Ankaree's Place

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 8 of 8)

2011-01-08T01:08:02Z

Bodie saw the armed guards walking a perimeter of the old soviet compound and knew he was too late – The Hive had got here first.

Night cloaked the movement of his team as they moved into position. They wore black clothing and had parachuted in over a mile away. That hike had been the fastest of his life, and he could still hear a couple of the men struggling to quiet their laboured breathing from keeping up the gruelling pace he'd set. His shoulder still burned where the bullet had hit him, but he pushed the pain away until it no longer existed.

Murphy and Jax flanked him, and he had never been more grateful to have them by his side. As it was, he was barely holding on to rational thought knowing Doyle was inside that building with The Hive. All he wanted to do was rush in there and get him out.

"I count nine on the outside," whispered Jax, looking through his night scope.

"Me, too," confirmed Murphy. "Three more inside moving around by the windows, but there's probably more in there."

Bodie hadn't realised he'd started to move in until he felt Murphy's big hand rest on his chest, holding him back. "Not yet," Murphy insisted quietly. "We go in together or Doyle doesn't stand a chance. Don't go getting stupid now."

Jax checked his watch and pinned Bodie with a look of understanding. "Thirty-eight seconds, Bodie. We all move in together then. You can wait thirty-eight seconds."

Bodie gave a brisk nod in answer.

They were the longest thirty-eight seconds of his life.

***

Doyle was freezing to death. He could no longer feel his hands or feet. The shivers that wracked his body were so extreme he was sure they were damaging muscle tissue. At least he could no longer feel the stinging of the dozens of shallow cuts over his arms and legs.

They hadn't even hurt him to gain information. Whatever drug Krivas had given him in the plane had made it impossible for him to keep silent about the coordinates for the location of the weapons. He wished he hadn't had a good memory for numbers, that he hadn't been able to give them the coordinates, but in the end, he'd had no choice.

And still that scarred faced bastard had cut him – tortured him.

Krivas told him that the only reason he did it was because he loved to hear Doyle scream – that Doyle had a beautiful voice.

Doyle had tried his best not to give Krivas the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain, yet in the end, he'd failed there, too.

He was naked, gagged, bleeding, and soaked with a bucket of icy water that had been dumped over his head by one of the laughing terrorists. He was bound to a metal wheeled chair in the centre of a room that most likely hadn't had a functioning heater in more than a decade. He shuddered, remembering how the men had taunted him and laughed while they'd yanked and shoved him from one to another, using their heavy boots to kick at him.

His stomach cramped suddenly. He felt so physically exhausted that even the involuntary shivers were beginning to subside. After so many hours of being mentally and physically tormented, his body didn't have the strength left to fight any longer.

Only the thought of Bodie kept him going beyond where Doyle would have surrendered. If Bodie was alive, he would be coming for him – Doyle never doubted that for a second.

Forcing himself to stay awake, he attempted to focus on anything that would interest him enough to keep his mind alert. When Bodie came, Doyle needed to be conscious. He'd need to be able to help Bodie in any way he could.

Doyle summoned up enough energy to raise his head. He glanced around the building, seeing that it was a sort of bunker made of metal plates that would have been easy to take apart and transport elsewhere. The structure and everything in it was designed to be portable.

As interesting as that might have been to Doyle at one point in his life, right now, it was the only thing keeping him from focusing on the searing cold that sank into every pore of his body. Already, he was feeling a heavy, sleepy lethargy which Doyle knew meant impending hypothermia.

Doyle's head slowly began to lower. He watched, almost in fascination, as water dripped steadily from his hair mixing with his blood to form a shallow, red pool at his bare feet. His eyelids slid down and he struggled to open them again, telling himself that he had to stay awake.

Bodie was coming.

Faith in Bodie was all Doyle had left now, and he clung to it with every ounce of strength he possessed.

Suddenly, the sound of the metal doors bursting open, followed by the sharp blast of gunfire, filled the room. Doyle didn't have enough energy left to lift his head again to see who it was, but he didn't have to – he knew.

Bodie had come for him.

***

Finally, Bodie was able to act. He easily took out four of the men who were guarding the entrance gate before the rest of the group, both CI5 and Russian Intelligence, could even close the distance. Bodie ignored the rest of the enemy guards outside, knowing his team would take them down. He had only one goal. Get inside, eliminate the hostiles near Doyle and get him out.

As he rushed towards the building, Bodie glanced to his left to see that Murphy was right beside him. The two of them burst through the metal doors, shooting anyone who wasn't Doyle. Three men fell before the enemy had a chance to return fire. One man ducked for cover behind a metal partition and another sprinted across the room towards Doyle.

That was when Bodie nearly lost it right there. Doyle, tied to a chair, naked, a pool of blood glistening beneath him.

It was like staring at Nicolas' dead body all over again. Beaten. Tortured.

Dead.

Bodie nearly doubled over in pain, fighting the urge to vomit. No! his mind screamed. This couldn't be happening again. There was no way he would be able to survive losing Doyle.

The day that Nicolas had died, a monster had been born inside of Bodie. Over the past two years, Bodie had fed that monster a constant diet of guilt and grief and regret. The monster had grown, swelling inside of him until there was little room left for the man he used to be.

Doyle had somehow found the man who was hidden away and breathed into him a spark of hope – of life. But now, staring at Doyle's damaged body, everything left that was human in him died, screaming in torment. All that remained was the monster, prowling inside him, waiting for the chance to strike. He was going to take out every one of these sodding bastards and pray he died in the process.

A bullet whizzed by his head, and if it hadn't been for Murphy jerking him out of the way, it would have hit its mark.

"Get a grip," Murphy growled, using his larger body to shield Bodie's from gunfire. They were pressed into a little alcove by the door, which was their only cover. "Doyle's alive. Look, he's shivering."

Bodie peered around the corner, needing to see for himself. An enormous sense of relief washed through him when he noticed the shallow rise and fall of Doyle's chest.

"I'm going after him," Bodie told Murphy.

"Right," Murphy replied and gave Bodie the cover fire he needed as he raced across the room towards Doyle.

Behind him, he heard the pained grunt of the man who had taken shelter behind the partition. Bodie didn't doubt that it was Murphy who had taken him down. He was almost at Doyle's side when suddenly someone jumped out from behind a filing cabinet and used Doyle's body for cover, pointing a pistol directly against Doyle's temple. "Stop," the man said.

Bodie stopped immediately, boots skidding over the concrete floor. His arm instantly came up to train his weapon on the man. He stared at him, waiting for an opening when recognition flared bright in Bodie's mind. The face was horribly scarred, but he had no doubt who this was. "Krivas," he snarled.

"Hello, Bodie." Krivas smiled, causing the scar along his cheek to stretch into gruesome ridges. "How nice to see you again."

"I thought you were dead." Years ago Bodie had heard rumours that his once old friend turned enemy had been killed when he'd tried to double-cross a gang of gun runners in the Congo.

"No. I'm very much alive."

"Not for long." Bodie grinned menacingly, his gun hand remaining steady, waiting for Krivas to make a wrong move.

"Now, now, is that any way to speak to a friend?" Krivas stepped a little more to the side, crouching low, putting himself completely behind Doyle, dispelling Bodie of any chance at a clean shot. "I knew you'd come back for this one." Krivas stroked the barrel of the pistol up and down Doyle's cheek. "Especially since you were a little too late the last time. I rather enjoyed my time with your Nicolas. You should have heard him scream, such a beautiful, beautiful lad."

Bodie felt nothing at Krivas' words. No fear. No anger. Only a frigid calm of knowing that he was going to feel this man die. He was going to take Krivas' life with his own bare hands and make sure, without any doubt, that Krivas could never hurt another person ever again.

"You and I have some unfinished business," Krivas continued. "You see, I was in that building two years ago. The one you blew up. That fire nearly did me in, but I managed to escape."

Bodie tossed his gun to the side, the weapon hitting the ground with a metallic clatter, and he spread his arms wide. "Here I am then. Let Doyle go, and I'm yours."

Behind him, Bodie could feel Murphy tense. They'd been mates too long for Bodie not to know that Murphy was thinking that he was being a complete berk for giving himself up like this.

A malicious grin lit Krivas' eyes and he ordered, "Tell your friend over there to put down his weapon and back off."

"Do what he says, Murphy. Get out. I can handle this."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bodie was able to see Murphy lower his gun, yet he made no move to leave. "Don't be an idiot, Bodie. He's going to –"

"Get out!" Bodie yelled.

"Not without Doyle," said Murphy.

Bodie forced out a frustrated growl though he still felt nothing except the incessant prowling of that monster inside him and the pressing, urgent need to kill.

"Fine." Bodie walked right over to Doyle, making himself an easy target. Krivas immediately moved the gun from Doyle to Bodie, giving him the chance he needed to get Doyle away. He pushed Doyle's wheeled chair towards Murphy, trusting his mate to get the unconscious man out safely.

Now that Bodie was within easy reach, Krivas grabbed him around the throat with one arm and pressed the cold muzzle of his weapon against the side of Bodie's head.

Bodie forced himself to feel nothing.

He watched as Murphy cut away Doyle's bonds and carefully lift him from the chair. Doyle's body dripped red, which Bodie could now see was more water than blood. He wanted to feel relief, but couldn't. If he let go even that much, the torrent of emotions screaming for release would burn him alive.

Once he saw that Doyle was safely on his way out of the building, Bodie deliberately let his monster free. It howled in delight. It took over his body, giving him nearly inhuman speed.

With one hard backward jab of his elbow, Krivas' weapon went flying and skittered across the room. Bodie spun around. He had Krivas pinned down on the concrete floor, with his hands around the man's throat, squeezing tight, watching him die.

Bodie still felt nothing. No sense of victory. No joy. Nothing.

When he could no longer feel the beat of Krivas' heart beneath his fingertips, Bodie let go. But just to be sure the man would not come back from the dead again, Bodie retrieved his weapon and put two bullets into the bastard's body. Only then did he turn around and walk away.

He found that Murphy hadn't left as he'd been told. His mate was standing guard over Doyle, who was sitting partially slumped against the wall with Murphy's coat wrapped around him. Murphy's weapon was at the ready and Bodie understood that Murphy had stayed close to watch Bodie's back.

Bodie turned his attention to Doyle. Even though Doyle's head was tilted to the side, resting on his shoulder, Bodie could tell that he was still conscious enough to see him. His green eyes were bright with fear and revulsion, staring, in shocked silence, at the man Bodie had just killed.

Doyle had seen the whole thing.

Had seen Bodie kill with his bare hands.

Bodie knew that Doyle hated violence, and after what he'd just witnessed, Bodie was sure that Doyle would have no choice except to hate him as well.

Fury rose up in him and he did his best to stomp it down. He had to keep hold of his emotions for Doyle's sake. Had to get him out of here safely.

As Bodie crossed the room, watching Doyle, he could tell that Doyle was getting weaker by the second. Could see the strength draining from him with every shiver of his body. Still Bodie refused to allow himself to feel anything. Not yet. Not until Doyle was safe and warm.

Once he was at Doyle's side, Bodie reached out for him only to have Doyle flinch away from his touch. That small movement was confirmation of everything Bodie had feared. Doyle had seen him kill with his bare hands and in doing so, Bodie had lost him forever.

***

Slowly Doyle rose up to consciousness, feeling blessed warmth covering his body. He was too exhausted to open his eyes, but he could hear familiar voices in little snippets of conversation. He could also smell Bodie's spicy scent as his lover warmed him using his own body.

"... he's freezing... need to keep him warm..."

"... going to be okay." That voice was Bodie's, though it didn't sound right. It sounded flat and cold.

"... injuries aren't severe... worried about hypothermia..."

As he became a little more cognisant, Doyle struggled desperately to find enough strength to speak. "Sorry," he whispered. "Tried not to tell them the coordinates. I tried –"

"Hush, now," said Bodie, speaking into Doyle's ear. His voice still seemed odd, yet at that moment, Doyle didn't care. It was Bodie and they were both safe now. "You didn't do anything wrong."

As the warmth continued to engulf him, it made his entire body feel lethargic and sleepy. Not fighting it, Doyle closed his eyes, quickly drifting off.

The next time Doyle woke, he was in a bed. There were hands moving all over him and a plastic mask covered his nose and mouth. He tried to move and groaned when pain shot through him. Everything hurt. Even his skin felt like it was being prickled by hundreds of needles.

"Give him something for the pain," demanded Bodie. Bodie was close, Doyle could tell, but he couldn't get his eyes to open so he could see him.

He felt the IV in the back of his hand being joggled, then whatever they'd given him for the pain started doing its job and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

The third time he resurfaced, he heard faint noises around him, the sound of men talking in hushed voices.

"Bodie?" Doyle croaked.

The whispers stopped and immediately he felt a warm, callused hand grasp his own – Bodie.

Bodie was here.

Doyle sighed in relief. He was safe now.

***

Bodie refused to leave Doyle's side for two days. He was tired and hungry and ached all over, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave. Not even the thought that as soon as Doyle woke up, he'd look at Bodie with revulsion.

Murphy stepped into the hospital room, his large body filling the doorway. He approached on silent feet, eyes taking in Doyle's condition in one thorough, sweeping glance. "He looks better today," Murphy said as he stepped up to the bed, across from Bodie.

"Yeah. Think he is. Although it's hard to tell under all those bruises."

"You should get a shower, mate. I'll sit with him while you're gone, if you'd like."

One side of Bodie's mouth twitched. "That your subtle way of telling me I stink?"

"A lot." Murphy flashed him a smile. "If you want Doyle to have anything to do with you when he wakes up, I suggest you clean the mud off your boots, shower and put on fresh clothes."

Bodie looked back down at Doyle. He was so still and pale under all the cuts and bruises that every time Bodie saw him, his gut twisted into a tight knot. He'd nearly lost Doyle. The thought still shook him to the core every time it passed through his mind, which was about every ten seconds. Bodie did his best not to think about it, but the room was quiet and Doyle's injuries were constant reminders of how close Bodie'd come to losing him. How close Doyle had come to ending up just like Nicolas.

"I'll leave in a while," Bodie said, carefully stroking his fingers along Doyle's cheek.

Murphy nodded in acceptance, grabbed a chair and brought it closer to the bed. He settled into his seat with the patience of a man who had no plans of going anywhere soon. "What are you going to do now?"

"What do you mean?" Bodie asked. "I'm going to sit here until Doyle wakes up."

"And then what?"

Bodie looked up, met Murphy's patient gaze. He knew what his mate was asking and a bleak emptiness filled his chest.

As much as it hurt him, Bodie knew what he had to do. He had to walk away from Doyle. Had to give Doyle a chance for a real life – one without the threat of violence looming over him every day.

Thanks to CI5 and Russian Intelligence, they had killed all the members of The Hive in that compound. However, he could never be certain that there weren't other members out there. Hiding. Waiting to strike again. To come after Bodie – after Doyle. There was no way in hell he'd put Doyle through all that again. The man deserved to be happy, and Bodie truly wanted him to be happy. He loved Doyle enough to walk away so that he could be. Cowley had promised him that Doyle would be relocated some place where he'd be safe. Where he could start a whole new life.

For himself, Bodie planned to go into hiding so deep that no one would ever be able to find him. Not even bloody Cowley. He was going to leave the country, crawl into some jungle so thick it would swallow him whole. He'd disappear and Doyle would finally be safe from the taint of violence.

"That's not what Ray wants," Murphy said, as if hearing Bodie's silent thoughts. "That's not what you want, either."

"You don't know what I bloody well want?"

Murphy nodded his dark head. "Yes. I do."

"Okay, Mr Observant," Bodie glared at him, "what do you think I want."

"Doyle."

"Some fortune teller you are. Anybody'd want Doyle. He's sex on legs."

"I'm not talking about sex, Bodie. I'm talking about more than that. Commitment. Love. Forever."

Bodie shook his head. "I can't. Already tried that. You know how it ended."

"What happened to your bloke wasn't your fault," Murphy said gently. "Besides, Doyle isn't Nicolas. If you can't see that, then perhaps you don't deserve him."

"I didn't deserve Nicky, either."

"You're talking rubbish, Bodie."

"Look, Murphy. I know Nicolas loved me. Don't tell me what I already know."

"Suit yourself, mate, but Doyle seems like a good sort. And I think two years is long enough to punish yourself."

The only punishment that fit his crime was to die the same way Nicolas had – tortured, cold and alone. The thought of what his dead lover had gone through made his eyes sting with tears and he lowered his head. He still loved Nicolas and always would. How could he dishonour him by putting another innocent man in harm's way because he was selfish enough to want a second chance at happiness?

He couldn't.

He loved Doyle as much as he'd loved Nicolas. Perhaps more. He'd never thought it would be possible to love like that again, but he did, which only made it that much harder to walk away.

It also made it that much more necessary.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Bodie said to Murphy.

"Fine. Let's just say you're right about that. What about what Ray wants?"

"Doyle hates violence. He saw what I did to Krivas. And I saw the way Doyle looked at me when I reached for him. Pulled away, he did. Flinched as if I'd hurt him."

Murphy stared at him with a look that told Bodie the man thought he'd lost his mind. "Bloody hell, mate, I would have pulled away, too. You have no idea what you looked like back there, do you?"

At Bodie's bewildered frown, Murphy continued, "You were covered in mud and your face streaked with paint. There were spots of blood smeared on your clothes and skin, and you had this feral gleam in your eyes that had even me scared you'd gone over the edge. You'd just killed a man with your bare hands and you looked like you were ready to do it again. Doyle probably figured you'd gone a little crazy. Hell, I thought the same thing until you calmed down."

"Doyle should have known I'd never hurt him. The fact that he didn't only proves that he really does see me as a violent man."

Murphy rolled his eyes and gave a snort of disgust. "Think, man! I doubt he even recognised you in his condition! And, furthermore, he's a civilian. Give the man a break. Unless you're just using that as an excuse not to try to make things work with him."

"Sod off, Murphy."

Murphy sighed and stood. "Stop being such a blooming berk, Bodie. It doesn't suit you. You love Doyle and you'd best let him know it before it's too late. Don't walk away. You'll regret it."

Bodie sat beside Doyle for a few more minutes, watching him sleep. He finally rose and left the room. Passing Jax in the hallway, he didn't acknowledge his friend, but hurried out. He had to be long gone before Doyle woke. Before Doyle had to lay eyes on Bodie, on what he was, what he'd done.

And, coward that he was, Bodie had to be gone before Doyle woke so that he wouldn't have to say good-bye.

***

A light shake to his shoulder woke Doyle. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find Jax and Murphy standing over his bed. He blinked a few times to bring his vision into focus then asked, "Where's Bodie?"

Jax's jaw clenched in anger and Murphy regarded Doyle with an even, blank stare.

"He's leaving," Murphy said. "For good. I don't know whether or not you want to stop him, but you need to decide right quick. He's got a three-minute head start. Once he's gone, none of us will ever be able to find him."

Fighting down a moment of panic, Doyle said, "He's leaving? Why?"

"He doesn't want you to end up like Nicolas did," said Jax.

Doyle was still a little groggy, but he forced his mind to clear and take stock of what he'd heard. He knew that Bodie felt guilty over his lover's death. Likely over what had happened to Doyle as well. He also knew that Bodie was a sodding idiot to think it was his fault.

Doyle looked from one man to the other. "I have to stop him."

"You sure about this?" asked Murphy. "You need to think about what you're saying and be completely sure. Don't toy with him, Doyle." That last part was a warning, as clear and menacing as they got.

"Bloody hell, mate. Of course I mean it!" He glared from Jax to Murphy and back to Jax again. "Which one of you can run faster?"

Jax grinned brightly, vaulted over the end of the bed in a casual, graceful leap and was out the door in a heartbeat.

Doyle carefully began to manoeuvre himself into a sitting position. "Just don't stand there, Murphy. Help me get up."

"You're in no shape to be getting out of bed. Let Jax bring Bodie back here."

"You really think Jax will be able to drag him back if he doesn't want to come?" Doyle threw back the covers, trying not to rip the IV out of his hand.

"Right." Without another word, Murphy helped Doyle out of bed to stand on unsteady legs.

Stripping a blanket off the bed, Murphy wrapped it around Doyle's shoulders. "As much as Bodie would enjoy seeing your naked arse sticking out that silly hospital gown, I doubt he'd enjoy sharing it with others."

Doyle chuckled. He started to unhook the tube from the IV, but Murphy stopped him. "You need that." Taking the bag from the metal stand, Murphy handed it to him. "Hold onto that with one hand and hook your other arm over my shoulder." Once Doyle was situated, Murphy wrapped an arm around Doyle's waist, holding up some of his weight and they made their way out the door.

***

Bodie had almost made it to his Range Rover when he saw Jax barrelling towards him. He guessed that Jax was coming to try to stop him from leaving. There was, however, a small, terrified part of him that worried that something may have happened to Doyle. He hesitated and it was in that moment's dithering that he ended up flat on his back on the grass in front of the hospital's car-park.

Adrenaline flooded his system. He shoved Jax off in a rush of strength and jumped to his feet. Pulling back his fist, Bodie took a swing only to have Jax dodge it. Jax then grabbed hold of Bodie's wrist, twisted his arm behind his back and slammed him face first onto the bonnet of his Rover. "Bloody hell, mate." Bodie struggled to get free. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to stop you from making a huge mistake," Jax replied, still keeping pressure on Bodie's arm so he couldn't get up.

They continued to tussle with each other until a firm voice ordered, "That's enough!"

Bodie froze at the sound of Doyle speaking and looked over his shoulder at him. Doyle was being held up by Murphy, wrapped in a white blanket and carrying his IV bag against his chest. His face looked even more pale and bruised in the bright sunlight.

"Get off me," Bodie growled at Jax and immediately the man let him up.

Bodie's first instinct was to rush to Doyle's side, but he bit back the urge and planted his feet a good two yards away from him.

Green eyes fastened on him and the look of utter betrayal that shone in Doyle's eyes was like a punch to Bodie's gut. "You were just going to leave?" Doyle asked furiously.

At that moment, Bodie wanted to thump Murphy, knowing he was the one who had told Doyle that. "I have to, Doyle. It's for your own good."

Doyle's mouth tightened into an angry line. "I'm a grown man, Bodie. Fully capable of deciding what I want and don't want. If you're leaving because you don't care about me, then go, but don't bloody well try to tell me that it's for my own good!"

The effort of shouting at Bodie seemed to visibly sap the strength from Doyle and he slumped against Murphy, resting his head against the man's chest.

Without a second thought, Bodie hurried over the grass. He took Doyle from Murphy, careful of his battered body. Doyle held himself rigid and uncertain. Of course, Bodie couldn't blame him. He'd hurt Doyle's feelings and probably a hell of a lot more than that.

"I think you owe me an explanation as to why you were leaving without even saying good-bye," Doyle said, holding onto Bodie.

Bodie refused to meet Doyle's eyes, because he knew that look of betrayal was still twisting Doyle's face. It made Bodie ache deep in his gut for what he had to do to him. "Let's get you back in bed. We'll talk there."

"Murph and I will stand guard at the door," offered Jax in a cheerful tone. "Just in case Bodie decides to sneak away again."

Bodie growled, but made no comment. It was too cold for Doyle to be outside in just a flimsy hospital gown and a blanket. Tucking Doyle against his side, Bodie ushered him back inside the warm building.

***

Bodie said nothing as he returned Doyle to his bed and hung the IV bag back on the metal stand. Once he was done, he put some distance between them, pacing back and forth at the end of the bed.

"Well?" Doyle asked. His voice sounding strained. Tired. Hurt.

Bodie wanted to slam his fist into something. He felt trapped. Caged by guilt and responsibility. He knew what he had to do. It was just so bloody hard finding the strength to walk away from Doyle now that he was awake.

Not daring to look at Doyle, Bodie opted for staring at the square floor tiles at his feet. "We can't be together. It's too bloody dangerous for you. You nearly ended up dead. There's no guarantee it won't happen again. And there's no way of knowing if every member of The Hive is dead." The image of Nicolas' dead, battered body flashed through Bodie's thoughts. "Cowley is going to find a safe place for you. Where you can start a new life. It's for the best."

"Don't you think that should be my decision? I'm pretty smart and have been known to make an informed decision on my own upon occasion," Doyle said, his tone sarcastic.

"Not this time."

"Why not? Don't you trust my judgement?"

"Damn it, Doyle! It has nothing to do with judgement."

"Oh, I get it now," Doyle said bitterly. "This is just your way of telling me that you're not interested in seeing me any more. You shagged me and now you're done. Is that it?"

Anger seethed inside Bodie at Doyle's crude, completely mistaken words. "No! That's not it."

"Then if you're not trying to blow me off, why were you running away?"

"I can't let you get hurt again."

When Bodie finally allowed himself to look into Doyle's eyes, he couldn't miss the determination in that green gaze. Doyle wasn't going to make this easy on him, not that walking away could have ever been easy.

Doyle regarded him with a hard stare. "And who's to say that if you leave I'll be safe? You said that my life would always be at risk. That I'll always be in danger. It's something I'm going to need to learn to live with so I can protect myself."

"You'll be safer without me around." Bodie's voice was sharp with resolve.

"So, what you're saying is that even though I'll still be in danger, if you're not around, at least you won't be the one responsible if I get killed. Your hands will be clean. You won't have to worry about feeling all that guilt that you've felt over Nicolas' death."

Something primal and frightening rose up inside Bodie and he could feel his eyes burning with rage. "You're not going to get killed! Ever!"

"You can't guarantee that, Bodie. No one can. In fact, I could be driving me motor and be smashed flat on the motorway. And you know what? There wouldn't be a bloody thing you could do to stop it. Nothing! Just like there was nothing you could have done to keep Nicolas alive."

"It's not the same thing!"

"It's exactly the same thing! You weren't there and Nicolas was taken. What if he'd been killed in a car crash because you weren't there to go to the shops for him? Or, what if he'd slipped on some ice and died from his head being bashed in because you weren't there to walk him to work every day. You can't be everywhere, Bodie. You can't be responsible for everyone. It's not your job to keep everyone alive."

Part of what Doyle was saying hit home, but Bodie refused to dwell on it. He had to make Doyle understand. "I never wanted to keep everyone alive. Just the people I love. Which isn't many. It shouldn't have been too much to ask."

Doyle's eyes widened and he asked quietly, "Are you saying you're in love with me?"

"No. I can't say that." And he couldn't. He couldn't admit to loving Doyle and give anyone who might be listening a weapon to use against him – a reason to hurt Doyle.

"I see. Well, I have no such problem." Doyle's voice softened. "I love you, Bodie. I want to be with you – regardless of the risk."

The words sang to Bodie's soul. Made what was left of his heart ache in desperation to hear them again. Doyle loved him. He didn't deserve that love, but, oh, how he wanted it. "I'm not worth that kind of risk."

"You're wrong. Even knowing what I do now – knowing what would happen, if someone gave me the choice of whether or not to go back and do it all again – the time with you, and the torture at the end, or no time with you at all – I'd gladly do everything the same way again. No regrets."

Doyle wasn't lying. Bodie could see that in his eyes. It made his gut clench. How could Doyle love him that much? Him, a violent man who had made so many mistakes. "You can't mean that."

"You dumb crud," Doyle said fondly. "Of course I mean it. Those days we had together were worth every single cut and bruise, every single second of fear that I suffered. You're an amazing man, Bodie. You're worth every bit of suffering."

"There's been too much suffering in your life because of me. Don't say you're willing to take that kind of risk again."

Doyle reached for his hand. It was only then that he realised that he was standing by Doyle's side, as close to him as he could get without climbing up on the bed with him. Doyle's fingers felt cold and Bodie automatically wrapped them between his hands to warm them.

Doyle's voice was soft, but no less demanding when he said, "Why? Because then you'll no longer have an excuse to run? Because you'll have to face the fact that I love you and am willing to be with you even if it means I die?"

"I won't let you die." It was a promise.

"It's not your choice. Never was."

Was it possible that Doyle was right? That he had no control over life and death?

He'd killed. He'd protected people from harm. Didn't that give him control? "God, Ray. Don't do this to me."

"I'm not doing anything to you, love, except show you that your life doesn't have to be about guilt and trying to make up for a crime you didn't commit. You can have a second chance at happiness if you want it. All you have to do it take it."

He wanted that more than anything. Craved a second chance, but did he deserve it? "I don't know if I can. What if it happens all over again? What if you die like Nicolas did?"

Doyle's fingers slid over Bodie's palm, soothing him. The fire in Doyle's voice was gone; however his words burned all the same. "What if that doesn't happen? What if you let yourself love me, and in forty years from now we're sitting in our back garden, drinking lagers and watching the sun set?"

Bodie released a groan; the image of him spending his life with Doyle had him nearly doubling over with longing.

When Doyle next spoke, his voice was thin with weariness. "It's up to you, Bodie. You can shut down and disappear, or you can let yourself live. Whatever you choose, I'll still love you. I will never regret loving you."

He closed his eyes briefly. He'd wanted to stay locked in his safe, emotionless box, but Doyle wasn't going to let that happen. The man was tearing away every single one of his barriers and forcing him to give his soul room to breathe. To grow.

As Bodie looked into Doyle's eyes and saw his boundless potential for love, a quiet sort of peace settled over him. From one heartbeat to the next, Bodie felt freedom from guilt was possible. That freedom to love was right in front of him, waiting for him to say the word. Doyle made him see that he'd been looking for what he needed in the wrong place. He needed forgiveness, but not from Doyle or Nicolas, but from himself.

So he did.

He let go of all the should haves, would haves and what ifs and gave himself the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he hadn't done everything right in his life, but he always worked to get the important stuff right. He knew now, without a doubt, that when Nicolas had died, he'd known that Bodie loved him, because Bodie had always made sure that Nicolas knew through both word and deed.

