was staying put. His first instinct may have
been to run, but that would solve nothing. He had no illusions about
himself; he knew that he was a selfish bastard. He also knew that he
wanted Bodie and he was fucked if he was going to give him up without a
fight. Not until he'd heard it from Bodie himself that Bodie no longer
wanted him. And so he waited – waited for Bodie's return, or a phone call,
or a summons on his RT. By midday he was nearly climbing the walls. By two
pm he was on the tube en route to HQ.

 ******

The corridors of CI5 were surprisingly quiet as he made his way to the
rest room. A quick search of the building had failed to unearth his
partner or, indeed, anybody who had the faintest idea where said partner
might be. The obvious solution, of course, would be to subject Betty to
his persuasive charms and attempt to inveigle the information out of her,
but to do that he would have to stray rather too near to Cowley's office
and he felt it prudent to stay out of the old man's sight as long as he
possibly could. The lack of personnel in the place could only mean that
there was a big op on somewhere and he was under no illusions that he
would be press-ganged into service if he was spotted, sick leave or no
sick leave. The rest room door served as an outlet for his frustrations as
he crashed noisily into the room which, to his surprise, was not as
deserted as he'd expected. The sole occupant of the room swore loudly as
Doyle grinned at him.

 "Sorry, Murph. Did I wake you?" Doyle asked with mock concern.

 "Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack," the other agent grumbled. "What
are you doing here, anyway? Thought you were on sick leave."

 "I am. Where is everyone? This place is like the bloody *Marie Celeste*."

 Murphy shrugged in reply. "Haven't got a clue. I'm as much in the dark as
you are."

 "Must be something big. How come you're not out there then?"

 "The old man wants me to pick Bodie up. Just waiting for the word."

 Doyle all but bit his tongue to stop himself asking the obvious question.
He slowly crossed the room and picked up a copy of *The Sun*, tossing it
back down onto the table in disgust as he realised that it was three days
old. "So what's been going on while I've been away?" he asked, still
trying to maintain an air of indifference. "Any idea of what Bodie's been
working on? I didn't get a chance to ask him before he got called out."

 The knowing grin that appeared on Murphy's face left Doyle in no doubt
that the other man hadn't been taken in for one minute by his supposedly
casual questions. Cursing silently he found himself wondering whether he
should be adding Murphy's name to that of Cowley's on his mental list of
those who just might have put two and two together where he and Bodie were
concerned.

 "Babysitting," Murphy replied matter-of-factly, the grin still in place.
"Some South American diplomat's wife. There was a military coup back in
her country and some threats were made against her and her husband. She
was over here visiting relatives at the time, so naturally we became
involved. Seemed to get on pretty well with her, according to him. Randy
sod." 

 Doyle felt his insides clench as the memory of the previous night came
back with a vengeance. He turned his back on his colleague as Murphy
continued to speak.

 "Mind you, what an opportunity. He was practically living with the woman
for two whole weeks in one safehouse or another. Just the two of them. And
it seems that he was quite the blue-eyed boy. Nobody else but 3.7 would do
for the dear lady, apparently."

 Murphy's voice became a drone in the background as the full implications
of his words hit Doyle like a sledgehammer. No need for him to wonder any
more exactly who it was that had taken his place in his partner's bed,
then. There was a roaring in his ears as the need to get away overwhelmed
him; he needed to be on his own, to think and, above all, decide what the
hell he was going to do about this whole mess. And he also knew for a fact
that if Murph didn't shut up pretty soon he'd probably end up thumping
him. Turning abruptly on his heel he stalked across the room to the door
without a second glance in the other man's direction.

 "Hey, hang on a minute! Don't you want to know where…" Murphy's words
were lost in the confusion as Doyle flung the door open and strode
headlong into the oncoming figure of George Cowley. 

 "Watch where you're going, man," hissed the Scot as he grabbed at the
doorframe for support. His eyes widened as he took in the identity of his
assailant. "Doyle! What the devil are you doing here?"

 For a second Doyle could only gape back at him. "I…er…Something I needed
to collect from my locker, sir," he stammered eventually. "Just on my way
now, sir." His arm was taken in a firm grip as he attempted to pass. 

 "How's the concussion?"

 "Fine, sir. No problem. I'll be reporting back for duty on…"

 "Are you well enough to drive?" the older man interrupted.

 "Drive? Well, I…Yes, I suppose so." He inwardly threw every curse known
to man at George Cowley and CI5; trust Cowley to land him with a job now
when he shouldn't even be here and when he was barely thinking straight
enough to place one foot in front of the other, let alone concentrate on
anything else. Fucking typical…

 "Good. You can go and pick that partner of yours up and save Murphy the
trouble. I've got more important things for him to do."

 Doyle knew a brief moment of blind panic. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe he
*should* avoid Bodie for a couple of days; give himself a chance to think
everything through, to work out exactly what he wanted to say to the
bastard. "Sir, I don't think…" he began.

 A manilla folder was thrust into his hands. "Give that to 3.7. Tell him
I'll need his report by this time tomorrow."

 He tried again. "Sir, I…"

 "Murphy, you come with me." Cowley was already moving away from him along
the corridor. "Get a move on, 4.5. Bodie should be ready for discharge by
the time you get there."

 His jaw dropped as Cowley rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
"Discharge?" he squeaked at Murphy as the other agent drew alongside.

 Murphy nodded. "Didn't give me a chance to tell you, did you? He's in
Guy's. Stab wound. Nothing serious, just needed a few stitches. Pumped
full of painkillers though, so he's too groggy to drive. Saved the lady's
life apparently – bet she'll be grateful, eh, Ray?" He winked evilly then
rolled his eyes heavenwards as his name was bellowed from what seemed like
the bowels of the earth. "Trust you to come along when you did," he
hissed. "Was on for a cushy number and an early finish. God knows what I'm
in for now." He slapped Doyle on the back as he passed, knocking the
folder that the other man held to the floor as he did so. 

 A single photo skittered out across the floor and Doyle stooped to
collect it. The photo was of a woman; somewhere in her early to
mid-seventies, he would guess, expensively dressed, and with an open,
pleasant expression upon her face. She looked for all the world like
everybody's favourite grandma. "Murph!" he called as the other agent
rapidly made his way along the corridor. He held the photo aloft. "Who's
this?"

 "That's her. Senora Garcia something-or-other," Murphy replied, retracing
his footsteps slightly. "Bodie's babysitting job. Not bad for an old girl,
eh? I reckon Bodie's on to a good thing there." He laughed raucously and
dug Doyle in the ribs. 

 Doyle, unfortunately, did not share his amusement. He grabbed Murphy by
the sleeve and held on tightly as his colleague made to move away. "Just
what do you mean by that?" he demanded, unable to keep a faint snarl out
of his voice. 

 Murphy looked back at him wide-eyed, all trace of laughter gone from his
face. "Nothing, Ray," he stammered. "A joke, that's all. Jesus Christ…" He
knocked the other man's hand away and adjusted his jacket. "Only a bit of
a bloody laugh, that's all. Bodie and the old girl got on like a house on
fire. We've all been pulling his leg about it. Being her toy-boy and all
that. None of us really thought that they were…well, y'know." His
expression suddenly changed and he looked at Doyle questioningly. Doyle
could practically see the cogs going around in his brain. "What the hell's
up, Ray?"

 Doyle shook his head and gestured toward the exit with a sigh. "Nothing,
Murph. Get going before the Cow has your guts for garters." Murphy raised
a quizzical eyebrow in reply, then shrugged and turned on his heel,
leaving Doyle alone and still staring at the photograph. And as he
subjected the photo to a closer examination, he suddenly felt as though
he'd been hit in the face with a sackload of bricks, for this time his
eyes were drawn to the item of clothing that the subject was wearing
around her neck.

 "You fucking idiot, Doyle," he muttered under his breath. He'd done it
again; jumped in with both feet and landed in a pile of shit. Only this
time he'd taken his relationship with Bodie – the most important thing in
his life – with him. He studied the face on the photo once more. "How the
hell am I going to put this one right?" he asked it.

 Doyle collected his car from the car pool and pulled out into the London
traffic. The congestion in this part of the capital was getting worse with
each passing month, it seemed. The journey to Guy's Hospital took three
times as long as he would have anticipated, and he could only imagine his
partner's growing impatience as he sat in the uncomfortable and unfriendly
waiting room. But at least the length of the journey and the fact that he
was rarely able to get his speed up above twenty did give him plenty of
time to consider his predicament. 

 The thought of Bodie getting up to anything with the woman in the
photograph was nothing short of ridiculous, he knew that. And yet he could
well imagine the lady's reaction to his partner. He'd seen Bodie in action
with ladies of a "certain age" before; charming, solicitous, and exuding
just the right amount of flirtatiousness to make them feel young again. He
considered his reflection in the rear view mirror as he waited in yet
another traffic jam and made the only decision that he could; saying sorry
did not come easily to him but for Bodie he would grovel like nobody had
ever grovelled before.