Nicolas' death was in the past. Bodie was finally ready to let go of all the pain and guilt and anger he'd kept bottled up inside for so long. As he released all those feelings, he began to remember the good times he'd shared with Nicolas – the happy times that he hadn't been able to recall amid all the guilt and shame.

They had loved and laughed and lived. Bodie would keep those thoughts in his mind in remembrance of the wonderful man that Nicolas had been.

He would live the life that Nicolas would have wanted him to live. He'd let himself have the happiness that he'd found with Doyle.

Covering Doyle's hand with his own, Bodie willed Doyle to understand what he couldn't figure out how to say. "God knows I'm not good enough for you. I'll never be good enough for you. But I want you. Want us to be together. Right now. I know a place we can go, a place where we'll both be safe, where no one will ever find us. Where we can start over – just you and me."

Doyle's eyes widened and he squeezed Bodie's hand. "You want us to be together?"

"Yes." Bodie grinned. "I want to make you happy – to keep you safe."

"Is that why you want us to be together? To protect me? I don't want to be a duty or a burden to anyone, especially not you."

"I do want to protect you, but that's not all."

"Then why?"

Doyle was going to make him say it. He didn't want to. Didn't want to put his heart out there like that, all open and vulnerable for Doyle to see. He wanted to keep that part of him safe. As long as he didn't say the words, if Doyle happened to refuse him, Bodie could walk away with at least his pride intact.

But as Bodie looked into Doyle's hopeful green eyes, he knew that if he didn't take the chance and say it, he might lose Doyle forever.

To hell with his pride.

He wanted Doyle.

Taking a deep breath, he looked Doyle directly in the eyes and took a chance. "Because I love you, Ray. Don't want to be without you. I want to go to bed with you at night and wake up by your side in the morning. And I want to sit in that back garden with you in forty years. I want all of that with you."

Doyle was silent for a long moment, as if trying to decipher what Bodie had just said. At the lack of response, Bodie began to worry, yet before he could say anything, Doyle grabbed hold of his shirt and yanked him down. Doyle didn't let up until Bodie's mouth met his. Doyle kissed him like he'd done back at the cottage – so sweet and full of love that there was no way even a berk like himself could miss it.

Bodie pulled away a little, his pulse racing, his breathing faster from just a few kisses.

"I suppose I could be convinced to put up with you," Doyle said with a smirk.

Bodie grinned. "I think I can convince you."

Mindful of Doyle's bruised face, Bodie kissed him gently. He felt Doyle smile against his lips, then heard the tired sigh as Doyle's eyes slipped shut. Bodie straightened up. "Going to go and chat up Murph and Jax. Be back in a few." He gave Doyle a peck on the forehead. "You know, if this wasn't a hospital, I'd be in bed with you in a flash. Can tell you need a good cuddle." Bodie brushed his fingers through Doyle's hair. "Not letting you get away. I'll tie you up in the cellar if I must."

Doyle chuckled. "I'm not going anywhere. But a bit of rope and bondage sounds like fun. Give me a few days and I'll be happy to oblige."

"I'll hold you to that." Bodie laughed as he tousled Doyle's hair. He kissed Doyle again, marvelling at his good fortune in having this amazing man in his life. If Doyle thought he deserved a second chance, who was he to argue?

After all, Doyle was the smart one.

THE END

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 7 of 8)

2011-01-08T01:04:33Z

Bodie held Doyle for a long time before he slipped from the warm cocoon of the sleeping bags to retrieve a flannel. He'd made a mess of Doyle's body and his lover had been too tired to clean himself up. Wetting the material, he held it over the stove until it was warm before going back to their make-shift bed.

Doyle was so deeply asleep that he didn't even twitch when Bodie ran the cloth over his chest and stomach. Bodie smiled, glad that Doyle would be getting a decent night's sleep tonight.

Bodie would see that he did.

He was going to stay right by Doyle's side all night, holding him.

After cleaning himself, Bodie dropped the flannel onto the floor, and slid back between the sleeping bags. Once again, he pulled Doyle into his embrace, pillowing his lover's head on his chest. Doyle's warm breath swept out over his skin in a sleepy sigh of contentment. Bodie tightened his arms around him at the warm tingling feeling that suddenly flowed through him. There was nowhere else he wanted to be; nowhere else he could imagine himself at this moment.

He had no idea what he was going to do once this assignment was over, but he knew he didn't want to let Doyle go. Perhaps it was the fact that Doyle was the first man he'd been with since Nicolas. Then again, perhaps it was something more. Even though he wasn't sure, he did know one thing... he wasn't letting Doyle go until he knew whether what he felt for him was as real as he feared it might be – hoped it might be.

Bodie had lost one man he loved; he'd die before he lost another.

***

Just before dawn, Krivas approached Wallace where he was sleeping at the base of a large tree. He had one more job for the kid – one final mission.

Before Wallace could stir, Krivas injected him with a heavy sedative. He watched as Wallace's eyes flew wide open in shock, but Krivas knew his awareness lasted only a second before the drug kicked in.

Once the kid was unconscious, Krivas lifted him onto his shoulder, shifting the weight of the lax body to a more comfortable position. Smiling to himself, Krivas walked away from the camp. He had bait, now all he needed to do was set the trap.

***

Bodie leaned against the counter in the kitchen, keeping a close watch over Doyle. Murphy and Jax had already done a perimeter patrol earlier and had gone into town for supplies. Bodie wasn't letting his concentration waver for one second from Doyle. His safety, his continued health, were Bodie's ultimate concern.

Bodie grinned. Ever since he'd woken Doyle earlier with a kiss and some pre-dawn lovemaking, Doyle hadn't said more than a few words to him. And most of those had ended up being grunts rather than actual intelligible words.

Still, Bodie understood. They cyphertext weighed heavily on Doyle's mind.

With his gaze still centred on Doyle, Bodie's smile never dimmed. Doyle looked so beautiful when he was concentrating on his work. His curly hair framed his turned down face and he had some pencil smudges on one cheek. Doyle kept frowning at the paper he was writing on, spouting out gibberish about simultaneous equations and vector analysis. Bodie bet that Doyle didn't even realise he was talking to himself.

Content to watch, Bodie simply lounged there. For the first time in years, the hollow, dead spots around his heart were coming back to life. It wasn't a comfortable process, but it was better than he'd felt in a very long time.

Since Nicolas.

Somehow, thinking about Nicolas didn't evoke the same instantaneous pain and heartache it always used to do. He still felt a pang of guilt over his lover's death. Still had that burning desire to see every last one of The Hive dead. However, Doyle had done something to help ease the searing pain he'd become so familiar with.

Doyle was helping him heal.

If he hadn't felt it happening, he wouldn't have thought it possible.

Suddenly, Doyle went completely still, his pencil dropping from unmoving fingers. "I've done it," Doyle said in a near whisper. "I figured it out."

Bodie crossed the space in three long strides. He stared at the papers on the table, not understanding a word or symbol he saw. "You sure?"

Doyle looked up at him, excitement shining in his green eyes. At that moment, Bodie wanted to kiss him so badly he could almost taste Doyle in his mouth. "Yes. Positive. Only..."

"Only what?" Bodie asked.

Doyle bit his lip as if trying to figure out what to say. "This isn't all of the text."

"Then how do you know you cracked it?"

"Could spend the next twelve hours trying to explain my solution to you," Doyle grinned, "or you could just take my word for it."

"I'll take your word for it," Bodie replied with a smirk.

"Did Cowley give you anything else? Any numbers or instructions?"

"No, nothing."

Sitting back in his chair, Doyle released a frustrated sigh. "Then what I've done isn't going to help much."

Disappointment and relief warred within Bodie. It wasn't over yet, which meant chances were good that Doyle would be with him for a little longer. "What do you mean?"

"It's hard to explain without those twelve hours, but I'll try."

Doyle went into the kitchen, and found a box of dried pasta. He dumped the contents into a bowl and tore off the front panel. On the clear plastic window that displayed the noodles, Doyle drew an arrow and labelled it north. The next arrow he added pointed down and to the right.

On a paper map tacked up to the cottage wall, Doyle held up the cardboard panel. "Okay. The up arrow is north – just a reference – and the second arrow gives us our solution, which are map coordinates. The tip of the arrow is the destination this text was encrypted to hide. It's our target location for the weapons."

Bodie frowned. "But you don't know the destination unless you know where to put the arrow on the map."

"Exactly. I know the magnitude – distance in this case – and direction, but not the origin."

Frustration welled up in Bodie's chest. "Bloody hell. All this effort and nothing tangible to show for it. I'm sorry, Ray."

"It's not a lost cause. There has to be another piece of text somewhere, like this one, which gives us the origin. If we know that, we'll know where this text was telling us to go. Can't you ask Cowley?"

"I can try, but I'm quite sure that he would have sent along anything he thought we could use. Is it possible you missed something? Could there be another bit of info in all that gobbledygook?"

Doyle chuckled. "It's not gobbledygook, Bodie. It's a string of equations that share like variables. The solution to that series of simultaneous equations clearly leads to a fairly simple vector analysis. I made some assumptions along the way, and if I feed my algorithm different values for certain variables, then I will get a solution with a new magnitude and direction – a different vector, but it's all fairly simple now."

Bodie just stared at him. He could feel his IQ dropping as Doyle's words slaughtered his brain cells left and right. "I'm sure it is."

Bodie could sense Doyle's agitation in Bodie's lack of understanding, but he just wasn't in Doyle's league when it came to complicated mathematical equations.

"What do we do now?" Doyle asked, frustration colouring his words.

"Sorry, mate," Bodie said quietly.

Doyle paused before he gave a quick smile. "No worries, sunshine. Didn't mean to be snarky. After all of this," he waved a hand at the papers spread across the table, "I thought I'd done it."

"You have! Christ, Doyle, you did what all of our geniuses at Whitehall couldn't accomplish." Bodie moved closer to Doyle. "No beating yourself up. Deal?"

Doyle nodded. "Ta."

"Now let's noodle this out. First, I need you to show me how to use your solution. Then I want to get you away from this mess as quickly as possible. My gut tells me that as soon as we figure out the last piece of the puzzle, Cowley will be sending me after the weapons immediately."

Doyle looked away quickly, keeping his face averted from Bodie. "We'll be separated soon, then?"

Bodie didn't like the thought of leaving Doyle behind any more than Doyle did, nevertheless, he knew it was Doyle's best chance for survival. At least until all this was over. He couldn't very well drag the man into the remaining Hive stronghold while he was hunting them down. He needed to know Doyle was safe. "Afraid so, mate."

"Will I see you again?" Doyle's quiet voice was tinged with vulnerability. It made Bodie want to pull him into his arms and promise to never leave his side again. Which was, under these circumstances, about the stupidest thing he could possibly do.

"You will." Bodie didn't promise. He didn't even know if he'd survive this mission, but if he did, he would hunt Doyle down no matter how deeply they tried to bury him in any of the government's protection programs. He and Doyle belonged together. He wasn't going to willingly let him go unless one of them decided to call it quits.

Even though Doyle nodded, Bodie could see that Doyle didn't believe him. Bodie didn't blame him one bit. Even he had a hard time believing that he would come out on the other side of the mission alive. The odds weren't great, but they were better than they had been before Doyle had given him a reason to live – which was more than he'd had in a very long time.

***

Jax and Murphy were nearly finished patrolling the perimeter Bodie had set up to protect the cottage when Murphy heard a faint noise. He stopped, motioning Jax to do the same and tilted his head, listening.

"You hear that?" Murphy asked.

The sound came again, louder this time – a faint moan coming from the woods to their right.

Jax nodded and pointed to a thick growth of brush growing along a ditch which ran along the south side of the road leading up to the cottage.

"Cover me," said Murphy as he readied his weapon and moved forward.

He could feel Jax standing guard at his back, knew his mate would keep watch in case this was some sort of trap.

The breezed shifted, and the smell of blood filled the morning air, thick and heavy – lots of blood.

Leaning down, Murphy eased aside a few branches. Under the dense overhang of twisted stems and dried leaves he saw an arm clothed in hunter's camouflage and a pale hand caked with dried blood. Cautiously, Murphy pushed away more branches until he could force his body through a tight opening.

The man moaned again, a low, pitiful sound. He was lying on his side and there was a deep gash a few inches above his right knee. The heavy fabric of his trousers was sliced open and soaked with blood around the wound. Just above the horrible cut, the man had buckled his belt tight around his thigh, making a tourniquet to help stop the bleeding. A bloody axe lay on the ground a few feet away next to a partially chopped chunk of wood.

The poor bastard had damn near hacked his leg off while gathering firewood. From the amount of blood staining the ground, it was a wonder the man was still alive.

"Got a man down," Murphy told Jax.

"How bad?"

"Pretty damn bad," replied Murphy.

"Anyone we know?"

Murphy turned the man over so he could see his face. "He's only a sodding kid. Looks all of seventeen. We need to get him some help."

"The van is just down the road. We can drive him to hospital."

Carefully, Murphy lifted the injured kid into his arms, the motion causing the boy to let out a rough groan.

As Murphy manoeuvred his way out of the brush, Jax kept a careful watch of the surrounding area, ready to go when Murphy was clear of the branches.

"Let's get moving," said Jax. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

***

Krivas watched the two men until they disappeared around a bend in the gravel road. Wallace wasn't going to survive long enough to get to hospital – Krivas had made sure the kid had lost too much blood for that – but he'd served his purpose. He'd been excellent bait.

Krivas made a mental note to thank McKevitt for sending the kid the next time they spoke.

With both of Bodie's mates shortly to be blown into tiny pieces by the explosives he'd set in their van, Bodie and Doyle were going to be much easier targets.

A wicked grin spread across Krivas' face. Things were definitely turning out in his favour.

***

Even though Doyle knew his time with Bodie was growing short, he tried not to let it interfere with what he had to do. He'd shown Bodie how to insert new values into the program for the missing variables and how to interpret the results. He'd even made Bodie practice – many times, much to the man's discontentment.

While Bodie used his long range radio to contact Cowley, Doyle stood at the pot-bellied stove, adding a few logs to fire so he could heat up some water for tea.

Across the room, Doyle heard Bodie speak in a low voice into the receiver. "No, sir. Doyle is sure. There has to be another script we didn't recover."

Doyle could barely make out Cowley's voice cursing on the other end of the line.

"Yes, sir. Those were my exact thoughts, too."

Cowley said something that Doyle couldn't decipher, however he did see the muscle in Bodie's jaw jump.

"No, it wasn't a waste of time," Bodie said. "Find the team that recovered the text and maybe they'll have a clue..." Bodie paused, his eyes closing for a moment, but not before Doyle saw a flash of grief shining behind his lashes. "All of them? When were they killed?"

Bodie leaned hard against the counter, looking more defeated with every word. "Just what do you expect me to do out here?" Bodie asked Cowley. "Doyle's gone as far as he can with the intel we've given him. You want us to start making things up?"

Over the crackling of the fire, Doyle didn't hear what Cowley's reply was, he only noticed Bodie's hand as it clenched around the square, plastic handset so hard Doyle thought the device would break apart.

"No, sir," Bodie growled. "That won't be necessary. Just give me the coordinates of where the team found the script and I'll go there meself."

At Bodie's words, the last piece of the puzzle suddenly fell into place in Doyle's head with a nearly audible click. "That's it, Bodie. The origin. It has to be from the perspective of whoever wrote this cyphertext. Where was it found?"

"Hold on, sir," Bodie said into the receiver. To Doyle, he rattled off the coordinates that Cowley had just given to him.

"One second," Doyle told Bodie and went over to the table to hurriedly work out the data into his formula. A few minutes later, he jumped up and rushed over to a slightly worn world wall map. Marking off a series of lines and arrows on the map – just like he'd shown Bodie using the window on the pasta box – the longitude and latitude information resulted in pointing to one geographical spot.

When Bodie saw the area, he swore under his breath then brought the receiver up to his mouth and spoke into it. "We're going to need cold weather gear, sir. We're headed to the USSR."

Just then, there was the sound of a gunshot and the tiny window in the door of the cottage shattered. With his gaze already on Bodie, Doyle saw his head rock back. Saw blood splatter on the dingy grey wall behind Bodie, and watched in shock as Bodie collapsed to the floor.

"No!" Doyle's cry echoed off the walls as he rushed to Bodie's side.

***

Murphy tried not to jostle the kid as he and Jax hiked back down the road to where they'd left Jax's small panel van.

"He's not going to make it long enough to get to hospital," Jax said.

Glancing down, Murphy could see the kid's shallow breathing and ashen skin. "You're probably right, but we have to try."

"I know." Jax clapped him on the back. "You want to lay him out in the back?"

His partner's gun was still in his skilled hands, his eyes constantly roamed over the trees and brush. Jax could hit nearly anything he could see with that weapon, but that did little to ease the tension that had started to grow between Murphy's shoulder blades ever since they'd found the injured kid.

"I'll hang on to him. Try to cushion the ride for him," Murphy answered.

As they neared the van, Murphy and Jax both slowed, surveying the area for signs that anyone had come this way.

"Looks clear," said Jax.

Murphy saw nothing, however that nagging worry was still grating against him. "Yeah. Looks clear."

Jax gave him a sideways glance. "You got a bad feeling?"

"Yep."

"God, I hate it when you get those."

"So do I."

Jax opened Murphy's door so he could manoeuvre both the kid and himself inside the passenger's seat. The van dipped under his weight, the shocks squeaking in protest. Jax hurried around the vehicle, all the while keeping his eyes on the tree line as he slipped behind the wheel.

The inside of the small van was as beat-up as the outside, with a wide crack running along the top of the dashboard, matching those in the aged vinyl seats. The van smelled of sun-baked plastic, aging foam, greasy food and something else that Murphy didn't recognize – a harsh smell, like week-old sweat and a faint chemical odour that flirted with his memory.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jax's hand as it slid the key into the ignition.

Suddenly it hit him.

Homemade explosives.

That was the smell. Bloody hell!

"Stop!" Murphy shouted, and yanked Jax's hand away from the key.

"What's wrong?"

"Get out of the van... now! It's wired to blow."

Their eyes met briefly before Jax slowly opened the driver's side door and eased out of his seat. Murphy leaned towards the steering column, the movement awkward with the kid in his lap, but he managed to get down far enough getting a good look underneath. A bundle of wires led from the ignition to a small metal can that still had the tuna label attached. Murphy knew he'd be able to disarm it, only it would take time – time the kid didn't have.

Time Bodie and Doyle didn't have.

Someone was out here trying to kill them and Bodie needed to know it, the sooner the better.

"We need to get back to the cottage and warn Bodie," Muphy said when Jax opened his door for him.

Murphy moved quickly. He got out of the van and laid the kid a safe distance away. There was nothing that he or Jax could do for him now. Only seconds ago the lad had taken one last breath, shuddered then died in Murphy's arms.

Jax raced to the back of the van, and retrieved a rifle. "Catch up when you can," said Jax, and took off running up the lane.

With the boy's blood drying on his hands, he barely took a moment to shake his head at the loss of life before he took off after his partner.

He was nearly at the cottage when he heard the distinct crack of a rifle. He never paused, only sent up a silent prayer that it was Jax doing the shooting, and that his partner, Bodie and Doyle were all still alive.

***

Doyle crouched down beside Bodie. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was still yelling in denial, yet the rational part of his brain had kicked into gear and assessed the situation.

Bodie's left shoulder was bleeding profusely. Seeing the wound, Doyle was extremely grateful that bullet hadn't veered more to the right and everything vital. He could tell that Bodie was conscious but appeared to be groggy, probably caused from hitting his head hard against the kitchen counter when he'd collapsed to the floor.

Doyle didn't dare move him, but knew he had to do something to stop the bleeding. Quickly pulling off his jumper, he tied the material around the bullet wound, pulling it as tight as he could. The movement caused Bodie to groan in pain and his eyelids fluttered halfway open.

A noise outside caught Doyle's attention. He didn't need anyone to tell him that it was the heavy pounding of helicopter blades.

The Hive was coming.

Adrenaline surged through his blood, giving him speed and strength. He only had a few seconds before they were here. He needed to make sure the work he'd done wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.

Jumping up, Doyle raced to the table and scooped up all the papers containing the cyphertext. Without hesitation, he threw them into the pot-bellied stove. He watched for a second, making sure all the papers had caught fire before slamming the stove's door shut. Right now, he didn't care about his work being thrown away. He only cared about making sure Bodie stayed alive.

Next, he ripped down the wall map, folding it into a small square. Once again at Bodie's side, he pulled back the collar of Bodie's shirt and slipped the map between material and skin, stuffing it as far down as it would go. He then knelt in front of Bodie and gently patted his cheek. Slowly, the dark blue eyes opened, and Doyle could see confusion clouding them.

"Bodie!" he shouted. "Come on, mate! Look at me. Remember what I told you the first time we made love?"

Bodie blinked and Doyle could see him struggling to focus. "No regrets," Doyle said, staring directly into Bodie's unfocused gaze. He didn't know if Bodie had enough wherewithal to understand him at the moment, but he couldn't go on, couldn't face what he knew was going to happen, without reassuring Bodie in some way. "I'll never regret being with you. No matter what happens, always remember that. You did the best you could." Then he took Bodie's face in his hands and kissed him gently, filling the kiss with everything he felt for this man.

He grabbed Bodie's gun tightly in a shaking hand. Just as he stood up, three armed masked men burst through the door, sending a spray of wood splinters into the air.

Doyle turned towards them full of fury, raising the gun to fire.

However, one of the intruders was quicker than Doyle. Before he could squeeze the trigger, one of the men fired his own weapon. A sharp pain in his leg made Doyle gasp. When he looked down, a small tranquilliser dart protruded from his thigh. Not again! he thought. With his next breath, his head began to spin. His arms and legs started to tingle. He tried to take a step forward, but stumbled and fell hard to his hands and knees. His breathing became shallow and suddenly he was pitched into a giant back hole that swiftly consumed him.

***

Jax was too late to stop the man carrying Doyle from getting into the helicopter. Just before Jax could get a shot off, the bloke had disappeared around the corner of the cottage with Doyle's limp body thrown over one shoulder.

However, the two men struggling out the door with Bodie's body were an entirely different story.

Training taking over, Jax controlled his breathing as he peered through the scope on his rifle, targeting the head of the man carrying Bodie's feet. Jax didn't have time to wait for his heart to stop racing, so he found the rhythm of the beats and made his shot between them.

A spray of blood bloomed into the air from the man's head, but before the dead body hit the ground, Jax was already finding his next target. Three seconds later, the next man crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.

The helicopter pilot must have been given orders to leave without them, because the chopper was already rising steadily into the air, whipping the limbs and leaves of the nearby trees into a frenzy of motion.

Once again, Jax peered through his scope, this time targeting the pilot. Before he took the shot, he hesitated. Doyle was on that chopper, and if Jax took the bird down, Doyle may be killed. If that happened, he knew that not only would his boss be beyond upset, but Bodie would never recover. Assuming Bodie wasn't already dead.

That thought had the air rushing out of Jax's lungs and with a vicious curse. He lowered his rifle to his side and ran towards Bodie to see if he was still alive.

***

A deep throbbing in Bodie's head and shoulder woke him. A sense of urgency called him out of the blessed comfort of unconsciousness and he struggled to recall what was so darn important.

In a sudden rush that made him dizzy, he remembered.

"Ray!" Bodie shouted, surging to his feet.

His head spun wildly, and he could barely make out the little cottage among the blurry images swimming before his eyes.

"Easy," Murphy said. "Just take it easy and sit down."

Murphy pressed down on his uninjured shoulder until he was once again sitting on the kitchen's wooden chair.

"Where's Ray?" Bodie demanded.

"We're going to find him, Bodie," Murphy replied.

Find him? Wasn't Doyle here? Fear and guilt threatened to drive him back into oblivion.

Doyle was gone. Taken.

Reaching out, Bodie clutched Murphy's shirt, not caring how desperate he sounded. "I have to go after him."

"We will," assured Murphy in a low, comforting voice. "But first we have to figure out where to go."

Bodie's vision had cleared enough that only the edges of his sight appeared fuzzy. The pain pounding at the back of his head was still there, as was the deep burning sensation in his left shoulder. Right now none of that mattered, he had to push the pain aside and put all his focus into finding Doyle.

Bodie rubbed at his forehead in an attempt to ease the pain. "How long was I out?"

Murphy checked his watch. "Nineteen minutes. Jax took out two terrorists but the chopper took off. Doyle was already gone, along with all his papers."

"Do you think Ray is...?" Bodie couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. Just the thought of Doyle dying the same way Nicolas had was enough to bring him to his knees.

"They need him alive, Bodie. They might have his work, but they need Doyle to decipher it. They'll keep him alive as long as he's useful to them."

Alive. Yes, Doyle could still be alive. He had to hold onto that thought in order to stay sane.

"Doyle is the one who saved you when you got hit. He used his jumper to tie off your wound. He's one hell of a smart man. If he hadn't stopped the bleeding, you could have bled to death."

Bodie cursed. "Yeah, smart enough that he had to get tangled up in this mess."

"The bullet went right through and didn't hit anything vital," Murphy explained as he finished wrapping the dressing around Bodie's wound. "You'll be fine." He patted Bodie on the back and got to his feet.

Looking up, Bodie could see Jax across the room, using the radio and speaking in low tones. When he brought his eyes back to Murphy, he noticed the blood staining his mate's shirt. Lots of blood. It was smeared all over him in blotchy patches. "Are you hurt?" Bodie asked in concern.

Murphy's jaw tightened. "It's not my blood."

"Jax?"

"Not his either. Conveniently found a bloke wounded in the woods. At first, we thought it was some sort of accident. He had an axe wound in his leg and there was chopped wood lying about. But when we got him back to the motor, I smelt something odd."

"Eh?" Bodie asked.

"Chemical. Knew it was homemade explosives. The kid died in my arms. I'd bet my stake the same men who took Doyle killed that kid."

"Bloody hell," Bodie cursed and Murphy nodded.

"Did you see or hear anything that might tell us where they've taken Doyle?" Murphy asked.

Bodie tried to concentrate on remembering what had happened, but it was hard to push aside his emotional response to Doyle's danger – his fear for Doyle and the guilt that he'd let this happen. If The Hive did to Doyle what they did to Nicolas...

"Focus, Bodie," Murphy said, giving Bodie's good shoulder a little shake. "You've got to keep it together."

Bodie knew Murphy was right. If he didn't start thinking with his head instead of his heart, Doyle didn't have a chance.

Pulling in a deep breath, he tried to recall the last thing he could remember. "I was talking to Cowley about getting some more information. Doyle figured out what the text said, but it was incomplete."

"Jax is on the radio with Cowley right now. Is there anything else you remember?"

Bodie felt something swirling in his memory. A soft, gentle kiss.

Doyle had kissed him right before being taken, and there was something Doyle had said... "No regrets... I'll never regret being with you. No matter what happens, always remember that."

Bodie uttered a curse. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let them take Doyle?

Murphy's strong hand settled on Bodie's arm. "Think, man. What was Doyle doing while you were talking to Cowley?"

Bodie's head throbbed harder as he tried to remember. "Doyle said something about needing the coordinates of where they'd found the text. He thought it might be the missing information. Cowley had just given them to me..."

"Go on."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bodie pushed himself to summon up his memories. "I gave the coordinates to Doyle. He added them to his formula and..." In his mind, Bodie could see the triumph on Doyle's face, the way he'd grinned at him so happily that it had made his heart sing.

"And, what, mate?" Murphy pushed.

Bodie shook his head as frustration burst through him. "I can't remember. Damn it!" He pounded his fist down on the wooden tabletop. Pain radiated through his body, and he let out a growl of frustration at his condition and the entire situation. "We've got to figure this out before they do. I'm sure that's got to be where they've taken Doyle."

"How are we going to figure out where to go?"

"I don't know!" Bodie spat. "Doyle's gone. His work is gone!"

Just then Jax came over and Murphy turned to him. "How long before our ride arrives?"

"They're closing in now," replied Jax as he eyed Bodie. "We need to head out."

Using the table to push himself up, Bodie rose to his feet, being cautious so he wouldn't pass out again. Doyle needed him. He'd do everything in his power to make sure he was able to help him.

Inside his shirt, he felt something slide down along his abdomen. Puzzled, he reached inside and pulled out a square of folded paper smudged with bloody fingerprints.

Unfolding the paper, he revealed the small map that had earlier been pinned up on the wall – the map that Doyle had used to mark out the exact spot where the weapons could be found.

A spark of hope lit deep inside Bodie's heart. He was going to find Doyle.

"Is that what I think it is?" Murphy asked, peering over Bodie's shoulder.

Bodie nodded with a feral smile. "I don't know how Doyle managed to pull it off, but I'm bloody glad he did."

Outside, Bodie could hear the faint thrumming of a helicopter coming closer. Ignoring his pain, he stepped out onto the porch alongside Murph and Jax, silently urging the pilot to hurry the hell up.

***

Doyle woke up on some sort of military aircraft, the hard metal floor under his feet vibrating with the roar of the jet engines. His ankles were tied to the frame of the seat he occupied, his wrists lay in his lap, secured with metal handcuffs and a rope was wrapped firmly around his chest.

His head felt like it was going to explode right off his shoulders and his mouth tasted like it had been cleaned out by rat poison. The feelings weren't unfamiliar. He'd felt the same way when he'd woken after being tranquilised at his home. But the circumstances were different this time – this time Bodie wasn't here to take care of him.

Doyle felt his eyes tear up momentarily as he remembered Bodie lying on the floor of the cottage, bleeding and unconscious. He wondered what they had done with Bodie. Was he here? Was he still alive?

Needing to know if there was a chance Bodie was here with him, he cracked his eyelids open slightly, biting back a groan against the painful effects of the dim light filling the aircraft. The plane was about twenty feet wide, filled with crates and some kind of electronic equipment. There were six men wearing black military clothing, but without any flags or symbols to give away their loyalties. They spoke in quiet voices which Doyle couldn't hear over the drone of the jet engines, so their language was of no help.

His heart dropped when he noticed that Bodie was nowhere in sight, and Doyle knew that meant he was on his own.

One of the men turned and saw that Doyle was awake. The bloke was short, with a sturdy, muscular build. He had short close cropped hair and sported a thin, dark moustache. Everything about him shouted 'average' except for the evil gleam in his dark eyes and the horrific burn scars that claimed half of his face.

The man approached him and held out a canteen. "Thirsty?"

Doyle looked at the container, briefly wondering if the liquid was drugged. He quickly decided against it since they would need him awake to work. And he was terribly thirsty, so he nodded.

Unscrewing the cap, the man pressed the canteen to Doyle's mouth. After he swallowed a few gulps, it was taken away. "These will help with the headache," the man said, holding out two while pills.

Doyle turned his head away. He didn't trust these men and wasn't about to make it easy for them to kill him.

The man released a low, amused chuckle. "Suit yourself."

"Who are you?" Doyle demanded.

"You can call me Krivas. We'll be spending a lot of time together, you and I."

Something in the way Krivas spoke made the hair on the back of Doyle's neck stand on end. "What do you want with me?"

"What a foolish question from such an intelligent man."

Krivas tossed the canteen aside. Looming over Doyle, he placed one hand on each armrest of Doyle's seat and leaned down until their faces where mere inches apart. Doyle kept silent as he studied the emotionless face. There was no warmth there, no compassion. Only greed and evil. Instantly, he knew that as soon as Krivas had what he wanted, Doyle would be a dead man.

"You're going to tell us what the text said."

Doyle knew that his only chance to stay alive was to stall Krivas. As soon as Bodie found the map, he'd figure out how to find Doyle – he was sure of it.

"Don't know if I can. You see, I hadn't deciphered the code yet –"

Krivas hit him hard across the face. The blow hard enough that he could already feel his cheek swelling and taste the blood from his split lip.

"I don't think you fully grasp the magnitude of your situation, Professor Doyle," Krivas snarled and grabbed the back of Doyle's hair, jerking his head until he was staring straight up at Krivas. "We know everything about you. We know who your friends are. We have men watching your family. Do you really want them to suffer for your stubbornness?"

His mum and sister's face crystallized in Doyle's mind, and he couldn't stop the single tear from sliding silently down his cheek. "I can't." He didn't explain that he couldn't risk the lives of others so that his family could live.

"We'll see," Krivas said. He turned to retrieve a small metal box and from inside withdrew a syringe and a vial full of liquid.

Doyle began to tremble, no longer able to fight back the terror that had been swelling in his chest since he'd opened his eyes. "No!" he yelled when he saw Krivas fill the syringe. Doyle struggled to get free of his restraints, but his efforts were to no avail. He was trapped here, at this madman's mercy and there wasn't a sodding thing he could do about it.

Krivas casually injected the liquid into Doyle's arm without thought of disinfectant. It was just one more sign that they didn't care if he lived long-term.

Heat suddenly raced along his veins, making him shiver and sweat at the same time. After a few seconds, the plane appeared to swell and shrink repeatedly, throbbing with each beat of his heart.

Krivas stared at him, grinning evilly. "Don't worry," Krivas said, his voice oily with a mockery of compassion and reached out to stroke Doyle's hair with a gentle sweep of his hand. "It won't be long now."

***

Part 8

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 6 of 8)

2011-01-08T00:58:12Z

Needing some fresh air, Doyle stepped outside the cottage door and took a long deep breath. As he made his way down the small flight of stairs to the grass, his steps faltered when he noticed a slight movement coming from two places just beyond the tree line. He stopped, standing frozen in place while his work-fogged brain struggled to make sense of what he'd just seen.

Movement in two places.

And only one Bodie.

Time seemed to slow down as panic began to flood his system, making Doyle's heart race and his breathing stutter in fear.

"It's just an animal." He tried to convince himself, but his instincts were screaming at him to run.

Scanning the woods, he caught a glimpse of a human shape moving past a thin patch in the trees, sliding slowly over the rough ground with cautious, stealthy steps.

Oh, God. Doyle's breath caught in his throat. The Hive had found him.

Surreptitiously, Doyle made his way back into the cottage where he retrieved the gun Bodie had given him to use in case of an emergency. As much as he loathed any weapon, in Doyle's book, this situation certainly qualified as an emergency. He couldn't stop himself from being relieved to feel the cool metal of the gun pressing into his palm.

If it was The Hive, there was no bloody way he was going to let them take him without a fight.

Quickly stepping out of the cottage once again, he tried to still his trembling hands as best he could. If he got cornered inside the tiny building, he'd be trapped since there wasn't a back door to use as an escape route. Right now, his only chance of getting out of this safely was to get to Bodie.

Knowing the front porch held no cover from flying bullets, Doyle scanned the area. The large pile of chopped wood held the best potential for cover. A few yards beyond that was Bodie's Range Rover. If he could make it as far as the vehicle, then he could surely make it past that and into the woods to find Bodie. But in order for this plan to work, he'd first have to make it to the wood pile.

Hearing the sound of heavy footfalls stirred Doyle into motion. Moving with a speed he didn't know he possessed, he sprinted for the logs. Once there he crouched behind them, praying the pile would give him sufficient protection. Even though his lungs burned from the short run, he did manage to hold onto his gun despite the fact that his palm was sweaty and the weapon kept sliding around in his grip.

Getting ready to dash for the Rover, Doyle's heart dropped when he glanced at the vehicle only to see movement through the trees on the far side of the vehicle.

"Damn," he muttered to himself. He was trapped.

Desperately, his tired brain tried to think of some other way to make his escape. The gun slipped in his hand so he clutched the weapon tight enough that it made his fingers ache.

The gun.

That was it.

If he couldn't get to Bodie, perhaps he could get Bodie to come to him. Pointing the firearm straight in the air, Doyle squeezed the trigger hard. The recoil stung his hand and jarred his wrist. Even though he'd anticipated it, the boom was much louder than he expected, making his ears ring. He just prayed that wherever Bodie was, it had been loud enough for him to hear it. Doyle had no doubt that if Bodie heard the shot, he would come to his rescue. Now, all Doyle had to do was make sure he survived long enough for Bodie to get to him.

In an effort to buy some time, Doyle peered over the top of the log pile and yelled, "Stop moving about, or I'll shoot!"

The movement in the brush suddenly stopped and Doyle let out a shuddering breath. At least they were listening. "Throw out your weapons," Doyle shouted.

After a few, tense seconds, he heard the dull thud of steel landing on frozen ground. Peeking over the wood, Doyle could see the shape of two handguns resting in the dirt a few feet beyond the tree line.

Looking at the weapons, Doyle frowned. That had seemed much too easy. If they'd been members of The Hive, he figured they wouldn't have given up without a fight. For a moment, he thought perhaps the men were only hunters, but decided against it since hunters usually used rifles, not revolvers.

"Come out slowly with your hands on your head," Doyle ordered, proud that his voice hadn't wavered.

One man came out from under the cover of some brush. Just as Doyle had asked, his hands were on his head. His clothing blended perfectly with the autumn forest surroundings and the brown skin of his face was smeared with black paint, obscuring his features. He was a tall, lean man who moved with the same sort of predatory grace Doyle'd seen in Bodie.

That confirmed it for Doyle; he knew he wasn't dealing with some local hunter.

Getting to his feet behind the log pile, Doyle pointed his gun at the man, willing his hand not to shake. He really didn't want to shoot anyone, but if pushed to do it, he would pull the trigger. "Get on the ground. Face down."

The man said nothing as he began to lower his body as if to lie down. He moved a little too slowly, though, almost as if he was trying to stall for time.

That's when Doyle realised his mistake. He'd been so focused on the one man in front of him that he'd forgotten all about the other intruder.

A sick feeling twisted the insides of his stomach. He turned to flee, except he was too late. Before he could move, a muscular arm came around his neck and his gun was wrenched away from his grasp. He tried to yell, only to have a hand clamp over his mouth at the same time as the air was crushed from his lungs by a strong arm wrapping around his chest, pinning his hands to his sides.

Anger seared through him, giving Doyle a burst of strength. He thrashed and kicked, landing a few good blows to the man's legs that brought forth grunts of pain from his captor. With a hard shake of his head, Doyle tried to dislodge the hand covering his mouth, only the grip was too firm. No matter what he did to attempt to get away, the man held him tight. Doyle was unable to escape.

"Hold still," the man commanded in a low voice. "I won't hurt you."

Suddenly, Doyle felt the man holding him go completely still. Less than a second later Bodie's voice filled the air. "That's right, mate. You won't hurt him, at least not while I've got this gun to your head."

"Easy," said the man as he let go of Doyle. "I'm letting him go, Bodie. No need to shoot me. It's Murphy."

"Bloody hell, Murph." Bodie jerked the big man around to look at him, gun now pointed at the ground. "I nearly shot your fool head off."

"Jax is here, too," Murphy said, motioning with his head toward the second man. "Your boy here," he pointed at Doyle, "has him kissing dirt."

Jax pulled his body off the ground and brushed the dirt off his legs and upper torso. "Hey, I only played along so Murphy could have enough time to get into position to disarm him. I was afraid the lad would do something stupid like shoot one of us."

Bodie's eyes raked over Doyle's body from top to bottom. "You all right?"

Doyle nodded, his breathing finally starting to slow down. The sudden relief that he was safe made his head spin and he had to sit down on the chopping stump to regain his sense of balance. "You know these blokes?" he asked, looking up at Bodie.

"Yeah. Jax and Murphy, remember I told you they work with me. You sure you're okay?" Bodie lifted a hand as if to stroke Doyle's mussed hair, but stopped short and let his hand drop.

"I'm fine," Doyle replied and stood back up. He'd actually been terrified, but he wasn't about to admit that in front of these two strangers. Besides, he was still trying to decided if he wanted to hug them both for being the good guys, or throttle them for scaring him nearly to death.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Murphy asked, concern evident in his eyes.

"No," answered Doyle. "Did I hurt you?"

"Me shins may never be the same again. Other than that, I'm good." Holding out his hand, Murphy said, "I'm Murphy. That one over there is Jax."

"Ray Doyle." Doyle took Murphy's hand and nodded a greeting at Jax. "Sorry. I thought you were the bad guys. Guess I've been a little jumpy lately."

"No worries." Murphy flashed him a charming smile.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Doyle." Bodie assured. This time he did reach out to brush his fingers lightly against the side of Doyle's head. "I should have told you they might be coming, only I wasn't sure my message would get through."

"It got through," said Murphy.

"Thank God." Bodie pulled Murphy to him in a brief, hard hug.

Doyle noticed that Murphy was a few inches taller than Bodie and appeared to be a little more muscular. Even under all that paint smeared on his face, Doyle could tell that Murphy was a very handsome man, but he lacked the rugged good looks that Bodie possessed.

Jax, on the other hand was leaner than both men, with a build that reminded Doyle of a long distance runner. His movements were fluid and easy and his brown eyes glittered with humour.

Walking up to Bodie, Jax hugged him quickly, smacking him on the back. "You sound surprised that we'd get the message."

"When you left CI5, we told you all you had to do was call, and we'd come," Murphy added.

"Wasn't sure if the number was still good. A lot can happen in two years," replied Bodie.

"Not so much that we wouldn't be here for you," said Jax. "How many times did you save both our arses? We couldn't leave a debt like that hanging."

Bodie nodded in understanding. "What about Cowley?"

Grinning brightly, Jax replied, "He was kind enough to give Murph and me leave when he heard about our sick friend who needed tending."

Bodie eyed Jax, his mouth twitching with a grin. "As much as I'm relieved to have you both here, I don't want either of you screwing up your careers because of me," he said, voice serious.

Murphy smiled, smooth and friendly as he placed an arm across Bodie's shoulders. "Hell, mate. We're not here for you. Came to see the eye candy, we did." He gave Doyle a wink. "You know how I can't keep my hands off the brown haired beauties." Murphy's smile turned warm as he looked at Doyle.

Oh, yeah, Doyle thought as he grinned back, this guy was a serious flirt.

"Hands off this one, Murphy. He's taken." Bodie winked at Doyle.

Clearing his throat to hid his embarrassment, Doyle asked, "Anyone want some tea?"

Jax and Murphy both nodded happily, but Bodie just stared, his blue gaze hot and unwavering. "Go inside. We'll be there in a few minutes."

It was a dismissal, and Doyle knew it. Normally the order would have made him bristle, except under the circumstances, he was more than happy to obey it just to be back inside where it was warm, and where Bodie didn't look at him like he was about to kiss him.

Because if Bodie did kiss him, all his emotions would boil up inside him, just like they did last night. As it was, Doyle was already on edge, struggling to keep control over his fear and worry and lust. There was no room for anything more right now.

***

Bodie had to use every ounce of self-control he possessed just keep himself from taking Doyle into his arms and stripping him naked to make sure that he was all right – that Murphy really hadn't hurt him.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he ran his fingers through his hair. Good God. The things that had raced through his head when he'd heard that gunshot, then saw Doyle fighting to get free of Murphy still made his blood run cold. Never in his life had he been so afraid.

Not even in the past when he'd been about to descend into The Hive's camp to recover Nicolas' body.

Bodie wasn't sure what was happening to him, but whatever it was, it wasn't good for his thinly held control.

Moving his gaze from Doyle to his mates, he found them watching him intently. "What?" he asked.

"Okay, what's bothering you."

"Nothing."

"I know you, Bodie," Jax said, "your face has guilt written all over it."

"I should have been here," Bodie said, hating himself for not being close enough to save Doyle the fear of encountering two strangers bearing weapons. What if it hadn't been his mates? Bodie's gut clenched at the thought and he tried to push it to the back of his mind.

"You can't be everywhere at once," Murphy spoke up. "Get over it."

That was easier said than done, Bodie reckoned. "So, what did Cowley tell you about this op?"

"Nothing," Jax replied. When Bodie raised an eyebrow in question, he continued, "All he said was..." he paused, before saying in a bad imitation of Cowley, "On your bikes, lads. Go help your ailing friend."

Bodie smirked at Jax before he started to explain, "A few weeks ago, some of our lads took down a group of men they suspected of selling weapons. They weren't just any group; they were part of The Hive." Before Bodie could continue, Murphy's expletive cut him off.

"Not again!" Murphy's face darkened with anger and he kicked angrily at the frozen ground. "I thought we killed all those bastards."

"Apparently not," Bodie angrily huffed out.

"So, how does Doyle fit into all this?" Jax asked.

"Ray Doyle is smart. Really smart. Cowley tracked me down and pulled me back into CI5 to protect him," Bodie explained. "He's the only surviving person who has any chance at all of cracking this old code. It contains the location of a cache of stolen weapons and warheads. Needless to say, The Hive wants it for themselves, which means they also want Doyle."

"Oh, God," Jax whispered, his brown eyes filling with anger.

"We can't let them get Doyle, or those weapons," Bodie said.

"Agreed," Murphy said and Jax nodded. "How do you want to handle this?"

"We stay here until Doyle's finished cracking the code," Bodie replied. "Once we know what it says, we may know what to do next."

Murphy's eyes narrowed in thought as he scanned the tree line. "There are only a couple of ways up this mountain and only one road that comes all the way up here. Jax and I can keep watch there while you stick with Doyle."

"No." Bodie shook his head. "I want you two to stay as close to the cottage as possible without disturbing Doyle. He needs to concentrate on his work. I've already set up perimeter traps, but I want more, and I want them constantly monitored."

"You got it." Murphy clamped Bodie on the shoulder. "I'll go get our gear."

"Want some help?" offered Jax.

"Can handle this mission all on my own, I think." Murphy flashed them both a smile before jogging off with long, powerful strides towards the woods.

Bodie turned to Jax. "I'd like you to stay with Doyle while I set up camp with Murph and keep an eye out for any intruders."

"You know I'd do anything for you, mate, but I really think if you asked Doyle, he'd want you watching over him instead of me."

"Yeah, well, he doesn't have any say in this, does he," Bodie said and stalked back to the cottage with Jax not far behind.

***

Krivas frowned at the arrival of Bodie's men. He enjoyed a good challenge, but the odds were quickly becoming stacked against him. That simply wouldn't do.

He wasn't foolish enough to risk losing Doyle, which meant he was going to have to call for back-up, and not some know-it-all, snot-nosed punk like Mark Wallace. He wanted men that he himself had trained – men who knew the price of failure.

As quietly and unobtrusively as possible, Krivas slid silently back out of sight. The big guy they called Murphy kept looking his way. Even though he knew he couldn't be seen, he didn't want to take any chances. There was also something about Murphy that was a little disconcerting. The man seemed way too perceptive for Krivas' liking. He was going to have to do something about him before things got out of hand. Murphy was far too dangerous to leave alive.

Krivas walked away, going in the opposite direction from Murphy. He had some planning to do and not much time left to do it before McKevitt sent someone else.

The time for patience had come to a close – it was time to take Doyle.

***

Wanting to give the three men a little room to discuss their plans, Doyle decided to eat his dinner sitting in the chair by the stove. Besides, listening to them chat about strategies and perimeter defence and a bunch of other things made Doyle's eyes glaze over. So, he tuned them out, ate his food, and let his mind focus on his work.

It took a few minutes for the silence to sink in. He glanced up to see three sets of eyes looking expectantly at him as if someone had just asked him a question and was waiting for a response.

"Sorry. What?" Doyle asked.

"Do you want any more to eat?" Bodie asked, but something in his tone led Doyle to believe that hadn't been his original question.

"No, thanks."

Murphy looked from Bodie to Doyle and spoke in a low, even voice. "Jax and I will wash up. Why don't you two go for a walk?"

Doyle's stomach jumped at the thought of being alone with Bodie again. When Bodie stood and reached his hand out toward him, Doyle found he wasn't able to refuse. He wanted to touch Bodie very badly.

Silently, Bodie took Doyle's hand and they headed outside into the remaining light of sunset. They walked down the steps and headed in the direction of a small foot-path that Doyle had seen Bodie use several times before. The wind teased at his curls, bringing with it the scent of fallen leaves and frost covered earth. His steps seemed loud compared to Bodie's though he had no idea how a man of Bodie's size could make half as much noise walking over dry leaves and sticks.

Still holding Doyle's hand, Bodie led him a short way into the concealed cover of the surrounding woods before he stopped. "We need to talk," he said, his voice grim, determined.

Doyle dreaded what Bodie might have to say. All he wanted right now was to finish his work and be on his way. "Out with it, then."

"Someone has to stay with you tonight. I know things got out of hand between us. Won't say I'm sorry, because I'm not." Bodie pulled his hand away and took several steps back, putting distance between them.

"I'm not sorry either, Bodie. I said no regrets, and I meant it." He honestly didn't regret sleeping with Bodie, regardless of the consequences. Life was too short and precious to waste even a minute of it.

With Bodie's back to him, Doyle could see the tension flowing down his back and arms. "I don't know exactly what this thing between us is, but I wanted to make sure you knew how I felt. About last night, I mean. I felt…" Bodie trailed off with a string of low curses. "I'm not sorry it happened, that's all."

Doyle went to Bodie, knowing he was playing with fire. He reached out, placing a hand on Bodie's back. "Neither am I, but for now I think we need to not think about it."

Bodie whirled around so fast Doyle jumped back in shock. Those dark blue eyes blazed with anger and something more intense. "Try not to think about it? It's all I can bloody think about! Every time I look at you, all I can think about is how it felt to slip hot and hard into your body over and over again. I see your mouth and remember the way you moaned, the way you tasted. I see your hands and remember how they felt moving over my back and arse. The way it felt to have your warm fingers wrap around my dick and stroke me until I was going mad with lust and the need to come."

Bodie's words lashed over Doyle like the whip of a flame – hot and bright and way too intense. His body began to shake as he remembered all too well how it had felt when Bodie had taken him over the edge again and again.

And Doyle wanted more.

Now.

Right here in the forest, cold wind be damned.

He didn't care that there were people not far away. Didn't care that the ground was frozen and the air chilled. All Doyle wanted was to feel Bodie against him again – to feel the pleasure only Bodie knew how to coax from his body.

He reached for Bodie, only to have him take a step back. "You'd better be sure before you touch me," Bodie demanded. "I don't have much control left, and if you touch me, it will all be gone."

Doyle didn't have to think, he was more than sure.

He wanted Bodie regardless of the consequences. Perhaps it was self-destructive. Perhaps even wrong, but he simply didn't care any more. His attraction to Bodie was too strong to fight.

And he wasn't interested in fighting anyway.

With slow, deliberate movements, Doyle stretched out his arm and touched Bodie's cheek, caressing it with the back of his fingers. The muscles in Bodie's jaw bunched as he gritted his teeth. Doyle could see a fine sheen of sweat break out over his brow.

Then all Bodie's control vanished. Doyle could see it in Bodie's eyes, in the way his expression changed from one of pain to one of acceptance – of victory.

Bodie reached for him, pulling Doyle in for a hard, fervent kiss. He gladly welcomed the thrust of Bodie's tongue into his mouth and returned the passion in kind. Grabbing Doyle's hips, Bodie pulled him closer. Their erections pushed together, causing them both to moan. Doyle's world collapsed in on itself until it included only them. The sound of their pleasure. The heady scent of Bodie's skin.

He felt Bodie's hands squeeze his bottom, sending tremors of electric current along his limbs. He ripped his mouth away from Bodie to find the salty heat of his throat. God, he loved the way Bodie tasted – rich and spicy, strong and sharp. It was a very exhilarating flavour. He didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of it.

Sliding his mouth upwards, Doyle licked and nibbled gently, right below Bodie's ear, where he knew it would make Bodie growl in pleasure. He loved the feel of the hard, muscular body beneath his fingertips. Loved the way Bodie's hands clenched and kneaded his arse as he neared Bodie's favourite spot with his tongue.

Bodie shoved Doyle back a few steps, pinning him up against a thick tree. He held Doyle tight, hips pivoting slowly, grinding against him in a way that made Doyle's blood catch fire.

"Want you," Doyle panted against Bodie's neck.

"Yes," Bodie hissed before kissing Doyle hungrily.

Heat flared out of control. Doyle clutched at Bodie's shirt covered chest before sliding his hands upwards to grasp the short, black hair. He angled Bodie's head, shoving his tongue inside his mouth, growling his pleasure as he claimed possession.

Bodie eased back slightly to make quick work at undoing their jeans and sliding the material just below their hips. Insinuating himself between Doyle's spread legs, Bodie reached down to hitch Doyle up off the ground. Once again, Doyle was pressed hard against the tree, Bodie holding him up more with the force of his body than with the strength in his arms.

"So good," Doyle groaned, head thrown back as he held onto Bodie's shoulders and wrapped his long legs around Bodie's waist. He couldn't stop his loud moan of pleasure when their groins rubbed together.

One of Bodie's hands dropped down between them. Fingers encircled both their dicks, holding them together as Bodie slowly began to stroke up and down. Doyle closed his eyes, thrust upwards once, then let Bodie do the work of jacking them off until they were both panting hard, their breath mingling like puffs of smoke in the cold air.

Bodie's teeth nipped at his neck, his jaw, his ear, and that talented hand never stopped moving. Their pre-come mingled together, providing a slick surface as Bodie brought them nearer to orgasm. He took cues from Doyle's sighs and moans to stroke faster. Doyle could tell that Bodie was getting close as his jacking became erratic. Doyle gasped. God, he was so close! Just a bit more...

"Gonna come," Doyle panted.

"That's the idea, love."

Doyle's balls drew up at the low, growly tone and he felt a tingle begin at the base of his spine. Slamming his hand down on top of Bodie's, Doyle encouraged him to speed up until they were both grinding desperately into Bodie's closed fist.

The wind carried away the sounds of their lovemaking as Doyle's voice rose to a more demanding pitch. The feel of Bodie's hard arms holding him, touching him, and the sexy sounds Bodie made brought him towards greater heights of pleasure.

"Now, now," Doyle hissed, but Bodie was coming before he was.

"Goddamn," Bodie groaned, jerking helplessly. Then Doyle arched his back and shot all over their joined hands, the pleasure so intense, it made him cry out.

Their breathing sounded loud in the quiet of the night, but Doyle didn't care. His entire body was sated and pliant. He draped his arms over Bodie's shoulders, trusting the man to hold him up.

Once their heart rates had slowed, Bodie stepped back a little. He helped Doyle slide his legs back down to the ground then pulled Doyle's jeans back up, fastening them. As Bodie adjusted his own clothing, he watched Doyle with a guarded expression.

"You okay?" Bodie asked. "Had you pressed pretty hard against the tree."

Doyle wasn't able to keep the smile from his face. He could still feel the impression of the rough bark along his back and the heat of Bodie's hard body against his front. "Don't care. Christ, Bodie, that was amazing."

Bodie returned the smile. "You know, I had intended to bring you out here to ask if you'd rather Jax stay in the cottage with you tonight."

Doyle's eyes widened. "Jax?"

"Yeah, well, changed my mind, haven't I. After that," he motioned vaguely at the tree they'd just used shamelessly, "Don't think I could let that happen. At least without wanting to kill someone. I'm not typically a jealous bloke, but I find myself unwilling to want anyone else to spend time with you."

Something inside Doyle melted at Bodie's confessed words.

"Good." Doyle smirked and moved closer to Bodie. "I'm not the sharing type." He slid his hands up Bodie's chest, around his neck and pulled him down for a long kiss.

It was at that moment that Doyle became aware of his mistake. Despite his keen intelligence and years of advanced education, despite his warnings to himself that he would keep his distance from Bodie, despite the fact that Bodie's career and his own principles could never mesh, Doyle had gone and done it.

He'd fallen deeply in love with Bodie.

***

Bodie sat on the steps in front of the cottage the next morning, drinking coffee with Jax and Murphy in order to give Doyle time to work in peace. Doyle had said he was close to a solution and Bodie prayed that he was right.

He had talked to Cowley earlier in the morning via the long range radio. The information that Cowley had passed on to him infuriated him, but at the same time, it filled him with sadness. He'd been putting off telling Jax and Murphy what he'd been told, knowing his mates would be just as upset by the news as he was.

"So, 'fess up, mate. What did Cowley say?" asked Murphy.

Bodie released a long breath before saying, "He found the informant..." he paused and looked first at Murphy and then at Jax. "One of our own."

"Who?" Jax demanded in disbelief.

"Matt Thompson," Bodie stated. The man had been a friend to all three of them, but most of all to Murphy.

There was silence for a full minute before Murphy cursed and stood up. He thumped down the steps, paused then angrily threw his coffee mug across the clearing towards the woods where it shattered as it hit the frozen ground.

Jax swore, shook his head and glared at Bodie. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Bodie replied. He then spoke loud enough so that Murphy could hear the rest of the news. "The Hive had his son held hostage in exchange for information, though by now, I'm sure the boy is dead. Cowley has had Thompson under interrogation for the past forty-eight hours, hoping to get the current location of The Hive out of him, but it doesn't look hopeful." He paused, waiting until Murphy turned to meet his gaze. "Sorry, mate, but Cowley's going to try more extreme tactics in a few hours just to make sure he's not lying. He thinks it's safe for us to come back. However, I disagree. I want us to stay put for now. It's safer here."

Murphy flinched when Bodie explained the plan. After a moment, he shook his head in disgust and came to stand in front of Bodie, his eyes hard and cold. "If we're going to stay here, we need to plan a trip into town tomorrow for food."

Bodie's hearing picked up on Doyle's low mumble of incoherent phrases coming from within the cottage. His heart warmed at the thought of having a little time alone with him again. Soon Doyle would be finished with his work, and they'd go their separate ways. He wanted to spend as much time with him as he could before that happened.

"Why don't you both go into town?" he said to his mates. "Doyle and I will be fine here."

Getting to his feet, Bodie joined Murphy at the bottom of the steps. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and gave a brief squeeze. "Sorry about Matt."

"Yeah." Murphy shook his head. "Was just surprised. Never expected it'd be him."

"None of us did," Jax said as he came to join them. "Come on, Murph, let's go check the perimeter and leave the lovebirds alone for a while."

"Jealous?" Murphy teased although his face was still serious.

"You're bloody right I am. Bodie went and got himself a brainy, gorgeous man while I haven't got laid in weeks," Jax said with a grin.

"Weeks?" said Bodie with mock horror, thinking of his two-year celibacy. "You poor thing."

"Bugger off, Bodie," Jax grumbled and headed for the tree line. "I'm going to go walk the perimeter and think about the woman I'm going to pick up while we're in town tomorrow."

"He will, too," Murphy said when Jax was gone.

"Will what?" asked Bodie.

"Find some woman willing to go for a quick shag in a hotel with him, or perhaps just a public bog. I swear the man can sense an easy target from a quarter mile. He'll be off getting his jollies and leave me to do the shopping."

Bodie laughed. He couldn't help it. He'd missed his mates too much not to enjoy their quirks.

***

Doyle put down his pencil and straightened up the chaotic pile of notes spread out on the scarred kitchen table. It was after dark and he could hear men's voices out on the porch, joking and laughing together. He could easily pick out Bodie's voice. Every time the man laughed, it made Doyle smile. It was a wonderful sound. One he knew he wasn't going to hear for much longer. He was nearly done deciphering the code. A few more lines to debug and he was sure the program would work.

Once finished, Bodie would take him to Cowley, and then Bodie would go back to his own life. A life that didn't include Doyle.