 ******

Bodie was stretched out on a hard, plastic chair in a corridor when Doyle
spied him; head back against the wall, eyes closed, and legs fully
extended causing people to walk around him as they passed like some sort
of traffic island. Doyle felt a pang of anguish cut through him as he took
in the too-pale features and the frown lines between the other man's
brows, the result, he knew only too well, of the pain his partner's injury
must have caused him. He slid quietly into the vacant chair beside Bodie.
"Hello, sunshine," he said softly. "I've come to take you home."

 Bodie's eyes remained closed, an eloquent sigh the only indication that
he'd heard Doyle's words. "What are you doing here? Thought Murph was
picking me up."

 "He got tied up with something else. I was available, so…" His voice
faded away as Bodie finally turned to look at him. The look in his eyes
made Doyle's heart sink.

 "Let's go then," Bodie said matter-of-factly. He stood awkwardly and
winced slightly before turning away and striding towards the exit doors.
Doyle curbed his inclination to run and catch up with him and remained
several paces behind as they left the building. Bodie turned to look at
him and he gestured to the far corner of the car park. 

 "Car's over there," he said in answer to the unspoken question. Then
Bodie was off again, leaving Doyle in his wake once more. This time Doyle
did break into a run, reaching the Capri just ahead of the other man and
unlocking the passenger door for him. Bodie snatched the door open without
a second glance at his partner and eased himself into the seat with
difficulty, a barely stifled grunt of pain the only sound to escape from
his lips. 

 Doyle loped around to the other side and got in to find that Bodie had
taken up the same eyes-closed, head-back position that he had in the
hospital. Doyle put the key in the ignition, turned in his seat to face
the other man and waited. Eventually Bodie broke the silence. "What's the
delay?" he asked abruptly.

 "We're not going anywhere until we've had a talk."

 Bodie almost snapped to attention in his seat. "Talk?" he spluttered. "I
was trying to talk to you last night, remember? Only you weren't
listening."

 Doyle took a deep breath. "I know. I'm sorry."

 Bodie's eyes widened in mock amazement. "Bloody hell. This must be a day
that'll go down in history. Raymond Doyle apologising to *me*!" At any
other time Doyle knew that such a remark would have been accompanied by a
grin. This time, however, Bodie's voice was heavy with bitterness and
sarcasm.

 "You've every right to be pissed off with me," he replied quietly. "I've
been a right prat, Bodie. I'm sorry."

 The silence in the car was overwhelming as Doyle waited for the other
man's response. Bodie said nothing as his eyes scanned every detail of his
partner's face before looking up to meet Doyle's gaze. "And what did it
take to convince you that you're a prat?" he asked eventually, his tone
still cool.

 "I saw her photo – the old dear that you were babysitting. I knew that
you couldn't have…"

 Bodie looked back at him in amazement before laughing harshly. "Oh, so
because she's no spring chicken you knew that I couldn't possibly have
been unfaithful to you. On the other hand, if she'd been thirty years old
and gorgeous then you *still* would have thought that I'd been up to
something!"

 "No! That's not what I meant at all…Christ, I don't know what I meant…"

 Bodie shook his head and rubbed his face wearily. "Just take me home,
Ray. I'm too bloody tired for all this right now."

 "Bodie…"

 "Drop it, Ray."

 Doyle keyed the ignition and gnawed on his lower lip as he eased the car
out of the car park. He'd been a fool to think that a simple apology would
be enough to make things right between them. For the first time he
actually began to wonder if things would ever be right again. 

 ******

The journey back to Bodie's flat was conducted in total silence and
Bodie's eyes remained closed all the way. Doyle wasn't sure whether he was
feigning sleep or not; nevertheless he knew that his partner was as alert
as he was himself, a fact that was proved by Bodie's opening of the door
as soon as they pulled up at the kerb.

 "Thanks for the lift." Bodie's voice was calm and completely without
emotion. As he moved to leave the car Doyle reached over and grabbed him
by the arm. "Hang on a minute. Can I come up?"

 Bodie turned and regarded him coldly. "Is there any fucking point?"