It was a bleak thought, one that he refused to dwell on at the moment. For now, Bodie was here and Doyle would use what little time they had left to make plenty of memories that he could keep with him even after Bodie was gone.

Getting up, Doyle went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. When it had steeped long enough, he poured the hot liquid into four cups and carried them outside, using an old chopping board as a tray.

As he pushed through the door, the men outside all fell silent. All eyes were aimed directly at him. "What?" he asked.

"We just didn't expect to see you pull yourself away from your work," Jax replied.

Bodie stood and took the cups from Doyle, handing them out. "Everything okay? You stuck again?"

Doyle shook his head. "Just at a sensitive point. If I start wading through the code without a clear head, I'll end up doing more damage than good. I'll start again in the morning when me mind is fresh."

Sipping at his tea, Bodie stared at Doyle over the rim of his cup, eyes shining with humour. "That sounds suspiciously like you're planning on actually getting some sleep tonight. And not at the table, either."

Doyle grinned at him. "Thought I'd give the sleeping bag another try. I'm less likely to fall off it than I am the chair."

Out of the corner of his eye, Doyle saw Jax nudge Murphy with his elbow. "We should head over to our camp."

"Right." Murphy agreed, rising to his feet. "Night, Bodie. Doyle." After setting his cup on the porch, Murphy followed Jax into the tree line where they'd camped last night.

"Why don't they stay in the cottage with us? They've got to be freezing out here," Doyle asked.

"I promise you they don't even feel chilly. We've been cold before and this isn't even close. Besides," Bodie smirked, "they don't want to intrude on us."

Doyle stepped up to Bodie, placed both hands on Bodie's hips and tugged him closer. "They don't, do they?"

"Nope. But, if it makes you feel better, I'll go and get them and order them to sleep inside."

"No." Doyle grinned. "Quite all right."

Bodie was staring at him, his blue eyes dark in the dim light of the porch. Only the soft glow from the lantern inside lit the space and Doyle could see the hunger in Bodie's eyes. Bodie wasn't moving away, but he wasn't moving closer either, he was giving control over to Doyle to make the next move.

Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Bodie's neck and kissed him, slowly and gently. Bodie's hand slid around Doyle's waist, gripping him, holding him close. He could feel the length of Bodie's erection pressed hard against his thigh.

Doyle's tongue played along the slick inside of Bodie's bottom lip, his teeth grabbing gently and tugging on his mouth. Bodie released a groan, cradled the back of Doyle's head and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. His head swam with wonderful sensations. He let himself float in the midst of it. Nothing else mattered right now except Bodie – his mouth on Doyle's and their bodies pressing against each other, firm and hot.

Suddenly, Bodie pulled away, his gaze focused on Doyle's mouth. He could feel Bodie's hands flex on him, one against his scalp, the other along his hip. "You're sure about this?" Bodie asked.

"No doubt about it. Need you, Bodie. Want you."

Bodie's nostrils flared as if he was pulling in Doyle's scent and his jaw bunched with tension. "God, I love hearing you say that."

Doyle offered him a seductive smile. "Let's go inside." He took Bodie's hand and led him into the cottage, making sure the door closed tightly behind them.

"Take off your clothes," Doyle said huskily.

Bodie raised an eyebrow, his mouth lifting up at the edges, and began to undress. Doyle watched with complete attention as Bodie removed his boots, socks, jeans and shirt. It didn't take long before Bodie was standing before him, stark naked, very aroused and utterly immodest. In the dim light, Bodie's arms and legs were accentuated with deep shadows. His chest muscular and smooth. The sight made Doyle's fingers itch to slide over the masculine contours. Bodie's penis jutted out from a nest of dark hair, pointing proudly upwards, its tip glistening.

When Bodie next spoke, his voice was low and rough with arousal. "Look your fill, because as soon as I get you naked, we'll be pressed too close together for you to see anything."

Bodie reached for him, but Doyle quickly stepped back, dodging his hands. "Let me," he said, wanting to give Bodie the same thrilling show that Bodie'd just given him. "Just watch."

Doyle's fingers slowly opened the buttons of the flannel shirt he'd borrowed earlier from Bodie when the need for warmth had sent him searching through his lover's belongings. Warmth, and the excitement of the very idea of Bodie's clothing resting against his skin brought forth.

Bodie gave a low rumble of approval as Doyle shed the rest of his clothing with slightly trembling hands. He swallowed, fighting for control amid the wash of desire, of lust that threatened to swamp him. To send him to orgasm without Bodie laying a finger on his body.

"That's enough," Bodie rasped as he closed the distance between them and pulled Doyle's nude body into his arms. When their bodies met and the softness of Bodies skin brushed against his own, it lit every one of Doyle's nerves on fire.

"Kiss me," Doyle demanded, and Bodie obeyed with a triumphant smile.

Doyle opened his mouth to Bodie's passionate onslaught. Almost overwhelmed by sensation and taste, his body shook. Bodie's arms held him close and Doyle relaxed in the embrace, trusting Bodie when he lowered them to the sleeping bags spread on the floor. Bodie knelt next to him, stroking his fingers up Doyle's stomach, over his hairy chest, pausing at his nipples. Doyle gasped as Bodie pinched each nipple to hardness before he sat back on his heels, a grin on his face.

"Mmm, yeah," Bodie said, staring at Doyle's stiff cock, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip. Leaning down, Bodie claimed Doyle's mouth yet again in a deep, passionate kiss. "You drive me crazy." He threaded his fingers through Doyle's hair as he straddled his waist. "Out of my Goddamned mind."

Doyle rose up and kissed Bodie then, hungrily, need unfurling low in his belly. When they broke apart, they looked at each other. Something passed between them, something that Doyle couldn't put a name to. He only knew that he wanted Bodie, wanted them wrapped around each other until they couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

With Bodie still sitting on his lap, Doyle took his mouth again, hard and demanding. They thrust against each other, seeking friction until Bodie whispered, "Hold on," against his mouth. Doyle watched as Bodie got up to retrieve the oil and then a second later he was back on the sleeping bag with him, his mouth hot on Doyle's neck.

"Want you," Bodie mumbled into Doyle's ear, fingers seeking out Doyle's cock. "Want to feel you inside me."

Doyle didn't miss the heat in Bodie's blue eyes. Before he could say anything, Bodie slid over and onto his back, feet planted on the soft material of the bag, legs spread wide. Doyle's heart skipped a beat at Bodie's wanton appearance and he quickly grabbed for the jar of oil. Reaching out, he slowly ran a finger over Bodie's opening before carefully pushing one slick finger deep inside until he brushed against Bodie's prostate

"Oh, God," Bodie groaned loudly, "do that again."

"You're really tight," Doyle whispered.

"Been a while. Not since..." Bodie trailed off, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Not since Nicolas. Doyle's mind completed the sentence and his own heart once again hurt for everything that Bodie had been through. A sudden, almost overwhelming surge of protectiveness towards Bodie washed over him. He bent over to claim Bodie's mouth, putting everything he felt for this man into the kiss.

After working two fingers into Bodie to prepare him, Doyle pulled out. Using the oil, he slicked up his dick while Bodie watched. "Gonna go slow," Doyle told him. "Don't want to hurt you."

"Don't care. Just do it, Ray," Bodie panted.

Taking Bodie's legs in his hands, Doyle pushed them forwards then nudged his cock at the hot, tight entrance. "Ready?" Doyle asked. At Bodie's nod, he pushed in, pausing to see if Bodie was all right, but Bodie just threw his head back, and spread his legs wider.

With a groan, Doyle pushed all the way in, both of them sighing at the sensations. He withdrew just a little before he buried himself all the way to the hilt again. "God, Bodie, feels so good. So tight. Not gonna last long." He started thrusting in earnest, making sure he hit Bodie's prostate over and over with each inward plunge.

Bodie bucked up, meeting Doyle's thrusts. He pounded into Bodie, any pretence of rhythm lost in their wild lovemaking. Reaching between them, he took Bodie's cock in hand, the pre-cum lube enough for his fingers and palm to slide easily up and down the hard, hot flesh.

It was almost over, Doyle could feel it, his balls growing tighter with each thrust into Bodie, but he wasn't doing this alone. Dipping his head down, he tongued the edge of Bodie's ear before whispering, "I'll never get enough of you. Going to come... right now!" Doyle's cock jerked and pulsed inside Bodie's ass. He let out a shout as his orgasm raced through him.

Bodie released a groan from deep within his throat and arched his back off the sleeping bag. One hand slammed down on the bed while he held the other arm over his eyes. Doyle could feel Bodie's whole body shudder from the force of his orgasm, the heat of his cum spreading over both of them.

They kissed lazily for what seemed like hours after that, stopping only when Bodie rolled over, leaving Doyle lying on one sleeping bag. Opening the second, Bodie first snuggled in next to Doyle then draped the bag over their sated bodies, tucking the material under Doyle's chin. Bodie's expression was warm and tender when he reached out a hand to lightly run fingers back and forth along Doyle's cheek before pulling him in for a long, sweet kiss. God, he's such an easy man to love, Doyle thought as he closed his eyes and gave himself over to Bodie's ministrations, basking in the feel of being touched and caressed.

"You need to sleep," Bodie said, placing a light kiss on the tip of Doyle's nose.

"Mmmm... yes, I'm exhausted." And he punctuated that by releasing a wide yawn. His body satiated and so very tired from all the physical strain and mental pressure. There was a part of him that wanted Bodie again, however, the rest of him was just too tired to do anything about it.

Bodie rolled onto his side, pulling Doyle against him. Doyle's back was cradled by Bodie's chest and strong arms were wrapped around his waist.

"Sleep, love," Bodie whispered.

Doyle was out before he could find the strength to reply.

***

Part 7

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 5 of 8)

2011-01-08T00:51:23Z

Bodie watched Doyle's face go pale and for a second, he thought Doyle was going to faint. Reaching out, he grabbed onto Doyle's arms in an attempt to hold him steady.

"Ray?"

Doyle's eyes went wide and unfocused. A fine sheen of sweat broke out over his forehead.

"Ray?" Bodie gave him a little shake. "What is it?"

The motion seemed to snap Doyle out of whatever muddle-headed state he had been in, and much to Bodie's great relief, Doyle began to smile.

"I've got it!" Doyle said, grinning.

"Eh? Got what?" Bodie asked, now not entirely sure Doyle was completely coherent.

"I figured it out, Bodie. The cyphertext. Finally figured out what I'd been missing in the code. We need to get back to the cottage. Well, come on. Let's go." Doyle quickly took hold of his hand and this time it was Bodie who was being led through the trees.

***

Krivas walked through the empty cottage that Bodie and Doyle shared. He'd seen them leave and had waited until they were a good distance away before slipping inside.

Standing at the small kitchen table, he flipped through Doyle's notes, happy to see that it appeared some progress was being made regarding the code. He had no idea how far Doyle was from breaking the code, but a quick check of their supplies told him there was only a few days worth of food left, which meant that someone would have to go into town for more.

Krivas was pretty certain that Bodie believed Doyle was safe up here with all those traps laid out as protection. And when it was time to go into town, Bodie might possibly leave Doyle behind so he could continue his work.

If that was the way it played out, then Krivas would make his move. With Bodie gone, it would be easy to enter the cottage and snatch Doyle, along with his work.

Krivas grinned as he ran a finger over some text Doyle had written on a sheet of paper. If Doyle was a good lad and behaved himself, Krivas might keep him alive long enough to play with him for a while – just like he did with Nicolas. With a last look around the small room, he left the cottage, a fervent smile firmly planted on his face.

***

Doyle stretched where he sat, arching his back to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. He had spent the last three hours sitting at the table, feverishly working on the code. Although he wasn't done yet, the solution was no longer out of his reach. It was such a relief to know that he could do this – that he would succeed.

The smell of something savoury – meat, onions, spices – reached his nose, making his stomach rumble, his mouth water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so famished.

A quick glance around the cottage told Doyle that Bodie was not inside. Getting to his feet, he went to the sink, cranked the pump handle and splashed some icy water onto his face to clear away the grit from his eyes. He was tired yet at the same time was also filled with an edgy sort of energy due to his success with the code. But it was an energy that his limbs had a hard time interpreting. Although Doyle's head was wide awake, his body was about to collapse with exhaustion.

Standing at the pot-bellied stove, Doyle picked up an oven cloth and lifted the lid on the large cooking pot to peer inside. Celery and carrots shared residence with the onions and dark chunks of beef. It smelt amazing and his stomach grumbled again in agreement. After giving the stew a brief stir, he replaced the lid and wondered where Bodie had wandered off to. With food on the stove, he was sure the other man hadn't gone far.

The thought of eating alone didn't appeal to Doyle. He slipped on his coat and went outside. Learning his lesson about calling Bodie's name out loud, he scanned the trees, looking for any signs of which direction Bodie may have gone. There was no frost on the ground to highlight footprints like the last time he had gone in search of Bodie. Noticing some impressions in the dirt that appeared to be the freshest, he headed off into the trees.

***

Krivas was silent as he moved towards Doyle. Having watched Doyle these past few days, he was beginning to understand why Bodie was drawn to him, there was something incredibly alluring about the man.

It wasn't time to take Doyle yet. The work on the code needed to be finished first before Krivas could play with him, but if Doyle got too close, he'd have no other choice except to snatch him.

As Doyle moved even closer, Krivas stilled and decided to let fate choose for him. If Doyle came to him, then he would know that the man was meant to be his now.

Games of chance such as this always thrilled Krivas. He felt his entire body vibrating with anticipation. Doyle was close – very close – only a few yards away. The camouflaged clothing Krivas wore, along with the thick trees and brush surrounding him concealed him from Doyle's sight, but Krivas could clearly see the other man. Each curl of the scruffy hair, the green of those cat-like eyes and the high cheekbones, including the slightly deformed one on the right. The dark circles under Doyle's eyes were new, though, and from this close up, he could tell that Doyle had lost weight since the time Krivas had first seen him.

Tsk, tsk, Bodie. You're obviously not taking very good care of the lad. Clearly you don't deserve him.

A few more steps and Doyle would be within his grasp. Krivas silently urged him closer with his mind, his hands clenched, itching to reach out to grab Doyle. Suddenly, Doyle stopped, looked down and frowned as he studied the ground. The exotic features paled and Doyle's eyes went wide in fear. Krivas had no idea what had scared Doyle but he knew that he had not been seen.

Krivas nearly released an angry roar when Doyle turned and hurried away, heading back towards the cottage. Instead, he pounded a fist into his palm.

Fate had betrayed him.

Doyle had betrayed him, and would have to be punished for it.

Krivas grinned. He could hardly wait.

In his mind, he pictured Doyle tied to a chair, unable to move his arms and legs. Krivas saw his fingers going into that curly hair, squeezing tightly as he pulled Doyle's head back until he screamed. And Krivas would bet his life that Doyle had a beautiful scream. His dick got hard just thinking about it.

Staying in place until he was sure it was safe to move, Krivas slipped out from where he'd been hiding. He went to the same spot where Doyle had stood and tried to figure out what had scared him off. Staring at the ground, he realised what Doyle had seen. Pressed into the dirt were several footprints. One set were Bodie's heavy boot treads, the second set belonged to Doyle, and the third were unknown. They definitely didn't belong to him. He was far too careful and experienced to leave behind such obvious proof of presence.

Which meant they had a visitor.

Krivas smiled.

Maybe, just maybe, fate hadn't betrayed him after all.

***

Crouching down near the ground, Bodie looked where Doyle said he'd seen the extra set of footprints. "You're certain it was here?" he asked.

"Positive," Doyle replied with certainty.

"Sorry, mate, but I only see your foot prints and mine."

"I'm not lying, Bodie," Doyle said angrily.

Bodie glanced up. "I know you're not."

"Sorry. Me nerves are a little frayed." Bending over, Doyle pointed to a section of ground covered by fallen leaves. "Right there."

Carefully, Bodie brushed away the leaves to reveal the patch of ground underneath. He studied the area, looking for any signs that the dirt had been disturbed, but found nothing. If there had been someone here, they'd done a bloody good job of erasing their prints.

"Nothing there now," Bodie said as he stood up.

"Bloody hell," Doyle swore, running fingers through his hair in frustration. "Maybe I only imagined it."

Bodie shook his head. "I believe you saw something."

"Think there's someone else up here?" When Doyle looked at him, Bodie didn't miss the fear that flashed in his eyes.

"Maybe." Reaching out, he gave Doyle's arm a reassuring squeeze. "No worries, mate. I'll keep you safe." He would do whatever it took to protect Doyle, but knew he could no longer do it alone. He needed help. There was too much ground to cover by himself. If Doyle was right about seeing those footprints, and Bodie believed he was, then there was someone out there with enough skill to avoid Bodie's detection.

Out of all the people Bodie knew, there were only two men that he trusted enough to help him protect Doyle. His good friends, and fellow CI5 agents, Murphy and Jax. With his long-range radio, Bodie would use the special code word the three of them had set up in case one of them got into trouble and was in need of help. Then he'd wait for one of them to send a message back letting him know if it was safe to talk.

***

"I feel like a bloody berk," Doyle mumbled when they entered the cottage. Warm fingers suddenly clasped his wrist and he was turned around to face Bodie.

"You're not a berk. You did the right thing telling me what you saw. We can never be too careful. We're a team. As long as we stick together, everything will be okay. Do you trust me?"

Meeting Bodie's eyes, Doyle nodded. "Yes," he replied with certainty.

Bodie raised a hand, slipped it to the back of Doyle's neck and gave a little squeeze. "Good." He smiled.

Doyle tried to return the smile, but couldn't. All he could concentrate on was the feel of Bodie's fingers as they caressed the curls at the nape of his neck. He swallowed hard and licked at his dry lips. Bodie's eyes instantly locked on to the movement of his tongue. Doyle saw his pupils expand; saw the wide shoulders shift with a sudden intake of breath. He knew Bodie was going to kiss him and he couldn't think of anything that he wanted more.

When Bodie took Doyle's face between strong, callused hands, his stomach jumped and his heart skittered to life, pounding noisily against his ribs. With a shiver of anticipation, he let his eyes fall shut so he could simply feel.

When the first brush of lips came, it was almost tender, nothing at all like the desperation of their first kiss. Bodie coaxed his lips apart and Doyle eagerly welcomed him into his mouth. The moist, hot tongue swept over his bottom lip, teasing and playful, before slipping inside.

A low, needy sound rumbled through Bodie. Doyle could feel it vibrate in his own chest. Bodie's hands slid from his face, moving down his throat and coming to rest on his shoulders, where they gripped and released repeatedly as if undecided on what was the best course of action.

Doyle had no trouble whatsoever deciding. He let his hands wander over Bodie's shoulders, down his chest and around his waist to grip his back. He revelled in the feel of the sleek strength of the muscles he found there.

God, Bodie felt so good under his fingers – strong and solid and warm. For the first time in days, Doyle no longer felt the cold grip of fear. The simple pleasure of finally being warm felt incredible.

One of Bodie's hands moved off Doyle's shoulders and slid lower, cupping his arse in a wide palm and squeezing gently. Streams of pleasure shot through Doyle and set off a tingling sensation low in his belly. He groaned into Bodie's mouth, letting him know just how good that hand felt. The kiss deepened and he was tugged forwards against Bodie. He could plainly feel the hard ridge of Bodie's erection against his thigh. Doyle couldn't stop the long moan of need from escaping.

Suddenly, the kiss was broken. Bodie stepped back enough so that their lower bodies no longer touched. Doyle blinked a few times in confusion before looking at Bodie. The blue eyes were nearly black with lust and the muscular chest was heaving with laboured breaths.

"We've got to stop," Bodie panted.

Doyle heard Bodie's words, but it took a few seconds for his brain to process their meaning. "Why?"

"This is not supposed to happen."

"It's not?"

Doyle felt the strong hands on his arms tense. He couldn't suppress the shiver of delight that raced through him.

Bodie's nostrils flared and his jaw clenched. "I can't focus on my job when we're like this. All I can think about is the way you taste, the way you feel."

"That's bad, is it?"

Bodie cursed, briefly closing his eyes. "No. It's good. Bloody good. But it could get us both killed. I can't let myself get distracted right now."

The languid warmth of passion was beginning to fade in the face of reality. It took every ounce of willpower Doyle possessed, but he managed to let go of Bodie and take a few steps back.

"I understand," Doyle said, and he truly did. "Neither one of us needs the distraction. I'll get back to work now." He turned away from Bodie and went to sit at the small kitchen table.

***

That night, Krivas came upon a man a little further down the mountain eating dinner outside a tiny canvas tent. From his position behind the trunk of a large tree no more than six yards away, he could see the bloke was really only a kid, couldn't be more than twenty. Short blond hair that was left uncovered kept catching the light from the full moon and the fool had actually been stupid enough to light a fire.

Krivas sighed to himself. Bloody amateur.

Slipping out from behind the tree, Krivas silently moved forwards. The kid's back was to him so he never saw Krivas coming, not until the barrel of his gun was pressed up against the young man's skull. The tin of beans the kid had been eating fell to the ground with a dull thud and he threw up his hands.

"Why are you here?" Krivas quietly growled into the kid's ear.

"I – I'm just camping." His voice cracked like a teenager's on the brink of puberty.

"If you lie to me again, you won't live long enough to regret it." The kid let out a hiss of pain when Krivas pushed the gun harder against the back of his head. "Now, let's try this again, shall we? What is your name?"

"Mark Wallace."

"Why are you here?"

"I was sent here."

"Sent here?" Kriva's trigger finger tensed. "Sent here by whom?"

"Are you Krivas?"

When Krivas grabbed a chunk of blond hair between a fist, Wallace tensed even more and his hands started to shake. "That depends. Who sent you?"

"Conor McKevitt. He said I'd find you here, or rather, you'd find me. I'm supposed to tell you to hurry the hell up."

"And why did he send you? Or are you merely a messenger boy?"

On occasion, McKevitt would send a pleb like this boy on impossible missions, and if they failed, there was just one less fool in the world. But if they succeeded then they earned a coveted spot within the ranks of The Hive.

"I'm here to earn my way into the group," Wallace said.

"The group?"

Wallace's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "The Hive."

With his free hand, Krivas smacked the back of the kid's head hard, causing him to yelp in pain. "You idiot!" Krivas hissed. "Never say that name out loud again."

"All right. I got it." Wallace moved his arm as if to rub the sore spot, but wisely stopped himself.

"What are your orders?"

"Same as yours. Kill the man protecting Doyle and then bring Doyle in alive, along with all his work."

"And you think you're a better man for the job?"

When Wallace hesitated, Krivas encouraged him to answer by sliding the barrel of the gun around to his temple.

"McKevitt said you might be competition."

"Competition?" Krivas chuckled, the sound not at all pleasant. "You think you're in a class to compete with me?"

"Guess we'll see," Wallace taunted.

This cocky boy was actually issuing him a challenge. Krivas shook his head. Silly lad. The easiest thing to do would be pull the trigger and have the matter settled, except that would make too much noise. He didn't want to alert Bodie to their presence.

Having Wallace here was a definite problem, but, perhaps, it was also a blessing in disguise. A gift from McKevitt for all his years of faithful service. Krivas' mind began to churn with ideas of how he could put the lad to good use.

"Perhaps we should work together," Krivas offered.

"Isn't that against the rules? I mean, if you help me then I haven't really earned the invitation into The Hi- uh, group, have I?"

"I assure you that McKevitt doesn't care how the work gets done as long as it does."

"It won't ruin my chances of getting in?"

Trusting idiot. It was a wonder the lad had lived this long. "No. In fact, McKevitt will see you as clever for getting me to partner up with you."

"You'd let him think it was my idea?" Wallace asked far too eagerly.

"Of course." Krivas grinned evilly.

"Really? You aren't shitting me?"

Krivas couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes, glad that he was standing behind Wallace so the kid couldn't see his disgust. If Wallace was this gullible then he was doing not only himself but the world a favour by getting rid of such a dim-witted berk.

Lowering the gun, Krivas stepped around Wallace and into the firelight letting the kid see the burn scars on his face. Wallace flinched, looked away yet remained silent.

Krivas' trigger finger twitched, but he kept himself in control. He glared at Wallace and ordered, "Put that bloody fire out before it's seen and you get us both killed."

***

Doyle let out a quiet sigh of relief as soon as he was sure Bodie was asleep. It had been damn hard concentrating on his work with Bodie watching him from across the room, even when Bodie was pretending not to. In the tiny cottage, Doyle was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed. Especially after the kiss they'd shared. He desperately needed to finish his work so he could get out of this place.

And go where? the little voice in Doyle's mind asked.

Resting his elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands, Doyle let himself think about what he would do afterwards – after he solved the puzzle, after he was safe, after Bodie was out of his life forever.

That thought made the breath in his lungs freeze. Having spent so much time with Bodie, Doyle realised that he didn't want Bodie to leave. As large as Bodie's presence was, he felt safe and comfortable knowing the man was around.

Bodie had already told him that he'd never go back to having a normal life. But did that mean he would still have to worry about someone breaking into his home at night? About armed terrorists hunting him down and forcing him to work for them? Would he have to worry about all those things without Bodie in his life to make it all bearable?

That last thought was too much for him to deal with. He felt the sudden urge to be closer to Bodie. Standing up, he quietly padded across the room to where Bodie was sleeping.

Bodie was lying on his side on top of the sleeping bag with his gun in easy reach. In the soft glow of candlelight, Doyle could clearly see the angular line of his cheek and jaw, shadowed by a new growth of whiskers. His dark hair was speckled with silver strands, concentrated mostly at the temples. Doyle noticed that even in the deep relaxation of sleep, Bodie still looked powerful – dangerous.

Instantly, Doyle felt strongly drawn to him. The need to touch – to taste – was nearly overwhelming. He could no longer deny the desire racing through him. Kneeling down on the mattress, he reached out and very carefully brushed the back of his knuckles along the side of Bodie's face.

***

Bodie had been covertly watching Doyle through a tiny slit in his eyes. He prayed that if Doyle thought he was asleep, that he'd finish touching him and go away before he became a sodding idiot and started kissing Doyle again. He knew, this time, if he started, he would never be able to stop.

It was easy for him to feign sleep, he'd done it many times before in the past, and he did so now with every ounce of the skill that he possessed. It wasn't hard for him to keep his breathing deep and even – his heartbeat, however, was another matter entirely. It was all Bodie could do to lie still as Doyle moved his hand across Bodie's cheek in what felt like a loving caress.

All kinds of stray thoughts began to pass through Bodie's mind about how it would feel to have Doyle touch him like that in other, more sensitive places. He would, of course, return the favour. He was a gentleman, after all.

Still keeping his eyelids partially closed, Bodie snuck a peek at Doyle. His breath nearly hitched in his throat. The lantern light burnished Doyle's auburn curls to a deep-fiery copper and bathed his skin with golden highlights. Doyle was stunningly beautiful by firelight. The flaws of fatigue and strain were washed away by the soft glow, leaving behind Doyle's natural masculine beauty. This is what Doyle must look like when there were no people out to kill him. When he didn't have the weight of the lives of countless others on his shoulders.

Cool fingers touched his temple then slid to his jaw, caressing his skin over and over. Even though there was not one part of him that was not completely and widely awake, Bodie continued to pretend to sleep just so he could revel in the feel of being petted. Doyle's hand moved up again. This time fingers strayed to Bodie's hair, playing with the sort strands as if enjoying the texture.

"Bodie," Doyle whispered, bringing himself closer to Bodie.

Bodie could smell the subtle scent of Doyle's skin, feel the warmth of his body as he came near. Because his eyes had closed completely again, he had only the warning of warm breath against his neck before he realised what Doyle was about to do.

When Doyle's lips met his skin just below his ear, Bodie let out a long, deep groan and his body shuddered. It was one of his own personal erogenous zones. The feel of Doyle's mouth pushed his lust past the point of being bearable. His jeans became painfully tight, restraining his raging erection.

With a growl, Bodie reached out, burrowed his hands in Doyle's soft, curly hair. He dragged Doyle over to his mouth, swallowing the startled gasp in the midst of a demanding kiss. Doyle stiffened slightly then parted his lips and kissed him back. Tentatively at first, as if Doyle wasn't sure if Bodie was going to pull away at any moment, but finally surrendering to it.

Their mouths melded together. Tongues met with an odd familiarity, as if they'd kissed dozens of times before. Yet it was new and thrilling at the same time.

Bodie surged upwards, flipped Doyle onto his back, pinning the lean body beneath his own. He wrenched his mouth away and demanded in a low, rough voice, "Tell me you won't regret this later."

When Doyle looked at him, his eyes were a deep forest-green. They held the triumphant gleam of a man who was about to get what he so desperately wanted. "No, Sunshine, no regrets," Doyle promised.

That was all Bodie needed to hear. He let go of his restraint and kissed Doyle with every ounce of the pent-up sexual frustration and longing he'd kept buried inside for over two years. Without hesitation, Doyle accepted his ferocity. Doyle groaned into his mouth, hands grasping and sliding over Bodie's back and shoulders.

Their bodies melted together, their lips tasted and roamed, their tongues duelled in an erotic dance that sent fire licking through Bodie's veins. He was hit with a sudden craving to feel hot, bare skin next to his own and the give and thrust of slow, sweaty lovemaking.

"Need you," Bodie whispered into Doyle's ear.

"Yes. Need you, too," replied Doyle in a voice filled with hunger.

Bodie slid his hands beneath Doyle's jumper, loving the heat of sleek skin against his palms and fingertips. Inch by inch, he pushed the material up, taking a moment to lick circles around Doyle's hardened nipples, drawing a soft hiss of breath from his lover.

"Bodie… Christ," Doyle murmured.

Smiling, Bodie nudged Doyle's arms up and slid the jumper off completely. Doyle didn't waste any time divesting Bodie of the tracksuit top and t-shirt he wore. Their gazes locked as they slowly began to rid each other of their remaining clothes, both taking time to fondle swollen cocks until their breathing came out in sharp rasps and soft words of lust.

The firelight played across Doyle's chest and lean body, accentuating how damned masculine and handsome Doyle was. It made Bodie want him even more.

"Roll over," Bodie demanded in a soft tone.

Doyle complied, stretching out on his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms. Straddling Doyle's legs, Bodie slid his hands up Doyle's back, down his sides, slowly working his way to Doyle's arse. Taking his time, he massaged the soft, firm bottom, enjoying the feel of Doyle trembling each time he slid his thumbs or fingers along the tantalizing crease between the cheeks.

"Feel good?" The only reply Bodie received was a long, pleasurable groan.

Taking that as a 'yes', Bodie continued to tease, allowing his thumbs to burrow deeper into the warm cleft. With each pass, Doyle's fingers clutched at the sleeping bag and his hips lifted off their makeshift bed until, eventually, tremors shook his entire body.

With a chuckle, Bodie asked, "Is there something you want, love?"

Doyle lifted his head and glared over his shoulder. "Touch me, damn you."

"I am touching you." Bodie smirked.

"Oh, God." Doyle moaned and dropped his head back down in frustration.

Bodie caressed Doyle's arse yet again, enjoying the feel of the hot skin against his fingertips. Moving a hand lower, he took Doyle's balls, kneading and squeezing the tight sacs gently.

"Please," Doyle begged, his hips lifting from the sleeping bag. He rose up onto his hands and knees in silent invitation.

It was an invitation that Bodie could not refuse. The sight of that beautiful arse raised and ready for pleasure nearly undid him. His cock was hard and leaking, more than ready to be buried deep within Doyle's hot, willing body.

Leaning forward, Bodie kissed the back of Doyle's neck. "Don't move. Be right back." Getting to his feet, he hurried into the kitchen, retrieved a small bottle of cooking oil before quickly retuning.

Bodie was about to kneel between Doyle's legs when Doyle suddenly rolled onto his back. "I want to do it this way. Want to see you."

Bodie smiled and brushed a few wayward curls away from Doyle's eyes before taking that delicious mouth in a long, passionate kiss. "I'm going to fuck you now, Ray," he murmured. "Unless you stop me."

Doyle's hunger-filled eyes met his own. "Not stopping you. Want it, too."

Bodie kissed him hard, his hand moving between them to take hold of Doyle's stiff cock. Doyle's body jerked, his hands moving up to clutch at Bodie's shoulders as he pushed himself into Bodie's tight fist.

"Bodie… please, no more teasing."

With a final nibble at those tempting lips, Bodie quickly coated two fingers with the slick oil and pressed them deep inside Doyle. Bodie groaned at the feel of the hot, tight muscles clenching and unclenching around his fingers. When Doyle shifted anxiously beneath him, Bodie pressed his weight down against Doyle to hold him still. He slid his fingers in and out, taking his time to prepare Doyle, loving the way Doyle's body responded.

"In me… now," Doyle ordered, bringing his knees up toward his chest.

Wanting to do just that, Bodie slicked his own shaft, pressed the tip of his cockhead against Doyle's opening and pushed. They both groaned loudly when Bodie buried himself to the hilt. Bloody hell. He had never seen anything so erotic than watching his cock disappear into Doyle's firm, beautiful arse.

Pushing one of Doyle's knees further back, Bodie pulled out slowly, only to thrust back in hard and deep over and over again. Bending forward, he placed one hand next to Doyle's head, the other he used to grasp Doyle's cock. Doyle's back arched, his body writhing beneath him, begging for more. Grunting quietly, Bodie let go of his self-control, drew back only to thrust in with more force. Doyle cried out Bodie's name and reached up to grab hold of Bodie's biceps, squeezing tight.

Bodie couldn't get enough of Doyle. Couldn't bury himself deep enough or feel enough of their skin pressing and sliding together. He wanted to lose himself in this man forever.

Doyle met each of Bodie's thrusts, pushing against him harder and harder, and then suddenly Doyle's muscles clamped down on Bodie's cock. His lover let out a shuddering cry, coating Bodie's hand in hot cum. Pleasure so intense, it was nearly painful swept through Bodie. Seconds later, he found his own release. He threw his head back in a nearly silent sob and came, liquid heat pouring from him to coat deep inside of Doyle.

Bodie collapsed against Doyle's side. Wrapping his arms around him, Bodie pulled his lover into a protective hold. Doyle was still breathing rapidly as he curled around Bodie. Hands caressed Bodie's chest as they both tried to catch their breaths.

Turning his head, he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Doyle's head. He then tilted Doyle's chin up and captured his mouth, in a still-hungry, open-mouth kiss, expressing with actions what he didn't dare allow himself to say out loud.

***

Doyle was still asleep when Bodie woke. He pulled himself away from his lover's warm body. After a stutter of breath, Doyle burrowed deeper into the cosy sleeping bag. Bodie couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face. After trying for days to coax Doyle into getting a decent amount of sleep, it seemed funny that he'd finally found the right tactic to use – wear the man out with sex.

Just the memory of being with Doyle, of burying himself inside that hot, tight channel, was enough to get Bodie hard again. Even after making love two more times, his body was ready to go for round four. Christ. He hadn't been like this since he was a teenager. Coming several times in one day? Sure. But several times in a few hours? Not so much.

Perhaps it was the years of self-imposed celibacy that had him running so damn hot. Or perhaps it was the way Doyle reacted to his touch, the way he sounded when Bodie had slid deep inside his body. The way Doyle smelt after his skin was hot with lust and sweat. The way his green eyes went dark with hunger when he came.

Oh yeah. All those things definitely made his jeans suddenly fit a little too snugly.

But rather than get back into the sleeping bag with Doyle and give in to his unquenchable libido, Bodie turned away and forced his mind to focus on business. He had to make his rounds of the perimeter again to be sure it was still secure. Every time he walked the circuit of the cottage, his gut nagged him with worry. He was sure he hadn't missed anything, but it wouldn't take much skill to evade the primitive security measures he'd put in place.

It was the best he could do with such limited resources, but he felt it wasn't good enough for Doyle.

Then again, neither was he.

That thought was pretty sobering. It was enough to douse any remaining warmth Bodie carried from the previous hours he'd spent in bed with Doyle. He prayed to God that Doyle had meant it when he'd said no regrets.

Slipping quietly out of the cottage, Bodie hiked the property, focusing solely on the land, looking for any signs of trespassers. None of his traps had been sprung, none of the vegetation had been shifted out of place, and there were no tracks other than his own. Even though that nagging feeling had eased slightly, it was not cured. He would definitely be keeping a close eye out while Doyle worked. Doyle seemed to be making good progress now. As long as Bodie didn't distract him, they'd be out of here soon.

Somehow that thought wasn't as appealing as it had been yesterday. Sex with Doyle had changed everything. He found himself no longer dragging his feet as he made his way back to the cottage. Instead, he was hurrying to get there, wanting to see Doyle again.

An odd fluttering of excitement filled Bodie's belly. He thought about whether or not Doyle would still be naked when he got back. Whether or not he could wake Doyle up by sliding his tongue across one of those dark, rosy nipples. He imagined how easy it would be to push himself inside of Doyle while his hole was still slick from the last time he'd come inside him. Suddenly, his jeans began to stretch again and his balls ached for release. He should have been scared shitless just thinking of wanting to spend time with Doyle – that they could, perhaps, start something a little more serious.

Christ, what the hell was he thinking? He'd gone completely stark raving mad. That was the only explanation he could come up with for why, after one night with Doyle, he was already thinking about having a relationship with the man.

Relationships of any kind had no place in his world. Especially not now. He couldn't safely spend time with someone he cared about without worrying who was watching him, and whether or not he'd put that person at risk just by being in the same room with them. He was a walking target. This was to be his last mission. He fully intended to take out every one of The Hive – no matter the price.

When he walked inside the cottage, Doyle was just pulling a heavy jumper over his head. Other than shoes, Doyle was completely dressed. Disappointment slowed Bodie's steps as he shut the door behind him. Damn, he'd really been hoping Doyle would still be naked.

"Hello," Doyle greeted him with a hesitant smile. After retrieving some papers from the table, he sat down in the chair near the pot-bellied stove. "Could you pass me the pencil?"

Bodie picked one up from the table and held it out, trying not to notice that his hand was shaking. He cursed silently and clenched his jaw against the urge to kiss the man.

"Ta, mate," Doyle said, his smile faltering. And who could blame him, Bodie reckoned he looked about as friendly as a bear.

He tried to find a smile, or at least school his features into a mask of neutrality, but couldn't.

Doyle licked his lips in a nervous gesture, his gaze sliding towards his papers. "I should get to work."

"Ray." When unsure green eyes looked up at him, Bodie clamped down his jaw to stop himself from speaking. He was about to tell Doyle that although it had been the best sex of his life, he couldn't let it happen again. It was much too dangerous for either of them to become emotionally attached. That they had to stay focused and professional and keep their distance. Emotions tended to run high during crisis situations and this certainly qualified as one. It was natural for them to come together in an effort to release some of the tension that had them both pulled tight enough to shatter. But instead of saying any of that, all Bodie said was, "I'll make us something to eat."

Before he turned to walk away, Bodie didn't miss the hurt he saw in Doyle's eyes.

***

Doyle couldn't concentrate worth a damn. The symbols on the paper kept running together as his thoughts strayed to other things… like Bodie, and sex with Bodie.

He lowered his head and banged it gently on the wooden tabletop. Bloody hell. What in the world had he been thinking? His life was complicated enough. Now it had got a whole lot worse since sex had been added to the mixture.

He jumped slightly when wide, warm hands settled on his shoulders and began a sensuous kneading. A little shiver raced through him as he remembered how wonderful those callused hands had felt caressing his skin. How they felt wrapped around his cock, moving up and down in long, slow strokes. And he would never, ever forget what it was like to have Bodie inside him. Nor the sheer power of coming around Bodie's erection while Bodie thrust deep and hard, giving Doyle no way to escape the force of his own orgasm.

Doyle had never known sex could be that good.

And he doubted that it would be like that with anyone else besides Bodie.

His body screamed for him to stand up, guide Bodie to the sleeping bag, and entice the man to do all those amazing things to him once again.

The thing that really scared Doyle, though, was knowing that every time he opened himself up to Bodie physically, he was growing that much closer to falling in love with the man. But he was no fool. Sex and love were too closely linked for him to ignore the correlation. He knew that a lot of times people fell in love with someone who was totally wrong for them.

And Bodie was definitely wrong for him.

Bodie had once been military. Was now a CI5 operative. Doyle had always been opposed to violence of any kind. Bodie's choice of career and his owns views had no place together. Add to the fact that Bodie still had the death of his lover haunting him. Oh, yes, Bodie was as wrong for Doyle as any man could get, no matter how right it had felt between them in bed.

Doyle released a long sigh. If he let go, if he allowed himself to fall for Bodie, he would end up hurt. His life was already in enough of a mess that he just couldn't risk doing anything that would make it worse. Falling in love with a man he couldn't have would definitely make things much worse.

The feel of warm lips against his neck made Doyle tense. With great difficulty he shifted away and got to his feet. "I can't. I'm sorry," he whispered with a slight shake of his head.

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders and he was spun around until he was facing Bodie. "You mean you won't. Last night you already proved, beyond a doubt, that you can. Quite well in fact."

"Last night I promised you that I wouldn't regret what we did, and I don't. I'll never regret it, Bodie. But I don't think that it's smart for us to be getting distracted again."

Bodie jerked away, his movements harsh and angry. "You're right, of course. You don't have to explain," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll be outside."

Doyle winced as the cottage walls shook with the force of the door slamming. Frigid air quickly swirled through the room, chilling Doyle both inside and out. He hated seeing Bodie leave like that, but he didn't blame the man for wanting to put some space between them. Not being near each other was the only way Doyle was going to be able to resist him.

Something deep in his gut told him that he'd better be cautious, because he was falling for Bodie – falling very hard.

As he sat back down at the table, Doyle told that 'something' to shut the hell up and get back to work.

***

Bodie crouched low and went still. Someone had breached the perimeter he had set in the forest. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, searching for signs of where the intruder might have gone. Whoever they were, they were good, he'd give them that. The only way he was aware that a person had come this way was because they'd disturbed a few limbs that Bodie had twisted together across one of the paths leading towards the cottage.

The intruder had seen the security measure too late and had attempted to put the small branches back the way they'd been before, but Bodie could see the subtle differences. Like a few leaves that had been torn away and lay on the ground, bruised and slightly crumpled.

Forcing the rising fear down, Bodie put all his senses on full alert. He had to get back to the cottage and get Doyle away from here. Fast.

***

Part 6

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 4 of 8)

2011-01-08T00:42:48Z

"Oh, very nice this," Doyle said sarkily when Bodie pulled the Range Rover up to the battered, rustic looking cottage.

Bodie sent him an amused grin. "It's a hunting cottage. Not many people know about it."

"Belong to you, does it?"

"No. Belongs to Murphy."

"Who's Murphy?"

Doyle watched as Bodie's expression turned blank, shutting down against Doyle's question. "A mate from CI5."

He hated having that wall back up between them. When Bodie had talked to him about Nicolas, Doyle had been given a glimpse of the real man behind that hard mask. Buried under that mountain of pain and grief and guilt was a very loving, passionate man. Doyle desperately wanted to do something to bring that spirit back. Unfortunately, he wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing that.

"Are you still friends?" Doyle asked.

"Yeah. But haven't seen him for two years." Bodie's tone was brusque, his words clipped.

"He won't mind us taking over his cottage?"

"Not at all. He'd never turn his back on a friend in need."

"Sounds like a good mate."

"He is," Bodie replied. "Murph and another mate, Jax, we all went through CI5 training together. We were close, before I left."

At the pain Doyle heard in Bodie's voice, his heart tightened in sympathy. Bodie had lost more than a lover two years ago; he'd lost his friends as well. How lonely Bodie's life must be. Doyle longed to reach out and touch him, but decided against it. Bodie was coiled too tightly, as if even the lightest of touches would cause him to explode. "Perhaps when this is over, you can see them again," Doyle said instead.

Bodie simply shrugged, making it look like he didn't care. Doyle didn't buy it, though. He was starting to understand Bodie, able to read him much better now, and he knew Bodie missed his friends.

They got out of the Rover and began to unload the items from the boot. "Loo's round the back if you need it," Bodie told him.

"Oh, terrific," Doyle groaned, picturing himself outside in the cold, dead of night having to find his way to the bog.

Bodie smirked then grabbed hold of two bags and carried them towards the front door of the cottage. Doyle followed behind, and couldn't help but stare as the muscles along Bodie's back and arms tightened and flexed. Every part of Doyle's body was acutely aware of Bodie. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to have those strong hands caressing his naked skin. Just the thought of it made his palms sweat and his heart rate increase.

He nearly ploughed right into the front of Bodie who stood standing at the door watching him closely. "Sorry, mate," Doyle murmured, hoping Bodie couldn't read the thoughts he was sure were visible on his face.

"Stay here. I want to check inside first."

"Okay." Doyle shivered slightly and tried to convince himself that it was caused from the cool air rather than Bodie's scrutinizing gaze.

A minute later, Bodie poked his head around the corner of the door frame. "Coast is clear." He grinned.

It took them a few trips to transfer all the items from the Rover to inside the cottage. Bodie lit a lamp and a few candles that were scattered about, casting the small room into a warm glow.

"We'll bunk down here," Bodie said, tossing two rolled up sleeping bags towards a thin pad of foam taking up one corner of the room.

Doyle didn't say anything, only stared at the spot where they'd be sleeping. It seemed cosy, almost intimate and he wasn't sure if he liked the set up or not.

A hand on Doyle's shoulder followed by Bodie's voice made him jump. "Ray?"

"Sorry. What?"

"Want some tea?"

"Love some."

"Here." Bodie reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Doyle. "Might as well take a look at this."

Seeing the code again made Doyle's heart race with excitement. "Wasn't sure I'd get another chance to see this. It's truly marvellous." Eyes still on the paper, Doyle wandered over to a wooden chair at the kitchen table and sat down. He could already feel the lure of the puzzle tugging at his brain and he welcomed the distraction.

***

After placing the plate on the table, Bodie looked at Doyle. The professor hadn't moved since he'd sat down to study the code. That was nearly two hours ago.

During that time, Bodie had managed to tidy the place up a bit so it was liveable. He also got a fire going in the pot-bellied stove and threw together a decent meal.

"Ray?" Bodie called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Doyle blinked and looked up at him like he forgot that Bodie was here. Massaging the back of his neck with one hand, Doyle asked, "What time is it?"

"Time to eat." Bodie grinned.

For a second, Doyle seemed torn between the paper in his hand and the food Bodie had prepared. His stomach must have won the debate because Doyle put the paper aside, rose to his feet and stretched with a sinuous, almost sensual arch of his back.

It was an innocent movement by Doyle, but one that sent a tingle of lust through Bodie's body He had to avert his gaze to keep himself from staring.

They sat down to eat. Well, Doyle ate; Bodie spent most of his time watching him. Doyle's curly hair fascinated Bodie. It looked soft and silky and he wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through it. To let his hands get tangled until he had a good firm hold so he could tilt Doyle's head back and take his mouth – kiss him just like Bodie wanted, long and hard and deep.

Bodie felt his hands begin to tremble. He had to put his knife and fork down to stop from dropping them. He sucked in a controlled breath to help calm himself and when he looked up, Doyle was watching him with concern.

"You okay, mate?" Doyle asked. The table was small enough that Doyle was able to reach out and place a hand against the side of Bodie's face.

Bodie flinched ever so slightly. The warmth of Doyle's fingers sent his lust roaring straight to his groin and he felt his cock harden. It had been such a long time since he'd last had sex. He'd not so much as touched himself since Nicolas had died. Hadn't wanted to feel the joy and pleasure of self-fulfilment.

Long, slender fingers caressed the dark stubble of Bodie's cheek and he reached up to cover Doyle's hand with his own. Before Doyle had come along, Bodie had gone so long without contact from another person. Now he found himself fearing that Doyle would pull away – feared that it would be years again before another found the courage to touch him.

They were close enough that Bodie could smell Doyle's shampoo, his sweat and unique scent. He wanted to reach across the table and pull Doyle to him. Take that wonderful mouth in a kiss that would lead them to the sleeping bags on the other side of the room where he would make love to Doyle with mouth and tongue and fingers until he had him pleading for more. Bodie wanted Doyle to be his. Completely. The need clawed at him so badly that he ached with it.

But he knew he couldn't do any of those things with Doyle. They could have no life together. No future. Doyle was being hunted by The Hive. If any of the members knew of Bodie's feelings towards the other man… Bodie shivered at the thought of what might happen to Doyle if he wasn't more careful. Doyle could end up just like Nicolas.

The image of his dead lover swam before his eyes. Bodie could still vividly see Nicolas tied to that chair, body mangled, blood pooling around him.

In a jerky motion, Bodie pulled away from Doyle. "I'm fine," he snapped and shot up from his chair, nearly toppling it over. In an attempt to put some distance between them, he went to tend the fire.

***

Doyle stayed rooted to his seat and stared at Bodie's back while he added a few pieces of wood to the stove. Bodie had been about to kiss him. Doyle was sure of it. His heart was still pounding with excitement at the way Bodie had looked at him. There was no doubt in his mind that Bodie wanted him and the feeling was definitely mutual. Just the thought of kissing him had Doyle's cock lengthening in his tight jeans.

Doyle had never been so quickly turned on by another man before. The sensation was highly exhilarating. Of course, he'd had sex with other men, but there had never been this rush of desire. Not even in his last relationship with Stewart Miller, a fellow professor, had it felt like this – it wasn't even close.

Yes, Doyle had cared for Stewart. He never would have slept with the man if he hadn't, but Doyle had not been in love with him. They'd enjoyed one another's company, and when their careers had taken them in different directions, they had gone their separate ways. It hadn't been an ugly or spiteful break-up. It just happened, tepid and uneventful. Rather like their entire relationship.

Nothing about the way Bodie had looked at Doyle was lukewarm. There had been a searing, hungry heat in those blue eyes. Doyle had been mesmerised, enthralled by what he'd seen.

Except, before he was able to do anything about it, Bodie had frozen up on him, leaving Doyle feeling cold and bereft. He had no idea what he'd done to cause that reaction in Bodie. It was quite obvious, though, that something had happened.

The image of Nicolas entered Doyle's mind and it all became abruptly clear. How could he have forgotten that Bodie was still grieving over the death of his lover? Showing Doyle those God awful pictures and talking about the horrible things that had happened to Nicolas could not have been easy. They were memories, Doyle was sure, that Bodie would have preferred to leave buried, if not entirely erased.

Doyle glanced over at Bodie who was crouched on the floor, staring at the fire. He ached to go to the man. To offer comfort, friendship, but Doyle didn't think that Bodie would want either of those things from him. He wasn't Bodie's lover, wasn't even a friend. He was nothing more than a job. When the job was over, Bodie would be out of his life forever. That fact was not something Doyle wanted to think about at the moment.

"Should try to get some rest, mate," Doyle said. "You look done in."

Bodie released a deep sigh and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Think I will. Should be safe enough to sleep for a while." Even though Bodie's tone was still sharp, it was also filled with a heavy weariness.

After getting to his feet, Bodie went over to one of the duffle bags, pulled out a handgun, checked the safety and added an ammo clip. "Keep this with you at all times," Bodie said, placing the gun on the table beside Doyle's plate.

Doyle gave him an amenable nod. As Bodie walked away, Doyle tried to push both the gun and Bodie from his mind. He also had a job to do, and that's exactly what he was going to focus on.

***

Bodie woke from his kip and rubbed at tired eyes. Even though he had slept for four hours, he didn't feel refreshed. Instead, he felt achy and on edge. Of course, the erotic dreams he'd had of Doyle had done little good towards getting a restful sleep.

Closing his eyes, Bodie focused on getting the images of a naked Doyle out of his mind. He had to stay in control of his actions and his bodily responses. No matter how much he wanted to have Doyle under him to finish what his dreams had started, he wouldn't. He couldn't use Doyle that way – even though he'd thought he'd seen the heat of desire in those green eyes. Doyle was in a vulnerable position right now and taking advantage of that would be unforgivable.

Bodie rolled onto his side. Propping his head up on his hand, he looked around the cottage. Doyle was still exactly where Bodie had left him. Only now he had a pencil in hand and was scribbling furiously on a notepad. There were dark shadows of fatigue under his eyes. His brow scrunched in concentration.

The light from the lantern danced over Doyle's golden skin and Bodie couldn't help notice how beautiful the man looked in the candlelight. He wondered what Doyle would look like stretched out naked beneath him with firelight flickering over his sweaty body. Heat instantly flared in his groin causing Bodie to curse inwardly. If he was going to stay in control, he had to stop with the erotic thoughts.

Slipping out of his sleeping bag, he walked over to the pot-bellied stove and added a few more logs. He then went to the little area set up as a kitchen to start some water to heat for coffee, which he was going to need since he wouldn't be sleeping any more tonight.

Doyle, finally noticing him, looked up and smiled. "Hello."

That soft smile sent a yearning through Bodie. It had been so long since anyone greeted him in the early morning with a gentle smile and a friendly word. It was such a simple gesture, yet it made him think of mornings after long nights of lovemaking. Of breakfast in bed and the pleasure of having someone to wake up to every morning – someone he loved. And he wondered if Doyle longed for those simple things as well.

"Do you know what time it is?" Bodie asked, his voice rough with sleep and longing.

"Not really. Did I wake you?"

Bodie shook his head. Besides the sound of pencil on paper, Doyle had been very quiet. However, all Doyle would have needed to do was whisper Bodie's name and he would have been instantly awake, probably with a gun in his hand.

Seeing Doyle yawn, Bodie said, "Think it's about time for you to rest up."

"Will in a minute," Doyle replied, writing something down on the notepad.

Bodie crossed his arms over his chest. "Can't have you collapsing from exhaustion, can I. Need you to finish the job." Doyle scowled at him, except the effect was ruined by the circles under Doyle's eyes and the slumped shoulders. "Look, mate. Whether you want to admit it or not, you're knackered."

"All right. Persistent sod," Doyle murmured as he got to his feet.

"Heard that." Bodie smirked. "Can wash yourself at the sink if you'd like."

Doyle gave him a nod and went over to the little kitchen. Bodie moved to the opposite side of the room, turning his back to give Doyle a bit of privacy.

An hour after Doyle had gone to bed, Bodie could hear him tossing and turning restlessly in the sleeping bag. "Can't sleep, mate?" he asked from his seat by the fire.

Doyle sighed and sat up. "I am tired, but my mind won't shut off."

Bodie got to his feet and walked over to their makeshift sleeping area. Kneeling down on his own sleeping bag, he looked at Doyle. "What are you thinking about?"

There was a long pause before Doyle answered, "What's going to happen to me once this is over." Behind the sadness in the green eyes lay a hint of anger.

"It'll turn out all right." Bodie placed a hand on Doyle's shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze.

"Oh, really?" Doyle glared. "What's to stop this from happening again the next time some terrorist group wants a cyphertext decoded?" he said resignedly, rubbing at tired eyes with his fists. "It's never going to stop, is it?"

Bodie understood that Doyle would only want to hear the truth, although he did try to soften the blow with an understanding tone. "The safest option you have is to work for a government agency. Probably in a secure facility where you'll be protected."

Doyle shook his head, making the tangled curls brush across Bodie's fingers. He had to pull away before he grabbed hold of those curls and claimed Doyle's mouth. "After this I don't want anything to do with government agencies or the military. I don't trust the bloody lot of 'em," Doyle snarled.

It stung that Doyle was repulsed by the very job that Bodie has spent a good portion of his life doing. Yes, there were times that he didn't like the things he was made to do, but it was all done for the safety and protection of people and country. So, when he spoke, his voice came out a little more curt than he intended. "You might not have a choice. And if you haven't noticed, that group you don't trust is going to a hell of a lot of trouble to keep you alive."

Doyle let out a harsh laugh. "That's only because I have something they want. Cowley and those other agents threatened to kill me if I didn't cooperate. Isn't exactly a friendly organisation, is it?"

"We're not intended to be friendly," Bodie growled. "We're designed to get the job done, no matter how unpleasant it might be."

"Yeah, well, if I worked for your lot, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night."

"And I can't sleep at night knowing there was something more I could be doing to help protect the lives of innocent people."

Doyle grinned, but it was not a very pretty one. "As long as you get to choose whose lives get protected and whose don't."

Bodie'd had enough. He got to his feet and glared down at Doyle. "Didn't choose for Nicolas to die, did I? The Hive did that. So, don't go acting all self-righteous when you don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about!"

Doyle's face fell and guilt washed over his features. "Sorry," said Doyle quietly. "Can't even imagine what that must have been like for you."

Closing his eyes briefly, Bodie willed himself to get hold of his emotions. "I know you're not happy about this situation, Doyle, but I need your cooperation to get this code broken."

Doyle nodded. "Will do my best. Just don't expect this job to lead to anything more. When I'm done, I'm walking away. Won't ever do anything like it again."

"Don't make any decisions about that now. Once you're safe and people aren't trying to kill you, you'll have time to figure out what you want to do."

"But that's my point, Bodie. As long as I'm able to be an asset to any covert group, there will always be someone trying to get at me, or kill me. I'll never be free again."

Bodie couldn't answer because he knew Doyle was right. He just wished the man hadn't figured it out so soon.

***

The following morning, Doyle woke with a start. He glanced around in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings before he remembered where he was. As he looked around the one room cottage, he noticed that Bodie was nowhere to be seen. Slipping out from between the sleeping bag, he rummaged through the small pile of clothing that Bodie said was his to use. Picking out a dark blue track suit, he quickly dressed then went in search of Bodie.

Being early morning, the air outside the cottage was nippy and a haze of frost blanketed the ground. He looked up at the pale blue sky, inhaled deeply, breathing in the clean, fresh air. If felt good to be out after being stuck inside the small, cramped space.

Glancing around, there was still no sign of Bodie, but Doyle could see the outline of footprints etched in the frost covered grass. He decided to follow the trail, which led towards the woods, hoping they would lead him to Bodie. About forty yards along, the frost disappeared as did the footprints. Doyle looked around, hoping to see some sign as to which way Bodie had gone, but found none.

Deciding that it wasn't such a good idea to go wandering around in the trees in search of Bodie in case he got lost, he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled out Bodie's name.

By the third call, Doyle was beginning to feel a little uneasy, wondering if something may have happened to Bodie. Before he could call again, Bodie appeared silently out of the trees, hurrying towards Doyle. Without a word, Bodie pushed back against a tree trunk, a hand covered his mouth and Bodie's body pressed hard against him.

"We're not alone," Bodie whispered into Doyle's ear.

Fear caused Doyle's body to go tense. He tugged at Bodie's hand to remove it. "Think they heard me?" Doyle asked quietly.

"I don't know."

"The Hive?"

Bodie shook his head while at the same time he stared at Doyle's mouth. Bodie's head inched closer. Just when Doyle was sure he was going to be kissed, Bodie moved away and said in a brusque, harsh voice, "Hunters. Three of them. But I'm not taking any chances. Been watching them all morning. This way." Bodie indicated that Doyle should follow. "Stay low. They're just in the next valley."

Where the trees met a clearing, Bodie dropped to his stomach and Doyle mimicked his actions. From this position, the hillside dipped, giving a clear view of the valley below. "What are they doing?"