 It was too much for the famous Doyle temper. "Yes, there's every fucking
point!" He took a deep breath. "Look, I know that this is all my bloody
fault but I want to get it sorted. And I hoped that you would do too." His
eyes met those of the other man and he waited, for minutes it seemed,
while Bodie's gaze weighed him up. 

 "All right then," Bodie eventually replied. Doyle sat motionless in the
car as Bodie eased himself out of the vehicle and slammed the door behind
him. He waited until Bodie had entered the building before following him,
sprinting up the stairs to find the door left open for him. He entered the
flat to find his partner surveying the state of the place in dismay. Words
were unnecessary as Bodie raised his arms despairingly. Doyle looked
around, taking in the unwashed cups and plates on the coffee table, the
pile of blankets on the sofa, and the newspapers scattered around the
floor. "Sorry," he mumbled, moving to pick up the newspapers. "Never
thought about tidying up. I'll just…" The newspaper was barely in his hand
before it was ripped from his grasp.

 "For Christ's sake, Doyle! Just bloody leave it. Say what you've got to
say and then go."

 Doyle opened his mouth to speak but the words would not come. Instead he
sank onto the sofa and watched dejectedly as Bodie moved awkwardly around
the room, determined it seemed to do anything rather than meet his gaze.
Eventually Doyle could stand the silence no longer. "I don't know what I
can say or do to make things right again between us," he croaked. 

 He waited for a response; it was at least a minute before Bodie finally
relented and looked at him. The anger was no longer there; instead there
was a sadness in his partner's expression that Doyle had never seen
before. He took a deep breath. "I do know that I don't want to lose you. I
know I've never said anything, about the way I feel and all that, but…"
The words trailed off into silence as Bodie crossed the room to stand in
front of him. Doyle stood and faced him, his eyes raking the other man's
face, desperate for any sign that Bodie was prepared to give him another
chance.

 There was a faint tremor in Bodie's voice when he spoke. "If you don't
trust me, Ray, then we may as well finish it now," he said quietly.

 "Bodie, I…"

 "I trust you, Ray. Why can't you trust me?"

 "I just…I *do* trust you, it's just…"

 "What? I told you there'd be nobody else, didn't I? Why don't you believe
me?"

 Doyle ran a shaky hand through his hair and raised his eyes heavenwards.
"Can't believe that I'd be enough for you, I suppose. That I'm enough to
keep you happy. Not much of a catch, am I?"

 "*Enough* for me…" Bodie reached out and grabbed Doyle's arms, gripping
the sleeves of his shirt like a vice. "You stupid bloody idiot. I'm not
interested in anybody else. I love you, Ray, surely you'd realised that?"

 Doyle's intake of breath was audible. "You…"

 Bodie's arms dropped to his sides. "I thought…I hoped…that you might...
y'know…"

 "Love you?"

 Bodie nodded. It suddenly struck Doyle that he'd never seen his partner
look so vulnerable in all the years that he'd known him. "Bloody hell,
Bodie," he whispered.

 For a second Bodie looked back at him expectantly, and then Doyle saw his
expression begin to change as one second stretched to two and then three,
and the hopeful gleam in his partner's eyes began to dim. It was a sight
that galvanised him into action. His hand snaked out, captured Bodie by
the back of his neck and pulled him into a searing kiss. It seemed to
catch Bodie briefly off guard, but the momentary lack of response only
served to intensify Doyle's efforts. And then Bodie was clinging to him
like a drowning man, hands twisting in the material of his shirt, kissing
him with such ferocity that Doyle was almost knocked off his feet. He
reciprocated just as fiercely, tasting blood as his tongue delved into his
lover's mouth, not knowing which of them had suffered the cut lip. 

 Eventually they had to break apart as the need to breathe became
unavoidable, their bodies remaining locked together as they gasped in
lungfuls of air. Bodie groaned as he buried his face in Doyle's curls, one
hand coming up to caress his face.

 "Don't need to wonder anymore, do you, sunshine?" Doyle murmured
breathlessly. "About how I feel?" He felt the shake of Bodie's head
against the side of his face. "Come on then. Let me show you properly."

 Doyle led the way into the bedroom in silence but froze as his eyes
alighted upon the multi-coloured scrap of silk that was still lying where
he had thrown it on the previous day. 

 It was Bodie who reached past him to pick it up. "Don't you want to know
how it got here?" he asked quietly. 

 Doyle shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

 "We were on our way to one of the safehouses when the call came through
that the location had been compromised," Bodie continued, ignoring his
partner's response. "We were only fifteen minutes away from here, and the
flat seemed as good a place as any to bring her until the panic died down.
The excitement got a bit too much for her though – she needed to rest so I
offered her the bed."