Bodie pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered down into the valley. "Drinking lager, mostly. Doesn't look like they heard you."

"Good." Doyle breathed a small sigh of relief. "Do you think it's The Hive? If it is, why would they sit around drinking?"

"I don't think they would. Even if they are hunters, can't have them stumbling across the cottage, or us. If they mention to anyone in town that we're staying here, it would no longer be safe. We'd have to leave."

"What do we do?"

"I'll keep watching them. Make sure they don't get any closer."

"And if they do?" Doyle wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

Giving Doyle a sinister little smile, Bodie said, "I shall convince them otherwise." Bodie manoeuvred them back into the woods, out of sight of the hunters. "Okay, mate, off you go, back to the cottage. I'll handle things out here."

Doyle really didn't want to go back alone. He was feeling a bit jumpy with those men close-by. Under normal circumstances, he could take care of himself just fine, however these were far from normal circumstances. He needed to be close to someone he trusted – and that someone was Bodie.

"Would rather stay," Doyle said. "Could be your backup."

Bodie's lips twitched into a smile. "Exactly how much do you know about covert surveillance?"

"Know enough to not make any noise… or yell." Doyle grinned impishly.

Bodie chuckled quietly. "Okay. Just stay low and quiet."

"Sure thing, mate." It felt good to be momentarily free of the bloody code, and to be able to stay close by Bodie's side.

***

It had been another hour before the hunters packed up and left the way they had come. It had been a great relief to Bodie knowing that they hadn't decided to camp out. Once he was sure the men were gone for good, he and Doyle had made their way back to the cottage.

The rest of morning and afternoon were spent with Doyle working nearly non-stop on the code and Bodie doing various chores around the cottage, with an occasional outdoor reconnoitre.

During the late afternoon, Doyle had moved from the table to the sleeping bag, where he stretched out with pad and pencil and continued to work.

Bodie came into the cottage with an armload of wood, dropping it by the stove. He looked over at Doyle, expecting him to be working vigorously on the code. Instead, he found Doyle curled up on his side, fast asleep on top of the sleeping bag.

Grabbing the blanket from the back of the old settee, Bodie spread the blanket out to cover the sleeping man. He looked down and smiled. As it always seemed to happen lately whenever he watched Doyle in sleep, Bodie felt something in his chest shift – become more comfortable, yet tighter at the same time.

In sleep, Doyle looked vulnerable and trusting. It tugged at every one of Bodie's protective instincts. He was the only thing standing between Doyle and death, and Doyle unequivocally trusted Bodie to keep him safe. It had been a long time since anyone had put that kind of trust in him.

Kneeling down, Bodie brushed the back of his knuckles across Doyle's beard stubbled cheek. Murmuring something unintelligible, Doyle shifted closer to Bodie. God, what he wouldn't give to be here with Doyle for the sheer enjoyment of it. To make love on their makeshift bed, in their secluded little cottage in the woods. With a long sigh, Bodie removed his hand. He had to stop thinking about Doyle like that and get his mind back on the job. Doyle's life depended on it.

Tucking the blanket under Doyle's chin, Bodie got to his feet and went to make some tea.

***

From his bolt-hole in the woods, Krivas used his binoculars to watch Bodie move around the cottage. He had to give Bodie credit; the man had done an excellent job keeping Professor Doyle out of reach. It had taken four stolen cars to follow them here undetected. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to go through so much trouble to stay hidden.

If Krivas was an impatient man, he could have already broken into the cottage while his prey slept, killed Bodie and taken Doyle. But Krivas was much smarter than that. He knew Doyle would work better while he was with someone he trusted.

And Krivas needed that code broken. He was in this for the weapons that the cyphertext would locate, not to mention the money they would bring on the black market. The man he worked for, Conor McKevitt, had made it clear that finding those weapons would secure a position of power in their newly restructured organisation. So, if it meant waiting until Doyle finished the work before Krivas abducted him, then that's what he would do.

Besides, he was enjoying finding ways to evade Bodie's traps that were set up in various areas in the woods surrounding the cottage. It had been a long time since Krivas had tested his skills against a worthy opponent, and Bodie was as worthy as they came.

It's too bad for Bodie that I'm much better, Krivas thought with a malicious smile.

***

Doyle had been the one to clean up the mess from dinner. It was the first time he'd lent a hand since they'd arrived at the cottage. So far, it had been Bodie who had taken on all the chores, along with the cooking and cleaning, and Doyle was starting to feel guilty for not helping out more.

He glanced at the door as Bodie came inside with yet another armload of wood. This would make it the fifth time in a row. One wall was completely covered, floor to ceiling, in firewood. If Doyle's calculations were correct, there was enough there to last for a good month at least.

Putting aside the tea towel, Doyle asked with a smirk, "Expecting a sudden snowstorm, are you?" He had to admit that being snowbound with Bodie wasn't at all unappealing. Except for missing a hot soak in the bath and a real toilet, being here with Bodie was no hardship. Doyle simply enjoyed Bodie's company. When he worked, Bodie left him alone, only bothering Doyle when he forgot to eat. He couldn't remember the last time there had been someone around who took such good care of him. It was comforting to know that Bodie was there.

After stacking his armload of wood, Bodie dusted his hands off on his jeans, but didn't quite meet Doyle's eyes when he looked his way. "Always be prepared is me motto. Besides, what we don't use, Murphy will."

Bodie turned away and added more wood to the stove. Doyle couldn't stop himself from watching. He loved the way Bodie moved – sleek and powerful – and loved to see those muscles slide powerfully under the shirt that Bodie wore. Repeatedly, Doyle had to keep from reaching out to lay a hand on those strong arms and chest.

Bodie's voice coming only inches from him jerked Doyle from his thoughts. "Eh?" he asked, not hearing what Bodie had said.

"You're staring, mate."

"Sorry. Was just thinking."

"About?"

Doyle cut off the lie before it fully formed and decided to be bold. He went with the truth. "You." Bodie's gaze widened, becoming heated as it swept over Doyle's body. When their eyes met, an electric current seemed to sizzle between them. "I love to watch you move. Love to see your muscles flex. All that strength makes me want to touch you to see what it feels like."

Swept away by that mental image, Doyle wasn't aware that he'd spoken those last words out loud. It wasn't until he saw the expression in Bodie's eyes change and become more guarded that he realised his error.

Doyle began to look away only to have his chin grasped with a strong hand, forcing him to meet Bodie's eyes. The blue was nearly black, Bodie's cheeks mottled with colour, nostrils flared as if in anger. But it wasn't anger, Doyle realised. It was something else – lust, desire.

A hand wrapped around Doyle's hip while another one came to rest at the small of his back, holding him still. Bodie lowered his head and kissed Doyle – hard and demanding. Doyle's lips were teased by a hot tongue, coaxing and luring him to accept Bodie into his mouth. Willingly, Doyle parted his lips, releasing a groan when Bodie slipped inside.

Sliding his hands up Bodie's body, he used fingers of one hand to clutch a muscular shoulder and the other went round to grasp Bodie at the nape of his neck. With a little tug, Doyle brought them closer together, their erections pushing against each other. Doyle's body sang with excitement, a fiery passion that rushed through his system – the sensation as wonderful as it was frightening.

Bodie was the one who broke the kiss. They held onto one another, both panting hard as though they'd just run a marathon. Bodie was looking at him, eyes fixed on Doyle's parted lips and Doyle's own eyes slid to Bodie's mouth, seeing how swollen the lips were from their not-so-gentle kiss. Lifting his hand, Doyle used his fingertips to gently caress the reddened lips and wondered if his looked the same way.

Bodie jerked at Doyle's touch then let out a quiet curse. "We can't do this. It's wrong. A mistake."

A rush of cold swept through Doyle, carrying away any remains of contentment he may have felt.

A mistake?

How could something that felt so amazing – so right – be a mistake?

Doyle began to shake in anger and frustration. He pushed away from Bodie, putting a good distance between them. He couldn't stay in this small space for one more second. Had to get away from Bodie and cool off before he thumped the man. Turning away, Doyle strode to the front door and yanked it open. "Felt bloody right to me," he said before slamming the door shut behind him and hurrying down the stairs.

***

Since it was pitch dark outside, Doyle didn't wander off very far. From where he stood amongst the trees, he could still see the warm glow of candlelight shining through the windows of the cottage. Standing out in the cold, shivering and alone, made it a little easier to accept Bodie's rejection. It also made him realise what was truly important in his life.

His work. Nothing more.

For those brief few minutes, that kiss had made Doyle forget the reason why he was here. And that was wrong. He should never have got distracted. The lives of innocent people were depending on him and he needed to focus on what was important – discovering the hidden meaning in the cyphertext.

Now that he'd had time to think, he understood why Bodie said what he did.

That kiss – it was a mistake.

As he stood there shivering, Doyle didn't hear Bodie's approach, in so much as he sensed the man, just before his large figure emerged from between the trees.

"Forgot your jacket," Bodie said.

With jacket in hand, Bodie reached around Doyle and slid the material over Doyle's shoulders. The way Bodie's arms were loosely wrapped around him felt like an embrace. Doyle couldn't stop his body from reacting to Bodie's nearness. His heart began to race and he inhaled deeply to pull in Bodie's unique, intoxicating scent.

Desire tightened Doyle's belly, making him feel weak and breathless. He had never felt this way about Stewart, as a matter of fact, he'd never felt this way about anyone. Doyle's instant reaction to Bodie was both unique and utterly mystifying.

The man was like a drug.

A very addictive drug.

One he needed to wean himself off of – and fast.

Bodie's movements were jerky but gentle as he held the jacket while Doyle slipped his arms into the sleeves. The darkness hid any emotions that may have shown in the blue eyes. When Bodie moved away, the loss of body heat was instantaneous. His body began to shiver making Doyle wrap his arms around his upper body.

"We should get back to the cottage," Bodie said, not looking at Doyle.

Doyle knew that wasn't a good idea. Before he made any attempt to go back inside, he needed to be positive that he could be in the same space with Bodie and not want to finish what they had started. "I'll come back in a little while. Just need a bit more air."

Bodie nodded, but didn't move. "Didn't mean to hurt you, Ray," he said quietly. "I swear it."

Doyle's hands tightened on the leather of the jacket, not sure that anything would ease the empty ache that chilled him from deep within his soul.

"Look, Bodie. We don't have to talk about this. Just forget that kiss ever happened."

"Just wanted you to know I'm sorry for the way I acted. Should never have let my feelings get in the way of the job."

The job. Yes, that's what was truly important – not his feelings, or Bodie's. They both had a job to do. Lives depended on their success.

"It's okay," Doyle said. The words felt hollow, because it sure didn't sodding feel okay.

"No, it's not, but that's the way it has to be. I hope you understand?"

Yeah, Doyle understood perfectly. Bodie's lover had been killed by the same men that were trying to kill him. Neither he nor Bodie had any business getting involved with each other.

"I just need some time to clear my head so I can focus on my work. Can't do that with you standing so close."

There was a long pause before Bodie said, "Don't be long." He turned away and slipped back into the shadows.

Doyle took a long, deep breath, released it and looked up at the clear night sky, watching the stars. He could do this. He had to do this. Had to be strong enough to resist Bodie. He was no fool and was smart enough to know that he didn't have any other choice.

***

Krivas slid deeper into his bolt-hole and grinned. It appeared that Bodie had feelings for the pretty professor. Earlier, he had witnessed that kiss between the two men, and he had to admit, it was very unexpected. In the past, when Bodie was on a job, that's all he focused on. The man had never let anything distract him until the work was done.

But watching Doyle, Krivas could understand Bodie's obvious lust. Doyle was a man of beauty with his exotic features and lean, muscular body. Krivas wouldn't mind having a taste of that himself. He didn't have a gender preference for his bed partners and would have sex with any willing, and occasionally not so willing, body.

From where he hid, Krivas could see Bodie keeping an eye on Doyle from a few yards away. In the dark, Krivas doubted that Doyle knew that Bodie was guarding him. Actually, if Bodie had left Doyle alone, Krivas would have found it very difficult to resist the urge to move in too soon and snatch Doyle.

McKevitt was pressuring Krivas to move faster, anxious to get his hands on those weapons. When Krivas finally established his much deserved spot as McKevitt's right hand man, he was going to have to teach his boss that money wasn't everything – power was much more important. And much more enjoyable. Krivas knew that although money could buy power, fear could buy a hell of a lot more.

McKevitt was just going to have to wait. Krivas was enjoying himself way too much right now to hurry. That kiss between Bodie and Doyle changed everything. It was obvious that Bodie cared for Doyle, which made Doyle that much more interesting and useful to Krivas.

***

Doyle threw down his pencil, scrubbed fingers through his hair and growled in frustration. Over the past twenty-four hours he'd not made any progress with the cyphertext. The bloody code was winning and Doyle knew that if it did, people would die.

He was always one who worked well under pressure, however, this level of pressure was almost more than he could handle. He was beginning to think that he'd never be able to break the code.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he opened them again and noticed the bowl of soup near his elbow. Bodie had placed it in front of him over an hour ago. At some point it had been removed, reheated and set down in from of him one more time. But now it sat, cooling once again. Doyle could smell the vegetable broth. As enticing as the scent was, his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating.

It seemed like every time he closed his eyes, those horrible pictures Bodie had shown him filled his mind. Lately, it had got so bad that Doyle wasn't able to sleep, or even close his eyes for very long. With a deep sigh, he dropped his head into his hands. If this went on for much longer, he swore he would go insane.

He tensed slightly when hands landed on his shoulders, but then immediately relaxed as those wonderful fingers began to gently knead his tight muscles.

"How 'bout taking a break? Go have a little kip," Bodie said.

"Mmmm." Doyle hummed in pleasure, tilting his head to one side to allow Bodie's fingers better access to the left side of his neck. "Can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I see the code scrolling through my head." And the faces of those dead people, Doyle said to himself. He wasn't about to tell that to Bodie, though, because he knew it would only make Bodie feel guilty for having shown the pictures to him. And Bodie had enough self-imposed guilt that Doyle didn't want to add to the lot. He tried not to groan in disappointment when Bodie's hands released him, his skin already cooling where Bodie's warm fingers had touched him.

Bodie shifted around to the opposite side of the table and sat down. Blue eyes slid over Doyle, searching his face. "Something else is wrong."

For a second, Doyle thought about not telling Bodie, except he knew in the end that Bodie would figure it out anyway. Besides, talking about it might actually help. "I've hit a wall."

Bodie frowned. "A wall?"

"Yes. No matter how long I study the code – no matter how long I work at it, the solution keeps evading me."

"It might help if you tried to get some sleep."

Doyle shook his head and rubbed at his tired eyes. "Can't. There's too much at stake. If I fail, people will die."

Bodie reached across the table and briefly squeezed Doyle's hand. "That's an awful lot of pressure to be putting on yourself, mate. You need to relax. Give it time."

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Doyle replied, "It's hard to relax when I'm banging me head against the same bloody wall." He looked at Bodie, trying not to let the desperation he felt show on his face. "What if I can't do it?"

"You can do it," Bodie said, sounding utterly confident. "What do you normally do when you hit a rough patch?"

"I let it be for a while and move on to another project. Give my brain time to work things out on its own. But…"

"But?" Bodie prompted.

"We don't have time for that. Do we, mate?"

"We have all the time you need."

Doyle closed his eyes and shook his head, wishing that were true. "I need to distract myself for a while. Let me brain work in peace."

"You don't need a distraction. You need sleep."

"I can't sleep, Bodie. I've tried," Doyle said in frustration.

"Know that, don't I. Hear you shifting around in your sleeping bag at night."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to keep you awake. Shall try to be quieter."

"I don't care about that. I'm worried about you. You need to take a break."

"Told you already. I can't. I need to –"

"Take a break," Bodie insisted. He stood up, clamped a hand around Doyle's wrist and pulled him to his feet. "Time for a walk, I think. Come along, Sunshine." A faint smile appeared on Bodie's face.

Outside the air was brisk yet refreshing. Doyle breathed deeply, taking in the clean, frosted scent. It was a beautiful area. Quiet and peaceful. If it weren't for this horrid situation, Doyle could quite easily enjoy himself here. Suddenly, he wished for his sketch pad, paints, canvas and easel. It would be wonderful to put on canvas the beautiful forest and countryside, and to lose himself in his artwork. But he didn't have that freedom of enjoyment. He had a deadline looming over him as did other nameless people. People who were depending on him for their very lives.

"Oh, no, you don't," warned Bodie. "I know that look. Whatever it is you're thinking about, stop it right now."

"Eh?"

"That look. The one that tells me you're not going to eat my cooking, no matter how many times I reheat it. The one that makes your eyes fill with fear and your face go pale."

Doyle hadn't realised how transparent he'd been. Or perhaps Bodie was simply that observant. "I try not to think about it, really I do."

"You'll solve the puzzle, Ray."

"You know what's at stake, Bodie."

"Of course I do. But you can't let yourself think about that. One step at a time. That's what you need to focus on."

"Is that how you do it?"

"Would be overwhelming if I stopped to think about everything. Helping you crack the code, getting you out of here, finding the mole and getting the information back to Cowley, finding a safe place for you while we use that information, wiping out The Hive –"

"Okay, okay." Doyle laid a hand on Bodie's chest. "I see your point."

Wrapping his fingers around Doyle's, Bodie removed it from his chest, except rather than letting go, Bodie kept hold, warming it. "You can only do so much at a time. You need to give yourself a break every now and again."

Looking into the dark blue eyes, Doyle wished, not for the first time, that he'd met Bodie under different circumstances. Everything about Bodie made the man very attractive. Bodie had proven he was a caring man. One who put others before himself – even to the point of risking his own life. And he was beautiful to look at. A masculine face with soft angles and a mouth that was both soft and hot. Doyle could still remember how those lips had felt – firm and demanding against his own. Just the memory of their kiss was enough to warm Doyle and set his heart racing.

As though he'd been reading Doyle's thoughts, Bodie said, "Let's not go there, shall we." A faint smile curved Bodie's lips. "Come on, professor. I want to show you something."

With their hands still clasped together, Bodie led him through a crop of trees. As they moved along, Bodie would point out different sections of ground where he'd set traps for any unwanted visitors. Twenty minutes later, they reached the top of a ridge. Wind whipped around them, tossing Doyle's hair into his eyes.

"There," Bodie said, motioning with a hand towards the horizon.

Brushing his curls away from his face, Doyle looked. The breath caught in his chest. The view was spectacular. From here, he could see the rolling mountain-side. In the valley below, the trees proudly displayed their autumn colours. Brilliant swatches of reds, yellows and oranges, all blurred together to form a Monet-like painting.

"It's beautiful," Doyle said with awe in his voice.

"Knew you'd like it," Bodie replied, sounding pleased.

"Wish I had my canvas and paints. I would love to paint this view. Maybe…" Doyle trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

"Maybe what, mate?"

Maybe, when all this is over, we could come back here together, Doyle had wanted to say, but he knew it would never be over. His life as he once knew it had ended. He doubted very much that he'd ever return to this place again. Instead of answering Bodie, Doyle gazed out to appreciate the view. Everything looked different from where they stood – softer and more continuous. Rather than individual trees and rocks, bushes and blades of grass, the entire landscape merged into one single work of art. From this distance, each separate object now appeared continuous – a continuous whole.

Just like the cyphertext.

Suddenly, time seemed to freeze for Doyle as the meaning of his thoughts rang loud and clear in his mind.

That was it!

He had figured out the key to the puzzle.

Thanks to Bodie and his mountain view, Doyle had found the answer. He would finally be able to crack the code.

***

Part 5

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 3 of 8)

2011-01-08T00:35:52Z

Doyle rested his forehead against his folded arms on the tabletop and closed his eyes. He was way beyond exhausted now. Before he made any attempt to crack the code, he'd need at least a few hours of sleep.

The lock on the door clicked, causing Doyle to jump and sit up. He had started to dread the opening of that door because every time it opened it seemed like things only got worse. He let out a small sigh of relief when it was Bodie who walked into the room.

"Is it time to leave?" Doyle inquired.

"Not yet." Bodie stood in the doorway, his gaze roaming over Doyle, and Doyle couldn't stop the little shiver of pleasure that flowed through him. "Thought you might like a cuppa and a bite to eat."

"Some tea would be wonderful." Doyle smiled.

"Come on." Bodie gestured for Doyle to follow and led the way to a room farther down the hall.

This room was a big improvement from the stark one he'd just left. The walls were painted a cheerful yellow and the floor covered in dark blue carpeting. Opposite the door was a single bed as well as a small white table with two chairs. He walked over, took a seat and stared at the soup and sandwich that had been provided considering if his queasy stomach could handle eating right now.

As though reading his mind, Bodie said, "The tea and chicken soup should help settle your stomach. Mind, if you don't want the sandwich, hand it over here." Bodie grinned and Doyle found himself smiling back.

Picking up the cup, Doyle took a grateful sip of the tea. After a few more swallows, his stomach did feel slightly better. Covertly, through lowered eyelashes, he glanced across the table at Bodie and just the sight of him helped ease Doyle's tension. As unnerving as this situation was, Bodie was Doyle's one and only constant. There was something in the other man's steady strength and unwavering honesty that gave Doyle comfort.

"In about an hour you'll be taken somewhere where you can work," Bodie explained before biting into his sandwich.

"Where will they take me?"

"I haven't been told yet, but I assure you it'll be some place safe. The Hive won't be able to get to you."

"That sure, are you?"

Blue eyes lowered to the soup bowl and instead of answering Doyle's question, Bodie said, "You should eat something, Doyle. There's no telling how long it'll be before you get another meal."

Doyle glared at Bodie for a second then gave in, reaching for the soup spoon. Before he knew it, the bowl was empty and his stomach felt full. Knowing he wouldn't be able to eat the sandwich, he slid his plate over to Bodie.

"Oh, ta, mate." Bodie snatched up the ham sandwich, making quick work of devouring it. Doyle noticed that Bodie'd already finished his soup and polished off two other sandwiches.

"You'd better be careful, sunshine, or you'll lose that lean physique," Doyle said with a grin, patting his own belly.

"What?" Bodie asked innocently around a mouthful of food. "I’m a growing boy, I am."

"Yeah." Doyle smiled widely. "You'll be growing all right. Growing outwards." Doyle brought his arms out from his sides and puffed out his cheeks in a gesture of gaining weight.

Bodie smirked and popped the last bit of bread into his mouth. "I'll have you know, I have a high metabolism. I'm burning off calories just sitting here."

Doyle laughed. God, it felt good to just sit there and banter back and forth with Bodie, and forget about his mess of a life for a little while. He opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately cut off by a tremendous boom, followed by the violent rattling of walls and the shouting of voices.

In the blink of an eye, Bodie was on his feet, gun drawn. His face changed into something feral, predatory – something deadly. This was not the friendly, easy going man Doyle had witnessed only seconds ago. This was the other side of Bodie – the CI5 agent. The killer.

Bodie rushed to Doyle's side, clicked the safety off the gun and shoved the weapon into Doyle's hands. "Stay here. If anyone you haven't seen today comes through that door, point and pull the trigger. Understand."

Doyle stared down at the gun, unable to answer. Hands grasped his shoulders and shook him none too gently.

"Doyle! Do you understand?" Bodie yelled.

"I can't..." Doyle started to say, then swallowed and looked at Bodie. "Yes. Okay."

Their eyes met for less than a heartbeat, and an understanding passed between them. With a nod Bodie turned and hurried out the door, another weapon already in his hand.

The weight of the gun was heavy and Doyle's fingers tingled where they touched the cold metal. He had never held a weapon before, and shockingly, he tried to ignore how good it felt to have it in his hand.

Quickly glancing around the room, he looked for a place that could be used for cover. If anyone was to come into the room, he didn't want to be standing out in the open like he was now. Seeing the table, he turned it onto its side, spilling the contents onto the floor. He then crouched down behind the barrier, propping the gun up on the edge – and waited.

If The Hive was here, there was no way in hell Doyle was going to let them take him alive.

***

Bodie rushed into the sitting room. The area was filled with dense smoke and it took a moment before he was able to spot Cowley.

"Bodie! You're alive!" Cowley shouted as Bodie neared. "And Doyle?"

"He's fine, sir. What the hell happened?"

"A Grenade launcher. Went right into the interrogation room. I expected to find you both dead."

"I happened to move Doyle into another room before the explosion." A tremor shot through Bodie. If he hadn't thought that Doyle might like a change of scenery while he ate, they'd both be dead right now. "Someone knew where we were holding Doyle," Bodie stated.

"Aye, 3.7. I want you to get him out of here!" Cowley had to shout to be heard over a volley of gunfire. "And, Bodie?"

"Sir?"

"You do whatever it takes to keep him alive." Cowley reached into his pocket and handed Bodie the paper containing the cybertext. "I'll order the men to cover your exit. You've got ninety seconds to get out."

"Yes, sir. I'll contact you when I can."

Bodie turned away and ran in a low crouch back towards Doyle. Before he entered the room, he announced his presence with a shout to be sure he wouldn't accidentally get shot. He found Doyle crouched behind the over-turned table with the gun pointed right at Bodie's head. Bodie couldn't help grinning at Doyle's fierce expression. The man might be a peaceful genius, but he was no coward.

"We're getting out of here." Keeping one eye on the door, Bodie offered a hand and pulled Doyle to his feet. Doyle stumbled against him. If the situation had been different, Bodie might have wrapped his arms around Doyle and enjoyed the feel of the warm, firm body. But things weren't different and the gunfire outside wasn't going to cease any time soon. He had only forty-two seconds left until Cowley ordered the other agents to lay down cover fire.

"We're going out the same way we came in," Bodie quickly told Doyle, removing the gun from Doyle's shaky hand. "Stay behind me, keep your head down. Don't stop moving unless I tell you to."

"Don't let them take me alive." Doyle's voice trembled.

Bodie understood exactly what Doyle was saying. Rather than be taken by The Hive, Doyle would rather die. He was a much braver man than Bodie ever expected him to be and he respected Doyle for that. There was no time left for Bodie to explain that he'd die before letting any of those bastards get their hands on Doyle.

"Come on." Bodie led the way out of the room and down the hall. When they arrived at the kitchen, a loud blast of cover fire began. He tugged Doyle against his side and with gun at the ready, manoeuvred them out the back door. As soon as they reached the Range Rover, Bodie flung the passenger door open and pushed Doyle inside. "Keep your head down!" Bodie shouted before slamming the door shut. He rushed around the back of the vehicle just as an armed gunman came around the side of the house. The man got off two shots before Bodie's bullet caught him mid-chest with deadly accuracy. Bodie was in the Rover with the key in the ignition before the dead man even hit the ground. He swung the vehicle around and a few seconds later they were careening down the gravel drive as though the hounds of hell were snapping at their heels.

***

They had been driving for hours when Bodie finally turned off the motorway. A while ago, Doyle had lost track of where they were and with the cloak of darkness surrounding them, he felt vulnerable and a little edgy. The few houses along this stretch of road were set far back, hidden behind trees and bushes.

"Are we close?" Doyle asked. They were the first words that had been spoken since they'd left the farmhouse. Bodie had remained silent, concentrating on driving, checking the rear-view mirror often for anyone who may be tailing them.

"A few more miles," Bodie replied, his eyes flicking back to the mirror again.

"Are we being followed?"

"Perhaps." Doyle didn't miss the tightening of Bodie's hands on the steering wheel, nor the bunching of jaw muscles. "I don't see anyone, but my gut tells me that they're out there."

Turning around, Doyle peered into the darkness stretching out behind them. Unable to spot any headlights in the distance, he settled back in his seat and positioned himself so he could surreptitiously watch Bodie. The faint glow of the dashboard lights highlighted the masculine features while they deepened the weary circles under Bodie's eyes. Doyle knew that Bodie was knackered, yet nothing in his demeanour gave that away. Every movement was professional. Confident. Controlled.

Doyle yawned widely then looked at his watch. It was just past midnight and he was spent. Beyond spent. He tried to remember the last time he'd slept. Last night? Two nights ago? Hell, it felt more like months ago. And as far as he knew, Bodie'd not slept either.

"Want me to take over driving for a while?" Doyle asked.

Bodie's eyes slid over to Doyle, settling on him for a second before he was greeted with a tired smile. "Thanks, mate, but no. Why don't you grab a kip? It'll be another hour before we're there."

"Where is there?"

"Another safe house."

"Terrific." Doyle rolled his eyes. "Think this one will actually be safe?"

"For a while."

Doyle sighed, getting tired of Bodie's vague answers. "How long is a while?"

"Get some sleep. Let me worry about that part."

"Easier said than done, mate," Doyle muttered. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

A hand came to rest on the top of Doyle's thigh and gave a gentle squeeze. His eyes shot open and he glanced down at the hand then up at Bodie, meeting blue eyes that flared with determination. "I'm going to get you through this alive, Doyle," Bodie vowed before he removed his hand and focused back on the road.

Even though Doyle didn't know Bodie very well, there was one thing he knew for certain – that the man meant every word he said.

After a long, quiet moment, Doyle reached out to lay a hand on Bodie's shoulder. The heat from Bodie's body warmed his chilled fingers. He had to fight back the urge to tighten his grip; to feel the hard muscles beneath his palm.

"Thanks," Doyle said quietly.

"What for?" Bodie asked, his concentration not wavering from the road ahead.

"For being here."

The shoulder Doyle was still touching rose in a shrug, reminding him to move his hand away. "Just doing my job."

"Yeah, well, thanks for showing up for work." Doyle grinned. His reward was a low chuckle from Bodie.

***

Doyle was just drifting off to sleep when he felt the vehicle begin to slow down. When he opened his eyes, he noticed they had turned onto a narrow drive. A second later, Bodie switched off the headlights, plunging them into darkness.

Although Doyle tensed, he remained silent, trusting that Bodie knew what he was doing. Once his eyes adjusted, he could just make out a thicket of trees up ahead, and nestled inside them, the outline of a small wooden structure.

Bodie pulled up close to the house, turning the Range Rover around to face down the drive. Made for a quick escape, Doyle suspected.

"I'm going inside to check things out." With expert movements, Bodie removed his gun from its holster, checked the weapon and clicked the safety off, all the while surveying the surrounding area. "Get behind the wheel. If you see anyone else besides me, drive away as fast as you can. When you're clear, pick up this mic," Bodie pointed to the radio located beneath the centre of the dash, "press the button on the side, ask for Cowley. He'll tell you where to go."

"Just expect me to drive off and leave, do you? What if –" Before Doyle could finish, Bodie cut him off.

"Don't argue with me, Doyle. If you see anyone, assume they're here to kill you."

Doyle's stomach tightened. "What about you?"

"I can take care of meself."

"I won't leave you here to die."

Bodie reached out and cupped Doyle's chin in a warm hand, forcing his head up until their eyes met. "This is not about me. You're the one they're after. I won't let them hurt you. I couldn't stand it if…" Bodie paused and looked away, but Doyle didn't miss the mixture of emotions that flashed across his eyes. "Just do as I say. Understand?"

Doyle didn't reply, just gave a brief nod. It seemed enough to satisfy Bodie.

"Lock the doors," Bodie said, his fingers sliding away from Doyle's face.

Abruptly, Bodie's focus shifted to their surroundings. He slipped out of the Rover, disappearing around the side of the house. Doyle quickly moved into the driver's seat and watched out the windows for any movement. He prayed that they were alone because he honestly wasn't sure if he'd be able to leave Bodie behind.

A gust of wind suddenly rattled the car, startling Doyle. He wished Bodie would hurry up and come back. Without the other man's presence, he felt exposed – vulnerable. His hands tightly gripped the steering wheel while the minutes crawled by painstakingly slowly. Releasing a shaky breath, he stared into the darkness, looking for any signs of Bodie.

After what felt like an eternity, the front door of the house opened and Bodie stepped out onto the porch. Doyle was so relieved to see him that he had to fight back the urge to fling open the truck door, run to Bodie and hug the stuffing out of him.

Bodie raised his hand, signalling for Doyle come inside. He shut off the motor and pocketed the keys. Then quickly got out of the Rover and hurried over to Bodie's side, once again feeling a small measure of safety.

When Doyle entered the house, Bodie locked the door behind him, casting their surroundings into blackness. Instinctively, Doyle reached towards Bodie. Coming into contact with the hard, warm flesh of an arm, he wrapped his fingers around the muscular bicep, gripping it tightly.

"Easy, sunshine," Bodie said in a low, hushed voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Then you won't mind if I hold on, will you?"

Bodie released an amused chuckle. "I'm going to give you a torch. Keep it aimed at the floor, away from the windows. The curtains are drawn, but if a beam of light hits them, it will be noticeable from the outside."

"Got it," Doyle assured.

Doyle's hand was removed from Bodie's arm, and his fingers were guided around the cool, metal handle of the torch. Pointing it towards the floor, Doyle felt for the switch, and slid it forwards, squinting when a stream of light lit up the area around his feet.

Bodie stepped back, putting a few feet of space between them. "I've got some work to do. I need to make sure this place stays safe. Go get some sleep. You can use the sofa in the lounge."

Doyle released a quick snort of laughter. "Don't think that's gonna happen, mate. Could help you if you'd like?"

Bodie studied Doyle briefly then nodded. "All right. If you want to help, find us something to eat. I'm starving."

"Is there food here?" Doyle asked.

"Should be plenty of canned goods in the pantry and drinks in the fridge. The kitchen is that way." Bodie pointed to a doorway to Doyle's right.

"Leave it to me." Doyle took a step forward only to be stopped by Bodie's hand on his shoulder.

"Just remember, no lights."

"Right. No lights," Doyle said with a smile. His stomach fluttered when Bodie reached up and gave his curls a slight tousle. Without another word, Bodie turned and left the room.

Keeping the torch pointed at the floor, Doyle made his way into the kitchen. He located the pantry and after a thorough perusal, decided on canned stew. Finding a pot and tin opener, he set to work preparing the stew to heat on the cooker. Next, he went to the refrigerator, took out two Coke cans and set them on the kitchen counter. A search through the cupboards and drawers turned up bowls and spoons. Once Doyle had placed everything on the table, he didn't dare call out to let Bodie know the food was ready, instead, he left the kitchen and went in search of him.

The house was small enough that it only took a few moments to find Bodie in a windowless room in the cellar. A single dim-lit bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed a stash of weapons and ammunition, enough to outfit a small army. Doyle leaned against door frame and watched while Bodie packed box after box of bullets, along with a few hand guns, into a large canvas duffle bag.

"A bit paranoid, eh?" Doyle smirked.

Bodie shot Doyle a quick grin. "That's one way to put it. I prefer the term 'prepared'. But you call it what you like just as long as I don't run out of bullets."

Doyle looked around the room again. Along with the arsenal of weaponry, there was a row of shelves holding non-perishable foods, jugs of water, medical supplies and even petrol.

"Place looks like a bomb shelter," Doyle stated.

"It was."

"Why don't we hole up here until I break the code?"

"Would if I thought it safe." Bodie grabbed a box of medical supplies and shoved it into the bulging bag.

"You don't?"

"No. Someone on the inside knows about you. Was the reason we were attacked today."

"Someone in CI5?" Doyle asked, not able to hide the worry in his voice.

"Could be." A snarl twisted Bodie's mouth. "Or some bloke with the military… or someone higher up."

"How much longer can we stay here?"

"I'm going to stock the Rover with anything we might need. Then we'll get some food and grab a quick kip." Bodie opened another duffle bag and began filling it with food, water and more medical supplies.

"Think we need all that?"

"Might. If we have to disappear for a while, we'll need it. Don't mind a bit of camping, do you, mate?"

"Not my idea of fun," Doyle said, not liking the idea of having to sleep on the cold, hard ground. "But if that's what we have to do, I'll do it."

"Good lad."

The smile Bodie flashed at him made Doyle's stomach do that fluttery thing again. "I heated up some stew," he said quickly

"Great." Grabbing a bunch of batteries, Bodie tossed them into the bag before zipping it closed. "I'll stow these in the Rover first."

"Let me get that, mate." Doyle picked up one of the duffels and heaved it over his shoulder. He climbed the stairs with Bodie close behind him. Once he was at the front door, he paused and turned towards Bodie. He observed Bodie as the man set the two other bags onto the floor. In the dim light, his gaze latched onto the muscles in Bodie's arms and chest. The way they tightened and flexed as he moved. Doyle found himself wanting to reach out and run his hands over every inch of the firm-looking flesh.

"Hand over the keys," Bodie said, bringing Doyle out of his thoughts.

Digging the keys out of his jeans, Doyle handed them over. Their fingers brushed for a brief second and a jolt of desire raced through Doyle's body. He jerked away, looking anywhere except at Bodie. Now was not the time to be thinking of anything other than staying alive. And it certainly wasn't time to be wondering if Bodie was as aware as Doyle was of their being alone in a very isolated, very dark house. Or if Bodie was having the same distracting thoughts as Doyle.

Glancing up, he saw Bodie watching him with those eyes that didn't miss a thing. "You okay, mate?"

"Yeah. Fine. Just knackered," Doyle replied a little too quickly.

Bodie gave him a look that said he knew Doyle was lying, but didn't call him on it. "Back away from the door. Don't want you to be a clear target when I open it."

Doyle hesitated for only a second before he complied. "You think someone's out there?"

"No, just being cautious."

Before Doyle could argue the fact that it wasn't safe for Bodie either, the man was out the door with all three bags. It wasn't until Bodie returned a few minutes later and was safely inside the house, that Doyle was able to breathe a sigh of relief.

They went into the kitchen and Bodie made a makeshift lantern by taking a drinking glass, setting it upside down in the centre of the table and resting the torch on top. The soft, low light that was cast over the tabletop was nearly as intimate as any candlelit dinner, although Doyle didn't find it very relaxing.

Silence filled the room and Doyle was only able to eat as much as the tension in his stomach would allow.

"Not hungry?" Bodie asked, glancing at Doyle then down at the half empty bowl.

"Can't eat when I'm stressed."

Bodie reached across the small table and briefly rested his hand on Doyle's wrist. "I won't let anything happen to you, Ray."

Doyle did believe him. Believed that Bodie would do whatever it took to keep him alive. He was glad that out of all the men at the farm house, Bodie was the one who had taken the job of protecting him. There wasn't another man alive that he trusted more.

"I know," Doyle replied. He then surprised them both by asking, "What was Nicolas like?"

Several emotions flashed across Bodie's face, and Doyle could tell by the expression that remained that Nicolas' death still hurt him badly. He hated to see the look of pain and guilt in Bodie's eyes. He would have given anything to see it wiped away.

"Sorry, mate. Not my business, is it?"

Bodie's jaw muscles tensed and he closed his eyes. The silence became uncomfortable and Doyle was searching for something to say when Bodie spoke quietly. "He was a good man. An honourable man. Was the best partner I could ever ask for… both professionally and personally." Bodie's eyes held a faraway look. "He loved to mess about in the garden on his days off. Had a green thumb, he did. Could grow anything." A wistful smile curved the edges of Bodie's mouth. "He had a wicked sense of humour and a smile that could light up a room…" Bodie trailed off, his smile faded and a deep sadness took over his face.

Doyle's heart ached for Bodie – ached for what the man had lost. He felt tears well in his eyes, but he was able to blink them back before any could fall.

"It still hurts," Bodie quietly confessed.

It was Doyle's turn to reach out and touch Bodie. He placed his hand on top of Bodie's, and squeezed tightly. "I know," he whispered.

Looking into Bodie's face, witnessing his grief, Doyle felt himself falling for Bodie – slipping right over the edge, just a little, in love with him. He tried to push the feelings away, knowing they would only cause him pain, but he couldn't. That sliver of love for Bodie was a part of him now – would probably always remain a part of him.

"Sometimes…" Bodie paused and looked down at his soup bowl.

"Go on," Doyle encouraged when Bodie didn't continue.

"Sometimes I wish I could have traded places with him."

Doyle had to swallow hard past the lump of emotion that had formed in his throat. "I doubt Nicolas would have wanted you to die in his place."

"No, perhaps not. But he was full of life. My death wouldn't have held him down for very long. Nicolas was the sort who would've found someone else to love."

"What about you, Bodie?" Doyle's thumb brushed back and forth over Bodie's fingers. "Don't you want someone to love again?" He found himself holding his breath while waiting for the answer.

"I didn't think I could ever love again." Bodie looked right into Doyle's eyes. "Lately, though, I find myself wanting that more than anything... But I messed up, Ray. Nicolas died because I couldn't protect him. It was my fault."

"You can't take responsibility for what those terrorists did."

"Nicolas was my partner. It was my job to watch his back – to keep him safe. People in my line of work need to stay single. That was my first mistake."

"So, you didn't deserve to have both a career and a relationship?"

"Apparently not. Anyone I love has a chance of being kidnapped, tortured or killed because of what I do. What happened to Nicolas… well, I won't let it happen again." Bodie released a harsh breath and slid his hand out from under Doyle's. "Listen, Doyle, I don't want to talk about it any more."

Doyle nodded in understanding. Actually, he was surprised that Bodie had revealed as much as he had. Somewhere inside Bodie, though, he must trust Doyle enough to have shared something so close to his heart.

"Alarms are set on the doors and windows. Anyone tries to break in, we'll know about it," Bodie said. He pushed away from the table and stood up. "Come on. Time to get some sleep."

***

Bodie stood to the side of the window in the lounge, scanning the darkness outside for any sign of movement. Three hours had passed since he and Doyle had bunked down for the night and no one from The Hive had shown up yet. He was positive that the terrorists knew where he was holed up. Bodie was beginning to worry that they could be waiting for him to take Doyle out of the house so they could get a clean shot at the professor.

What concerned Bodie the most about The Hive was whether they still intended to capture Doyle alive, or if they wanted to kill Doyle to prevent him from breaking the code for CI5. There was one thing Bodie knew for certain, though, neither was going to happen as long as he drew breath.

With a last glance out the window, Bodie turned to look across the room to where Doyle was lying stretched out on his side on the sofa. Doyle's breathing was deep and even. Bodie was glad that the man was getting some much needed rest.

The short kip that Bodie had taken had helped him clear his head, but it did nothing to clear the tired burning sensation from his eyes. The only thing that would help was a good twelve hours of real sleep, and Bodie didn't see that happening any time soon. Not if The Hive stayed back out of his reach.

Quietly, Bodie left the room, went into the kitchen. He picked up the phone and dialled Cowley on his private line.

"Is he safe?" Cowley immediately asked upon answering.

"Yes, sir."

"Where are you?"

"Safe house 479. Looks nearly the same as 733. You remember that place, don't you, sir?" Bodie forced himself to sound casual, hoping that Cowley would pick up on the clue and remember what happened at location 733 right before Bodie had left CI5. Chances were high that this phone call was being intercepted. In fact, Bodie was counting on it. Cowley knew every detail about the 733 op – knew exactly how Bodie, Jax and Murphy had stayed behind to lay a trap and ambush The Hive when the terrorists arrived. Every one of The Hive who showed up had been killed – or so he'd thought.

Bodie was planning on a repeat performance and its success hung on the fact that every word he said to Cowley would make it back to the men who were after Doyle. If luck was on Bodie's side then every one of those bastards would come looking for Doyle and would end up walking right into Bodie's trap.

"Yes. I remember." Cowley replied. "I'll make sure your location is reported to the proper authorities."

Bodie understood what Cowley was saying. The 'proper authorities' meant whomever the old man suspected of being the mole. "Thank you, sir."

"Is your position secure?"

"Yes. We weren't followed. This location should be safe." Like hell it is, Bodie thought.

"Good. Are you in need of backup?"

"No, sir. Don't want to take a chance that The Hive could follow anyone here." Everything Bodie was saying were lies, and he knew that Cowley would know that.

"Agreed. There should be plenty of provisions to hold you for a few days."

"Weeks, more like. I've planned for an extended stay while the professor works."

"Check in when he's made some progress."

"Yes, sir."

Bodie ended the call and turned to face Doyle. He had heard the other man approach during the conversation.

"We staying here for a while, then?" Doyle asked.

"No."

"But you just said we were."

"I lied, didn't I?"

"Why?"

"Because the phone is bugged."

Bodie didn't miss the flare of fear that flashed across the green eyes. Doyle wrapped his arms around himself and briskly rubbed his biceps as if he was trying to get warm.

Bodie had to refrain from reaching out to do the job for Doyle, but touching him was not a good idea. Doyle was just too damn distracting and right now Bodie needed all his wits about him.

"Have to make them think we feel safe here. If they do, then they'll move in," Bodie said.

Doyle's eyes narrowed and his forehead crinkled in confusion. "Thought we didn't want them to find us."

"Can't kill them if they stay away, can I?"

"I don't like this, Bodie. Not one bit." Doyle ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "We should go someplace safe. Where they won't find us."

"And where would that be, professor?" Bodie demanded. "There is no safe place to hide. Not from The Hive. No matter where we go, they'll find us eventually."

"What if you get hurt?" Doyle's voice carried a hint of worry.

"I won't."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Doyle stared back at Bodie. "Know that for a fact, do you? And if you were to get killed, what would happen to me?"

"Told you already. You run and get in touch with Cowley."

Doyle shook his head. "I can't do this without you, Bodie."

Bodie looked away then slid his eyes back at Doyle again. The look of defeat on Doyle's face had Bodie clenching his fists against the urge to take him in his arms and comfort him. "You can do this," he assured Doyle. "If you want to stay alive, you don't have a choice."

"I want you to stay alive, as well. So, don't count on me running away and leaving you behind. If things go sour, we leave – together."

With long strides, Bodie surged across the room. He grabbed Doyle by the shoulders and pushed until Doyle was backed up against the wall. He wanted to have the man's full attention and didn't hesitate to use his larger body to intimidate Doyle into listening to what he had to say. The fact that he loved how Doyle felt pressed up against his body was only an added benefit – or an added torment, depending how he looked at it.

"You'll run if I tell you to. This isn't a game, Doyle, and I can't guarantee that I'll be able to come with you. My job is to keep you alive. No one, not even you, is going to get in the way of that. Understood?"

Not backing down, Doyle boldly met Bodie's gaze. "I don't like being bullied, Bodie." When Doyle swallowed and licked his lips, Bodie's gaze zeroed in on his mouth.

Suddenly Bodie realised his mistake. He should have never got so close to Doyle. Pressed together like they were, he could feel Doyle's warmth, smell his scent. It was easy to forget that Doyle was a job and not just a fellow Bodie was attracted to.

When Doyle licked his lips again, Bodie jerked his eyes away before he gave in to the urge to taste him. He moved back, putting a few feet of distance between them.

"I'm not interested in what you like or don't like." Bodie spoke more harshly than he intended. What he said was a lie, of course. He was quite interested in what Doyle liked – whether he liked to be taken gentle and slow, or hard and fast. Actually, if Bodie were given the chance, he'd give it to Doyle any way Doyle wanted. But that wasn't going to happen and he needed to get his brain out of his trousers before he got Doyle killed.

"So nice to know you care, sunshine," Doyle said, sounding sarcastic, hurt and irritated all at the same time.

"I do care." Before Bodie realised what he was doing, he closed the space between them and wrapped his hands around Doyle's arms. "I care too bloody much. If things were different –" The blare of the alarm cut Bodie off. He felt Doyle's body go tense and green eyes stared at him, wide and trusting.

Adrenaline pumped through his body and immediately he pushed away all thoughts except protecting Doyle. "Take these." Bodie shoved the keys to the Rover into Doyle's hands. "When I tell you, I want you to run for the Rover and get the hell out of here." He pulled his gun from its holster and flicked off the safety. "I'll give you cover fire."

Doyle hesitated for only a second then nodded. Bodie grabbed Doyle's arm and quickly yet cautiously led him towards the front door.

"Everything you need is in the Rover," Bodie said. "Don't stop unless you have to, or Cowley tells you otherwise. Just keep moving and you'll be fine."

After manoeuvring Doyle to a safe position beside the door, Bodie cracked it open just enough to see outside. There was no one in sight, which meant whoever was here had either jimmied open the backdoor, or one of the bedroom windows down the hallway. They didn't have much time before their position would be known.

"Come with me. Please," Doyle begged in a whisper.

"Can't. I'll catch up to you soon. Now go!" Bodie hissed.

Doyle obeyed and rushed out the door. Bodie watched as he ran the short distance to the Rover, opened the door and jumped inside. With one last look at Bodie, Doyle started the motor and sped away.

Silently, Bodie closed the door, turned around and prepared for battle.

***

Keeping the headlights off, Doyle drove the Range Rover down the gravel drive. He glanced in the rear-view mirror. Behind him in the darkness he could make out even darker shapes moving amongst the trees towards the house – towards Bodie.

Doyle's already racing heart skipped a beat. Bodie's chances of getting out of that house alive were slim to none. No matter how well trained Bodie was, he'd never be able to fight them all off on his own.

Slamming down hard on the brakes, Doyle slid the Rover to a stop. He didn't care what Bodie had told him. There was no bloody way he could just drive off and leave Bodie behind to die. The sudden loud blast of gunfire moved Doyle into action. He hit the accelerator hard, wrenched the steering wheel to the left, spun the vehicle around and headed back towards the house.

As the Rover drew nearer to the building, Doyle could see four armed men aiming their weapons at the front door. There were several bright flashes of muzzle fire from the terrorist's rifles and Bodie must have returned fire because one of the men crumpled to the ground.

The three remaining men closed in on the house, creeping slowly, crouching low to the ground. Doyle knew he had to do something soon or Bodie wasn't going to make it out alive. Without thought, he pushed down on the accelerator, veered off the drive and headed straight towards the closest enemy. The Rover hit the man straight-on with a sickening thud, tossing the body into the brambles.

The two remaining men turned and began to fire at Doyle. One of the headlights shattered and the back passenger side window exploded, sending pieces of glass flying into the back seat. The speeding vehicle was enough of a diversion that Bodie managed to take out the two men. Seeing Bodie cautiously stepping out the front door, Doyle headed in his direction. Jamming on the brakes, the Rover skidded to a halt next to Bodie. Reaching reached across the seat, Doyle flung open the passenger door. "Get in!" he yelled.

Staying low, Bodie ran for the Rover, but just before he reached the door, a spray of gunfire was aimed their way. Bodie dropped to the ground and for a heart-stopping second Doyle thought Bodie'd been hit. Relief washed through him when he saw Bodie kneel and return fire. When the terrorist was eliminated, Bodie jumped into the vehicle and slammed the door shut.

"Drive!" Bodie yelled, glaring at Doyle.

Doyle knew that Bodie was angry that he'd come back, but Doyle didn't care. He knew he'd made the right choice. Let Bodie be upset. At least the man was alive.

Not wanting to think about everything that had just happened – about the man he'd just killed, Doyle trod down on every single thought that passed through his mind and concentrated solely on driving.

***

Enrico Krivas walked through the small kitchen, the stench of blood heavy in the air. All around the house were signs that his prey had been here. Partially finished bowls of stew on the table, in the lounge, a blanket lay in disarray on the sofa.

Walking past the dead man on the floor in the hallway, Krivas gave the body a kick in frustration. He now knew the identity of the man who was protecting Ray Doyle. William Bodie, or simply Bodie as he preferred to be called. No wonder the man had seemed so familiar earlier. They had known each other from years ago when they had fought side by side in the jungle. They had even shared a woman once. A woman who had belonged to Krivas. A woman whom Bodie had stolen from him and Krivas had killed in return.

If there was one man who deserved his undivided attention, it was William Bodie. And here he was, protecting Professor Doyle.

A cruel smile spread across Krivas' face and he laughed out loud. It had been such fun torturing and killing Bodie's lover two years ago. It was going to be an even greater pleasure hunting down and killing both Bodie and Doyle.

"Two birds with one stone." He chuckled evilly.

***

Bodie spent about as much time watching Doyle as he did watching behind them for a tail. Doyle hadn't said a single word since they'd driven away from the house and had followed Bodie's directions as though he were on automatic pilot. The silence worried Bodie. If Doyle had been yelling, or even crying, Bodie would have felt a whole lot better. But the way Doyle was acting now, it could possibly mean he was close to the breaking point.

Bodie was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Doyle had come back for him. Couldn't believe Doyle had run over the gunman to protect him. He understood the way Doyle felt about violence, yet Doyle had put aside that belief and risked his own life to save Bodie. He never expected Doyle to be so courageous, but that courage could very well have got Doyle killed.

Running a hand through his short hair, Bodie released a quiet sigh. He was doing his best to keep Doyle safe, yet how could he continue to do so if the man refused to listen. And what if his best wasn't good enough? What if The Hive killed Doyle? Or worse, kidnapped him. Christ, now that was a horrible thought. Bodie knew that if either of those things happened, he would never be able to survive the guilt.

For a brief second, he wondered if he should get in touch with Cowley and have someone else take over protection duty. Then again, if he did quit, he'd never be sure that The Hive had truly been eliminated. There would always be the possibility of some members eluding capture to begin torturing and murdering people once again. There was no way that Bodie could walk away from that – nor could he walk away from Doyle.

Looking over at Doyle, Bodie took in the pale features and the hands holding the steering wheel in a white knuckled death grip. He knew he had to do something soon before Doyle shut down on him all-together.

"Pull over," Bodie said. Without question, Doyle did as asked, manoeuvring the vehicle over to the side of the motorway.

Doyle sat in his seat, staring straight ahead, not moving or talking. Tonight, Doyle had learnt firsthand what it was like to be forced to use violence. Bodie doubted that anything in that brilliant mind was equipped to handle it. He understood how traumatizing it was when you killed someone. Hell, he still remembered the first time he'd aimed a weapon at his enemy and pulled the trigger. Afterwards, he had gone out and got so drunk that his hangover had lasted for days.

"It wasn't your fault." Bodie spoke in a quiet voice.

Doyle jumped, his whole body going rigid. "Yes. It was," he said tensely then let out a harsh laugh. "Want to hear something horrible? I'd do it again. I'd kill that bastard to save your life."

Moving a little closer to Doyle, Bodie reached out, took Doyle's chin in hand, and turned the curly head until Doyle was looking at him. "Thanks, mate. Appreciate what you did for me." He slid his fingers up to palm the side of Doyle's cheek. "Listen, Ray. What happened wasn't your fault. It was The Hive that decided to start killing people in order to break that code. You just got caught in the middle."

Closing his eyes, Doyle leaned against Bodie's hand. "Was that the last of them then?"

Bodie shook his head. "Doubt it. Can't say why, but I know there are more of them out there. Right now I feel..." He shrugged. "They're not following us at the moment. That doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful."

Doyle shifted away from Bodie, breaking their contact. "Now what? Another one of your safe houses?"

"No. I have a better idea. I know of a place where The Hive isn't likely to look. Should have taken you there in the first place."

***

Part 4

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 2 of 8)

2011-01-08T00:20:30Z

The last thing that Doyle wanted was for Bodie to help him to the bog. That thought was what motivated him to push away the last of the cobwebs in his head and slip his legs over the edge of the mattress.

Doyle pushed himself up, hoping Bodie wouldn't notice him. That the man would keep watching out the window through a crack in the curtains. Doyle wasn't feeling completely steady on his feet, but he figured with the wall nearby, he'd be fine.

He had taken only one step before his luck ran out and Bodie detected his movement. A few quick strides across the room had Bodie standing by his side. "How are you feeling?" Bodie asked, his eyes measuring Doyle's body as though he were absorbing every single detail.

"Need to use the loo."

Bodie nodded. "Dizzy?"

"A little. Nothing I can't handle."

"Mmmhmm," Bodie mumbled, not sounding at all convinced. He reached a hand out to grab Doyle by the upper arm, not so tight that it hurt, yet with enough pressure that if Doyle were to stumble, Bodie would be able to stop him from falling flat on his face. Doyle allowed himself to be escorted to the bathroom then gave Bodie a scowl that told him that he would take it from here. Bodie just grunted, and leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. "Be right here if you need me."

Doyle forced himself to stand fully upright and fix Bodie with a glare. "Won't need you for this," he said and firmly closed the door in Bodie's face.

Once inside the bathroom, Doyle rested both hands against the edge of the basin, breathing deeply in hopes of abating the throb and spin of his head. Whatever drug that he'd been shot with had one heck of a wallop. Of course, he'd missed a few meals since this whole mess had started which could also count towards his dizziness.

Now that he was vertical and able to think more clearly, Doyle took stock of his situation. He still had no idea where he was, or who, exactly, Bodie was. Doyle assumed he worked for the military, or some such organisation, but there was a chance that Bodie wanted him to think that. For all he knew, Bodie could be a spy, sent to gather information on the decryption algorithms Doyle had been working on.

Doyle wasn't daft. He knew the power his solution would give to any intelligence agency, be they government or otherwise. As soon as he realised just how far he could take his work, he refused to continue, knowing that it was too powerful a weapon to develop. Whoever had control of it would never again have to worry about breaking any code. Doyle's solution wasn't a one-time-only deciphering tool. If finished, it was pretty definite that given enough computing power, Doyle's work would come close to artificial intelligence. Feed it enough cyphertext, and eventually it would have enough data to not only break any code, it would actually be able to predict future codes based on historical information. It was extremely possible that the system would at first learn, then it would teach.

Developing something that complex would take years. However, Doyle could imagine how it would work and knew that it was not only possible, but very much within his ability to create.

He had never told anyone how far his solution had advanced. And if he wanted to stay alive, he'd be sure to keep it a secret. As long as no one knew what he was capable of, there was no risk that he would be forced to work on what he considered the ultimate code-breaker.

There was one question in Doyle's mind that remained to be answered. If no one knew how far he'd progressed, then why did those men come after him at his house? And why had Bodie come to save him?

And, most importantly, could Doyle trust Bodie?

Looking around the cramped bathroom, he noticed the frosted-glass window above the toilet. He eyed the window for size and figured that if he could open it, he'd be able to fit through.

Although the door to the bathroom was locked, Doyle knew that it wouldn't take Bodie much effort to break it down if he heard Doyle attempting to escape. Perhaps he could tell Bodie that he was going to take a shower and while the water was running to mask the sound, quickly sneak out.

The dizziness had abated somewhat and though Doyle's legs still felt rubbery, they were stronger than before. He could try to make a break for it. But should he? What if Bodie was the only thing standing between him and whoever was trying to kidnap him? It did seem rather foolish to run from a man who had done nothing except try to help him. However, that helpfulness could be a trick to lull Doyle into a sense of false security. When Doyle mulled that over, he didn't think it was true. There was something honourable about Bodie. Yes, the man may be a tad gruff, but he had protected Doyle. Had got Doyle out alive. All of his instincts were telling him that Bodie was a good man. That he could be trusted. Staying with Bodie was a hell of a lot safer than trying to wiggle out a window and face the unknown alone, weak and unarmed. He figured that for right now, Bodie was his best bet.

When Doyle came out of the bathroom, Bodie was still there, lounging against the wall. "Glad you didn't try it," Bodie said.

"Eh? Try what?"

"The window."

Doyle did his best to keep his features straight-faced before Bodie could see his shocked reaction to him knowing what he'd been planning. "Don't know what you're talking about."

A flicker of amusement flashed across Bodie's eyes. "You're too smart not to have thought about going out that window, professor. I can assure you that you wouldn't have got very far before I'd have tracked you down."