 Doyle took the scarf from him and studied it. "If I ever act so bloody
stupid again you can shoot me, okay?"

 "I'll never give you reason to, just remember that. I never *have* given
you reason to, Ray, believe me. Never so much as looked at anyone else
since the day I realised how I felt..."

 Doyle looked up at him. "Just never had anyone love me that much before,
I suppose," he replied quietly. "Takes a bit of getting used to."

 "Well, you can start getting used to it right now, because nothing's
going to change." 

 A trace of a smile began to appear on Doyle's face as Bodie reached out
and started to unbutton his shirt. "Throw that bloody thing away, Ray, and
let's go to bed."

 As the shirt was pushed back off his shoulders Doyle fixed his lover with
a quizzical look. "You sure you're up to this?" he asked, a mischievous
tone creeping into his voice. "How bad's that stab wound? Let's have a
look." He deftly pulled Bodie's jumper up and off and studied the dressing
which had been applied just above the other man's waist. "Don't want to
pull any stitches, do we?" he teased.

 "Haven't got any stitches."

 "Bloody liar," Doyle scolded affectionately.

 Bodie's fingers fell to his belt and began to work on the buckle. "Get
these off, will you?" he said with an increasing note of urgency.

 Doyle batted his hands away. "Not so fast, Casanova. I don't want to have
to be the one who explains to Cowley why your injury's taken twice as long
to heal as it should have done. I think a little bit of care and attention
is what's called for here."

 Bodie stood, hands on hips, and regarded him suspiciously. "Just what are
you up to?"

 "Oh, I'm up to plenty, don't worry." Bodie groaned as a hand reached out
and traced the shape of his erection through his trousers. "Just like you
are. But you're going to take things nice and easy and let Raymond do all
the work, okay?"

 Bodie nodded dumbly in reply, breathing deeply as his clothes were
removed one by one. His hands were knocked away again as he attempted to
relieve Doyle of his trousers. "Oh no you don't," Doyle chastised him as
he removed them himself. "You get on that bed and just lie there looking
gorgeous."

 A wicked glint appeared in Bodie's eyes as Doyle's intentions suddenly
became clear. "All right then," he replied with a smirk as he eased
himself onto the bed. "That bit's easy, at least."

 "Oh, I'm going to make it very easy for you, don't worry. You just do as
you're told and you won't get into trouble." Discarding the rest of his
clothing, Doyle moved to the bed and clambered upwards, straddling the
obviously aroused body of his partner. "In fact," he continued, "maybe I
ought to make sure that you don't overexert yourself."

 Bodie looked up in confusion as Doyle reached over the side of the bed,
grunting as he rummaged around on the floor.

 "What the hell are you doing now?" he complained impatiently. "Ray,
you're driving me crazy here..."

 "Aha! Knew it was here somewhere..."

 He held the silk scarf aloft as he straightened up. "Feels nice this,
doesn't it?" he asked as he fingered the material, an innocent look upon
his face that didn't fool Bodie for one moment. 

 "You're a bloody pricktease, did anyone ever tell..." The rest of his
words were lost in a sharp intake of breath as the scarf was trailed over
his erection. Doyle snickered mercilessly as he watched Bodie's cock bob
upwards.

 "I think maybe a little bit of restraint might be in order, just so that
you don't hurt yourself. What do you think?" Bodie's eyes widened as Doyle
twisted the scarf into a long, thin strand. "Hold your hands out,
sunshine," he ordered.

 "Ray..." Bodie hissed warningly but complied with the command
nevertheless. Doyle tied the scarf slackly around his lover's wrists, then
pushed Bodie's arms upwards and fastened the loose ends to the bedhead.
His lips brushed Bodie's ear as he moved back down the bed again. "Just a
bit of fun, love, that's all," he whispered. "I'll make it good for you,
you'll see." He straightened back up again and looked down at the sight
that was displayed before him. "Bloody gorgeous," he murmured as his hand
wrapped itself around his own cock and pumped several times.

 "Ray, please..." There was an edge to Bodie's voice now as his eyes
looked pleadingly up at the other man.

 Doyle shuffled backwards until he was almost at the other end of the bed.
"Put your legs over my shoulders," he commanded softly. "Won't hurt you,
will it?"

 "I don't give a fuck if it does," Bodie replied breathlessly as he
instantly obeyed. There was a chuckle from the other end of the bed, and
Bodie struggled to keep control as he felt the brush of curls against the
tops of his legs and a skittering of a cool breath over his cock as Doyle
bent to his task. Two strong hands under his arse raised him up slightly
off the bed before easing his cheeks apart. 

 "Ready for this?" Doyle's voice huskily enquired from what seemed like a
long way off. 

 All Bodie could do was groan in reply as the tip of Doyle's tongue began
to explore him, tracing a path around the rim of his arsehole and making
him squirm with unadulterated delight.

 "Oh, yes. You're opening up for me, love. That's beautiful. Beautiful."

 Bodie's hands gripped the wooden posts of the bedhead as his lover's
tongue delved into his anus, teasing him to the point of distraction. "I
can't, Ray…too much…" he hissed. 

 Doyle raised his head slightly to see his lover slip the silken bonds.
Bodie's hands gripped the sheet at his sides as he bucked upwards in
search of the mind-blowing sensations that had suddenly ceased. "Bad lad,"
Doyle grinned. "Didn't say you could do that, did I?"

 "Jesus Christ, Doyle. Just what are you trying to do to me?"

 "Trying to teach you that patience is a virtue." Doyle relinquished his
hold on Bodie's backside and slid up the bed to lay spread-eagled on top
of the other man. "But you're not proving to be a very good pupil."

 Bodie wrapped his arms and legs around his lover and held on tightly. "Do
it, Ray," he whispered. "Don't bother using anything. Just do it."

 "Sure you're okay?" Doyle replied quietly, all trace of amusement gone
from his voice.

 "Sure I'm sure. Please, Ray. I want you."

 Doyle looked down at his lover and smiled. He changed position slightly,
took hold of his cock and guided it to where they both wanted it to be.
With a final enquiring look at the other man, and satisfied with the nod
that he was given in reply, he placed his hands on Bodie's shoulders and
eased forward slowly. His cock met no resistance as it slid in. "Jesus,"
he grunted. "You are ready, aren't you?"

 "Always ready for you, gorgeous." Bodie moaned delightedly as Doyle
pushed further in, his cries blending with those of his partner as Doyle
increased the pace.

 They both knew that it wouldn't take long. There had been too much
emotion shown over the past day, too many words spoken and too many
revelations for either of them to think about holding anything back.
Doyle's climax was followed almost immediately by Bodie's, the evidence
spreading stickily between them as Doyle collapsed upon him. 

 "Am I hurting you?" Doyle mumbled thickly as Bodie's fingers caressed his
back.

 "Yeah. But if you move I'll be forced to kill you," Bodie replied
sleepily.

 Doyle slid off him with a groan and snuggled in alongside. They lay
silently for a few minutes, waiting for heartbeats to settle and breathing
to regularise. 

 It was Doyle who broke the silence, as Bodie knew he would. "We are all
right now, aren't we? Bodie?"

 Bodie cracked an eye open and regarded the other man lazily. "We've
always been all right, Ray," he replied. "Got a few things sorted out now
though, haven't we?"

 Doyle nodded. "Yeah. We have."

 Bodie pulled him closer and kissed him long and hard. "I don't think for
a minute that it'll be a bed of roses, y'know," he said when they broke
apart. 

 "Wouldn't be interested if it was," Doyle replied before helping himself
to another kiss.

 "It'll be good, though," Bodie continued when he finally had the use of
his mouth back.

 "Yeah."

 "The best."

 "Yeah."

 "Sleep now?"

 "One more kiss?"

 Bodie complied willingly.

 Doyle watched as his weary partner's struggles to remain awake eventually
failed. As Bodie's breathing evened out into a steady rhythm Doyle
continued to study him, relishing the brief opportunity to drink in every
facet of the other man's appearance. He cursed himself silently for ever
doubting Bodie's fidelity and made a vow to himself never to do so again. 

 As he lay and studied his lover, Bodie suddenly fidgeted and his eyes
opened slightly. Glazed and unfocussed, they fixed upon Doyle's face and
the tiniest smile appeared upon Bodie's lips before the eyes closed again
and he fell into a deep sleep once more. And so it was that a ridiculously
sleepy half-smile was the final element in Ray Doyle's acceptance of his
lover's commitment to him. He placed a soft kiss upon Bodie's forehead,
wrapped himself around the sleeping man, closed his eyes and slept
soundly.

 -- THE END --

 *December 2005*

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