"If I'd wanted to get away, I would have."

"Sure you would."

Doyle gave Bodie a look full of challenge before a sudden pain at his temples made him grimace.

"Head still hurting?" Bodie asked, looking directly into Doyle's eyes.

"Yeah, but I'll live."

"The tranq should have worn off by now, but your movements still seem a bit sluggish. Are you on any medication? Taking any drugs?"

"I don't do drugs," Doyle replied angrily. "Not that it's any of your business."

Bodie glared at him. "Everything about you is my business. I've been assigned to keep you alive, so you won't so much as blink without me knowing about it."

"Assigned? By whom?" Doyle demanded.

Bodie remained silent, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"I see. You get to know everything about me, yet I don't even get to know who sent you."

Bodie nodded once. "Right."

Frustrated, Doyle made an attempt to push past Bodie, except it was like trying to move a stone wall.

"Now that you're up, we need to get moving," Bodie said as he turned and walked away.

"Where are we going? No, wait, let me guess. You could tell me, but then you'd have to kill me, right?"

One corner of Bodie's mouth actually twitched with a smile. "Right again, mate."

Doyle sighed, knowing he wouldn't be getting anything out of Bodie. With any luck, Bodie would be taking him to his superiors, where at least Doyle would be able to ask some questions and have them answered in return. He hoped that as soon as he got to talk with someone with high enough rank, they'd get this whole mess straightened out and he could be back home by Monday at the latest.

***

Doyle leaned against the inside of the passenger door and watched the countryside fly by. The sun had just begun to rise over the horizon and the sky was awash with pale yellow, pink and violet. He found himself wishing he had a canvas along with his paints so he could capture the beautiful sight.

Closing his eyes, he listened to the hum of the Range Rover's tyres. As the soothing sound eased his tension, his thoughts once again turned to the man sitting next to him.

At the lodge, Doyle had inconspicuously watched Bodie while he had stripped off his shirt to put on a fresh one. No longer groggy, Doyle had been able to truly appreciate just how gorgeous a body Bodie possessed. The muscles in his chest and abs were an artist's dream. Each movement graceful as Bodie checked his gun and the gear. Doyle liked that Bodie wasn't bulging with muscles, those the man did have were well defined and slid fluidly against each other beneath his skin, bunching and flexing in hypnotic masculinity.

By the time they had left the lodge, Doyle was shaking and he did his best to try to convince himself that it was caused by low blood sugar from missing so many meals. But he couldn't fool himself, he knew it was something more.

It was ludicrous really. He didn't even know the man. For all Doyle knew, Bodie could be married, though he wore no ring on his finger. Hell, Doyle didn't even know if Bodie was straight or gay… or both.

"How much longer before we get to this mysterious destination?" Doyle asked to distract himself.

Bodie gave a quick glance at his watch. "In a few hours. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

"There's a transport cafe a few miles up the road. We'll stop there, get some breakfast takeaway." They drove for another four miles before Bodie pulled the vehicle into the car park. "What do you want to eat?"

Doyle shrugged. "Same as you will be fine."

Bodie shifted in his seat, turning to look directly at Doyle, his gaze firm. "Stay in the car. And take this." Bodie reached inside his leather jacket and pulled out his gun, sliding it across the seat towards Doyle.

Not moving a muscle, Doyle stared at the weapon as though it would bite him. "What do you want me to do with that?"

"Take it. If anything happens… if anyone comes after you, use it."

"I…" Doyle paused and swallowed hard. "You want me to shoot someone?"

"Only if necessary," Bodie replied insipidly.

"I couldn't do that," Doyle said, stunned.

"Listen, Doyle. Your life could depend on it. Understand?"

Doyle looked at Bodie then back down at the weapon again. He nodded numbly, wondering if he really could shoot someone to save his own life. Bodie quickly demonstrated how to release the safety on the gun before placing it back on the seat next to Doyle. He watched Bodie hurry towards the building, and the farther away Bodie got, the more anxious Doyle began to feel. He glanced around the near empty car park, looking for anyone who appeared threatening. There were a few people about, however, they were too involved in their own business to pay Doyle any mind. A feeling of being very much alone and isolated bore down on him and he prayed that Bodie would be back soon.

It felt like Bodie had been gone for hours, when in actuality he'd only been inside the cafe for about fifteen minutes. Doyle breathed a sigh of relief when Bodie got back into the truck, handed over the paper bag of food and holstered his weapon.

"Got egg sandwiches and sausage," Bodie said while Doyle removed their meal from the bag. "The coffee is mine. You get juice until that rubbish is totally out of your system."

"Yes, sir," Doyle growled, and attempted to throw the sausage at Bodie's head instead of eating it.

Bodie just gave Doyle a lopsided grin and took a big bite out of his sandwich.

***

Bodie turned the Range Rover onto the narrow gravel road. When the vehicle hit a nasty hole, he stole a glance at Doyle. Doyle released a small groan, but remained asleep.

After eating a decent breakfast, Doyle had curled up against the passenger door and drifted off before Bodie had a chance to convince him to cooperate with CI5.

They had finally arrived at the safe house, where they would meet up with at least a half dozen others – CI5, military and other government agents – who would pressure Doyle into helping them.

It's the right thing to do, Bodie thought. Hell, it was the only thing to do as far as he was concerned. They would never find The Hive without some decent intelligence and right now, Doyle was the only shot they had.

Without a doubt, Bodie wanted those terrorist bastards dead, but it did bother him that Doyle would be used in a game where he didn't even know the rules.

After pulling into the drive at the back of the old farmhouse, he cut the engine and glanced around. The second he had driven onto the property, Bodie knew they were being tracked by the scopes of at least four sharpshooters. It was a relief to know that these guys were on their side. This was the safest place for Doyle to be.

Bodie scanned the area one last time and was able make out one marksman on the roof and another just inside the tree line. Looking back at the house, he noticed Cowley standing in the window, behind him stood two suited men. He had hoped to have seen Murphy and Jax with Cowley. It would have been nice to have his old mates and fellow agents at his back for this op. Would have definitely made him feel a whole lot better about moving Doyle around in the open.

He turned his attention to Doyle and rested a hand lightly on the other man's shoulder. "Rise and shine, professor."

Doyle stirred, opened his eyes and yawned widely. "We here?" he asked sleepily.

"Yeah. We need to get you inside where it's safe. I don't like just sitting here."

"All right." Doyle stretched then reached for the door handle.

"No. Keep the door closed. I'll come around to get you."

"I am perfectly capable of opening the door myself."

"I know. And you're also perfectly capable of getting shot in the head while standing out there without me to cover you."

Bodie's tone was harsh, much harsher than he had intended, but he couldn't let himself care if he offended Doyle or not. The only thing he needed to care about was protecting Doyle – no matter what.

Quickly, Bodie moved around the Rover to open the car door for Doyle. With one hand planted firmly on his weapon, he put an arm around Doyle's shoulders, feeling the fine tremors coursing through him. As they moved towards the house, Bodie was careful to shield Doyle with his own body by pulling him tightly against his side. If there was a sniper taking aim on them, then Bodie was determined that he'd take the bullet, not Doyle.

Bodie tried his best to ignore the way Doyle felt against him, but it was a hopeless feat. He revelled in Doyle's closeness, the way they melded together so perfectly. It was the kind of fit that had Bodie wondering just how well the rest of them would fit together.

All of a sudden, he found himself wanting to whisk Doyle away to a place where no one would ever find him. He desperately wanted to erase that look of fear and uncertainty from the large green eyes. Bodie wished he could go back in time and kill every single member of The Hive before they'd managed to spread like a disease – before they could threaten Doyle's safety and ruin his life.

As much as he wanted those things, he knew all of that was impossible. He couldn't change what had already happened. All he could do was protect Doyle to the best of his ability.

Doyle had no idea what he was about to go through once he was inside the house. He would be questioned, pressured, manipulated. Whatever Cowley and the others felt they needed to do to gain Doyle's cooperation, they'd do it.

The urge to protect Doyle burned even stronger within Bodie, and along with wanting to guard Doyle's life, he also wanted to protect the other man's comfort as well. What Doyle was about to go through would not be comfortable, and that angered Bodie. More than anything, he wanted to spare Doyle the gruelling ordeal of being interrogated.

Bodie couldn't do that, though, and he wouldn't be allowed in the interrogation room with Doyle either. This was the last chance for Bodie to give what little support he could offer, Right now, the best thing he could do was arm Doyle so the man could fight his own battles. Doyle's knowledge and skills were weapons – very formidable weapons.

"Don't let them scare you in there," Bodie told Doyle in a low whisper against his ear. "Remember, you're the one who has something they want. You have power. You're in control."

Doyle quickly looked at Bodie, surprise shining in his eyes. From that split-second glance, Bodie knew that Doyle understood, and he was relieved that Doyle was smart enough that he didn't need help connecting the dots.

The door in front of them opened and they hurried inside. Instantly, Doyle was surrounded by Cowley and a group of men in suits then was whisked away to a room down the hall where the interrogation would begin.

***

Doyle shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying to find a more comfortable position while waiting for the next round of questioning to begin. They had been at this for hours and the routine was starting to get old. He was tired of answering the same questions over and over. He was tired of sitting in the same dingy room with a bunch of men who looked at him as either a freak or a tool. But most of all, he was just plain tired. His leg ached where he'd been shot with the dart, his mouth was dry, and his nerves were frayed.

While Doyle, once again, repeated to the suited men the events that occurred the night before, the reality of his situation began to truly sink in. He had been hunted down and attacked. On the plus side, the men who had attacked him wanted him alive, however, knowing that didn't do much to make him feel any better.

The door to the room opened once again and the older man, the one who had stayed in the shadows while the suits had questioned him, came in, followed closely by Bodie. Doyle's heart jumped with relief at the sight of Bodie.

Bodie – the only familiar face in a sea of strangers.

Doyle found himself gripping the edge of the chair to stop himself from rushing over to Bodie's side. Sure, Doyle didn't really know Bodie. Had no idea if Bodie was the man's first name or last. Didn't even know whom Bodie worked for, but he was a comforting presence compared to the men who had come and gone from this room all day long. Men who had been trying to convince Doyle to give them what they wanted – something Doyle was not willing to give.

Bodie came closer and placed a glass of water on the table in front of Doyle, meeting his eyes before moving to lean back against the wall.

The man with Bodie stepped up to Doyle and extended a hand. "George Cowley."

Doyle shot a glance to Bodie, and at Bodie's slight nod, he decided to stand and shake Cowley's hand.

Cowley lifted a surprised eyebrow as he noticed the exchange between Doyle and Bodie, but said nothing about it. Instead he turned to the interrogators and told them to leave the room. Cowley waited until it was only himself, Doyle and Bodie left before he turned his attention back to Doyle.

"Would you like to take a break? A trip to the loo, perhaps?"

Doyle shook his head. He just wanted this whole thing to be over.

"Please. Sit down," Cowley said, motioning to the chair.

"I'd rather not," Doyle replied. "Me bum has fallen asleep and I'd like to stretch my legs."

"Aye, lad, that's fine." Cowley slid into the seat across from where Doyle had been sitting and placed a folder on the table.

"Already told you what happened last night, Mr Cowley." Doyle walked around the small room, glad to be up and moving again. "I'm sure Bodie can corroborate my story."

"I'm not interested in that, Mr Doyle."

Halfway through his second trip around the room, Doyle stopped, straightened his shoulders and looked the imposing man straight in the eyes. "Then the answer to all your other questions is no."

Cowley leaned forward, rested his arms on the table, laced fingers together and met Doyle's stare. "No?"

"No." Doyle shook his head. "As in, no, I won't work for you. No, I won't finish developing those encryption algorithms. That about covers everything, does it not?"

"Doyle," Bodie said in a low, coaxing voice. "Don't be stubborn. Just listen to him."

Doyle glanced across the room at Bodie. Bodie looked knackered, worried, and Doyle wondered if Bodie had stayed up all last night watching out for him – protecting him. He did want to repay Bodie for his help, except Doyle couldn't bring himself to compromise his own principles.

Looking away from the two men, Doyle briefly closed his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he conceded and prepared himself for more hours of interrogation. "All right. I'll listen. Just don't expect me to suddenly change my mind because you keep asking the same questions. I may be tired of answering, but my answers won't change."

Cowley nodded, and Doyle thought he saw a look of respect flash across the older man's eyes. "How far did you get with the encryption algorithms – the ones you were offered the grant money to develop?" Cowley inquired.

Doyle sent a fleeting look at Bodie, suddenly remembering what Bodie had told him. That they wanted something from Doyle. That Doyle was in a position of power. He was smart, and perhaps he could figure out a way to play that to his advantage.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded Cowley. "Before I answer anything, I want to know who you work for."

A faint, indulgent smile tugged at Cowley's mouth. "I am the controller of CI5."

Doyle frowned. "CI5?"

"We're an organisation dedicated to fighting terrorism and crime-related activities in the UK," Cowley explained.

"And Bodie –"

"Works for me."

Satisfied with those answers, Doyle then asked, "Who were those men who broke into my house?"

Cowley shook his head. "Now you answer my question. How far had you progressed in your development?"

"More than halfway." It was a vague enough answer. Truthful, yet holding no real information.

Oh, yes, Doyle thought. I can definitely play this game.

"How long would it take to complete the work?" asked Cowley.

"Who were those men?" countered Doyle.

"They were members of a terrorist group." Cowley's eyes twinkled, appearing pleased that he had matched Doyle's vagueness.

Doyle held back his sigh of frustration. At this rate, they were going to be here all night, and neither one of them would obtain any useful information. Doyle decided to give in a little, hoping Cowley would do the same. "It would take me two more months to complete the work."

"And if you were to be given a different sample of text? How long would that take?"

Doyle shrugged. "Can't say without seeing it."

Cowley opened the folder in front of him, pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across to Doyle's side of the table. Curious, Doyle moved back to his chair and sat down. When he looked at the page, his heart began to pound with excitement. Once, a few years ago, he'd seen something similar from a Russian professor that he had been working with at the university. The symbols were the same, but their use was completely different. Doyle could already make out a very complex pattern among the flowing symbols. It was something vague and elusive, but definitely there.

"This isn't just text," Doyle stated. "It's mathematically based as well."

Cowley frowned. "How can you tell? You've only just looked at it."

"These symbols here," Doyle pointed them out on the paper, "lead me to believe that their sequence and placement are variables in some kind of equation – or equations."

Doyle noticed Cowley share a guarded look with Bodie. "Now we know why they wanted him," Bodie spoke up. "The Hive must have figured out there was a mathematical angle and knew Doyle was one of the few who could figure it out."

Doyle's finger's twitched, yearning to grab hold of the paper and study the symbols more closely. This was exactly the type of puzzle that he loved to solve. It was a true challenge. Doyle always loved working on something that was this exigent and thought-provoking. Before he could begin to see a pattern, though, Cowley took away the paper, slipping it back into the file folder.

"We need you, Mr Doyle. I've had a team working on this for months, and they haven't got nearly as far as you have in only a few seconds."

"Think I can do better than your team, do you?" Doyle asked.

"You already have, laddie. This is important."

"How important?"

"This text contains the location of several… misplaced weapons from the Cold War."

War. So it's come back to the military again, thought Doyle.

He tamped down on his disappointment when he realised that he would never get the chance to see that text again. Wasn't going to be able to tear it apart into the correct pieces, then put it back together again so that it all made sense.

"Wish I could help," Doyle said, meaning it. "But I won't get involved in military projects. I can never be assured that my work won't be used offensively."

As the room filled with a palpable tension, Doyle saw both men clench their jaws in frustration.

"We need to have the solution to this text, Mr Doyle," persisted Cowley.

"Then I suggest you start looking for another expert, Mr Cowley."

Cowley leaned forward and Doyle could sense a frightening quality in him that would make even a man as strong as Bodie show respect. "If I don't get your cooperation, then I can no longer protect you. You'll be on your own. No doubt you'll be captured within days, if not hours. The men who take you will ensure that you do this work by any means necessary." Doyle felt his stomach drop, true fear slithering down his spine. Before he could say anything, Cowley continued, "This is not a game, Mr Doyle. This is a matter of national security. Neither I, nor the men out in the other room, will let you fall into enemy hands. You're simply too dangerous." Bodie stepped forwards, but Cowley held out a hand to stop him.

"I would never help them," Doyle protested adamantly.

"You would. In the end, you would. You're not trained to resist torture. They would find your weakness and use it. And once you served your purpose, you would no longer be of any use to them. They'd kill you."

Cowley's last few words hung heavily in the air, cold and thick. Doyle's chest tightened in fear. He didn't want to die. Didn't want to endure torture and help an enemy of his country. But more than that, Doyle didn't want to be the cause of the death of countless others. He knew now, more than ever, that his work could be twisted into something dangerous – something deadly.

It was the hardest thing Doyle ever had to do, but he took a deep breath, looked Cowley in the eye and said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you."

***

In all the time that Bodie had worked for Cowley, he had never seen his boss so disconcerted. Cowley was a man who hid his emotions well, so it was odd that he would suddenly become so transparent.

Bodie didn't like it when things were odd. Because that meant two things, either he was being played, or something was really wrong. He just didn't know which one it was – yet.

"You've got to admire Doyle for his determination," Bodie said, watching Doyle on the monitor by means of a hidden camera. Doyle was sitting down, elbows on the table, head resting in his hands. His body language spoke of a man who was beyond exhausted – of a man very much alone. Bodie bit back a curse and looked away, trying to control the nearly overpowering need to rush back into the room and somehow comfort Doyle.

"Aye, he is a stubborn lad," Cowley replied. "And it just might be the death of him."

Bodie's body tensed. "Surely you don't intend to let anyone kill him."

"This is big, Bodie. There's only so much I can do. The man's knowledge is too dangerous. The British government won't let Doyle fall into enemy hands. If he refuses to cooperate, he'll be executed as a threat to national security."

"What?" bellowed Bodie. "They can't do that!" Rage bubbled just below the surface, along with something else – something deadly. There was no way in hell he was going to let Doyle die. He had brought Doyle here for protection. Bodie would kill anyone who tried to harm him.

"They will if we don't convince Doyle to help."

Bodie release a string of vile curses.

"Aye. I agree, 3.7."

Bodie took a long look at Cowley. He respected the man more than almost anyone, yet Cowley stood there, talking about Doyle being killed as if it were just another op. Bodie almost felt sorry for Cowley and all the shit he must have lived through to make him hard enough inside to be so casual about killing. Instead, Bodie found himself hating the man for even thinking of hurting someone as innocent as Ray Doyle.

Bodie had spent most of his life killing and suffering to protect the innocent. Yes, he had done some horrible things in Africa, things that still haunted him to this very day. And, yes, there were times when he wanted to throw it all away and find a different line of work. But in the end, he knew what he did was the right thing. He killed scum so that the innocent could live.

And now Cowley was talking about killing one of those innocents whom Bodie had devoted his life to protecting. Somehow, that put the two of them on opposite sides of an invisible line. Bodie stepped away from Cowley, unable to look him in the eye without giving away the burning anger that flooded his gut.

Cowley walked up to him and patted Bodie on the shoulder. "We've still got time to change his mind," said Cowley.

"You've already threatened Doyle with torture and death, and he still hasn't come around. What the hell else do you think will work?"

"Think, man. You were with him longer than anyone here. You must have some idea of how to convince him."

Bodie searched his memory trying to come up with some weakness in Doyle's armour. Doyle didn't have a wife or kiddies, for which Bodie was grateful for they would have been used as a pawn. The two weeks of gathered intel that Bodie had read on Doyle said that he didn't go out much. Went to work, came back home with an occasional trip to the shops or library. Doyle's mum was still alive and he did have a younger sister. Both those family members lived up north, but threatening to harm them wouldn't make Doyle warm up to the idea of agreeing to help.

Bodie ran a hand over his short, dark hair. The only thing he could think of at the moment was the way Doyle's eyes lit up when he had looked at the paper Cowley had shown him. Maybe they could entice Doyle enough to get him interested in solving the puzzle just for the sake of knowing the answer.

Of course, even if Doyle did break the code, would he present it in a format that would be useful to CI5 and all involved? Just because the man knew the answer didn't mean he had to share.

Bodie released a sigh of frustration and scratched at the stubble of his day old beard. There had to be something he was missing. He didn't know Doyle well, but there had to be some way to convince the man.

That code would tell them the location of weapons, including several nuclear warheads, which had been hidden by the Russians during the Cold War. It was the reason why The Hive was so intent on breaking the code before anyone else.

Time was running out and Bodie had to quickly find a way to weaken Doyle's resolve. There was only one thing Bodie could do, yet just the thought of it made him break out in a cold sweat. His past was not a very friendly place. If he were to share it with Doyle then Doyle would know how horribly Bodie had failed. And even if he did reveal his mistakes, bared his soul, it still might not be enough.

Bodie released a sigh, knowing he had no choice. He had to try. Whatever it took to protect Doyle, Bodie would do it. Even if that included facing his past again.

***

Doyle's leg was aching, but not nearly as much as his head. To add to his discomfort, the temperature of the room was cold, causing his body to shiver. In an attempt to warm his bare arms, he wrapped his hands around them and began to rub briskly. God, what he wouldn't give to have a warm bath, a hot cuppa and pretend that none of this had ever happened. He shivered again, this time enveloping his upper body with his arms. Hell, he'd just be happy with a blanket.

A thought floated through his mind. He contemplated the idea that this was, perhaps, some sort of interrogation technique to make him feel as uncomfortable as possible so he'd be more willing to get out of here by giving them what they wanted. Ha! He wasn't about to give in that easily.

Getting up from the chair, Doyle paced the room and wondered if Bodie was still in the house. Out of all the people he'd had to deal with over the past twenty-four hours, Bodie was the only one to show the least bit of kindness.

Doyle's head throbbed harder and he brought his hands up to massage his temples. Walking over to the door, he tried the knob, and wasn't at all surprised to find it locked. Raising a fist, he pounded a few times on the wooden structure. "Hello!" he yelled. "May I have some aspirin?" When no one answered, Doyle sighed and moved to the other side of the room. He sat down in a chair, resigning himself to either die from freezing to death or from an exploding head.

Just then the door opened and Bodie walked in with a glass of water in one hand and a folder in the other. Doyle's stomach fluttered at the sight of him. Bodie's face showed the shadow of a beard and though Doyle could see signs of fatigue under the blue eyes, Bodie held himself tall, as if he would keep on going until it was convenient to stop. The expression that Doyle saw on Bodie's face gave him some hope that his situation might not be as bad as he'd thought.

He suddenly found himself wishing that Bodie would touch him again like he'd done at the lodge. Something as simple as an arm around his shoulders would go a long way toward making Doyle believe that he was going to make it through this.

Bodie closed the door, came closer to Doyle and placed the glass of water along with two white tablets in front of him.

"Ta," Doyle said and quickly washed the pills down.

Bodie took off the leather jacket he'd been wearing and draped it around Doyle's shoulders. The warmth that clung to material from Bodie's body seeped into his skin and Doyle sighed in relief. The jacket smelt like Bodie. Doyle breathed in deeply, the rich, spicy scent comforting him as well as soothing his nerves.

"What's going to happen to me?" Doyle asked.

Bodie grabbed a chair, moved it beside Doyle and sat
down. "I won't lie to you. It doesn't look good. They want this code broken before anyone else."

"They're really going to kill me, aren't they? That wasn't just a trick to get me to cooperate."

Bodie's steady blue gaze slid away and silence stretched out between them.

Doyle had his answer.

"How long?" Doyle whispered.

"I don't know what their plans are for you, exactly." Shifting his body slightly, Bodie held up two fingers then four on a hand hidden from the camera that was set up in the corner of the room.

Twenty-four. Was that days or hours?

Once he met Bodie's eyes, Doyle knew. He had twenty-four hours to live.

His heart began to race and the room started to fade away as his fate loomed large before him.

At this time tomorrow, he'd be dead.

It was all so surreal. Now that he knew it was going to happen, it was almost as bad as when he'd been clueless. At least then he could pretend that things were going to work out okay.

"I don't want to die, but I will if I have to. I won't let you use my work as a weapon."

Bodie's jaw clenched and his lips pressed tightly together. "Listen, Doyle, not everything we do is about killing. We do keep the country safe. We protect people."

"But you do kill," Doyle stated.

"When it's necessary."

"And who gets to decide that?"

Bodie scrubbed a hand over his head and took a deep breath as though to calm himself. "There are a lot of bad people out there. It's not exactly something we broadcast on the nightly news if we can help it. We like for the public to not have to worry about whether or not they're going to end up dead in ways they can never imagine."

"You keep saying 'we'. Tell me, Bodie, are you one of those people who get to choose between life and death for another human being?"

Bodie exploded out of his chair. "Yes, I am, damn it! I've had men in my rifle sights and pulled the trigger. I've set explosions in buildings knowing that everyone inside will be blown to hell. I've even killed with my bare hands. It's nothing for me to break a man's neck or choke the life out of a body." Bodie turned, leaned one hand on the table and glared at Doyle, blue eyes frigid with anger. "And I'm not sorry. I knew what those men did. I knew what they'd be capable of doing had they lived."

Doyle shifted back in his chair, attempting to put some distance between himself and Bodie's anger, yet even in the face of such rage, Doyle did not fear him. "It's still wrong, Bodie. Killing is wrong."

Studying him intently, Bodie placed a file folder directly in front of Doyle. His voice lowered yet the coldness remained. "No, Doyle, you're the one who's wrong." With that, Bodie opened the folder to reveal a stack of eight by ten coloured photographs.

Doyle gasped in horror when Bodie spread the photos over the table. There were pictures of people beaten and mutilated so badly that they were nearly unrecognizable. Dead men, women, children, and two babies. Pictures of severed ears, fingers, tongues, even half a penis.

Doyle fought the urge not to vomit. Never in his life had he seen anything so horrific. His body began to shake and he broke into a cold sweat as his mind struggled to understand what Bodie was showing him.

These photos couldn't be real. How could anyone perform such hideous acts?

"This," Bodie said in a quiet, pain-filled voice, pointing at the pictures. "This is what those men I killed have done."

Doyle didn't want to look, except he couldn't stop himself. His stomach twisted painfully as he forced himself to face the images of death and violence and evil.

He knew everything about these were real. Real men and women. Real children.

When Doyle's vision blurred, he blinked back the moisture and looked up at Bodie. There was no way he could miss the anguish that burned in the blue eyes.

"And this one." Bodie's voice was nearly a whisper and tinged with grief. With an unsteady hand, Bodie showed Doyle a set of photographs of what had once been a very handsome, young blond man. "His name was Nicolas. He was only twenty-five years old."

In one of the pictures, Nicolas was bound to a metal chair by ropes around both wrists and ankles. He was naked and covered with cuts and bruises, and there was a large pool of blood under his chair. Another pictured showed deep slashes along Nicolas' blood stained chest and arms. And in a third, mutilated hands, and a table with fingers lying neatly in a row.

"Nicolas was my partner... my lover." Bodie's voice wavered. He cleared his throat before continuing, "The Hive did that to him. CI5 was closing in on their organisation, so they kidnapped Nicky. They beat him, raped and tortured him. They sent me the bracelet I had bought him, along with one of his fingers."

It was the quiet grief in Bodie's voice that made Doyle look at him. He could easily see that Bodie had loved Nicolas – had loved him deeply and those bastards had mutilated him… murdered him.

Suddenly, all those people in the photos became very real, not just images on paper. They had parents, brothers and sisters, and friends who had loved them. They'd laughed and cried. They were people who had been alive. And now they had been turned into something too grotesque to ever imagine.

Looking into Bodie's eyes, Doyle could see all the pain, regret and self-hatred inside of him. Somehow, Doyle knew that Bodie felt like he should have saved his lover from such a gruesome fate. And there was no doubt in Doyle's mind that Bodie had done everything humanly possible to protect the man he loved.

"This is what we're fighting, Doyle," Bodie said quietly. "This is why we need your help. Without you, The Hive will find those weapons and they won't hesitate to use them. More people will die. You're the only one who can stop that from happening."

Doyle glanced down at the photos again. Bodie was right. Whoever had done this needed to be stopped before they killed again. No matter how ugly or horrible the task, someone needed to do it. But Doyle wasn't sure if he was strong enough to be the person to help accomplish that job.

The blank, glazed over eyes of the dead stared back at him, appearing to plead with him to help. When he focused on the picture of Nicolas, the man's light blue eyes bore into him as though begging Doyle to save his lover from his own prison of grief and self-loathing.

It all became too much for Doyle to handle. He bolted from the table, dropped to his knees and bent over the small rubbish bin, vomiting. He gulped in air, trying to breathe, attempting to force out all the horrible images swirling around in his head. Except nothing helped and he couldn't stop his stomach from heaving again.

Immediately, Bodie was there, kneeling behind him. He put one hand on Doyle's shoulder and the other went around to Doyle's stomach, rubbing in light circles to help alleviate the cramping. Bodie said nothing, but just the touch from the other man was enough to allow Doyle to regain control.

Gradually, Doyle was able to breathe normally again and he leaned back against Bodie's chest. He briefly closed his eyes when Bodie's hand moved from his shoulder to brush the curly, sweat-damp hair back from his face.

"I'm sorry, Bodie. I didn't know," Doyle said.

"I know." Bodie's arm tightened, holding Doyle close, comforting him. "I'm sorry you had to see those pictures."

"Did you kill those men who did… that… to Nicolas?"

Doyle felt Bodie's body tense, felt every muscle in his chest going taut, yet Bodie didn't move away. "I thought I did, but I was wrong. There's at least one left. Perhaps more."

"So The Hive is active again," Doyle guessed.

"Yes," Bodie replied, his voice tight with hatred.

Doyle had no idea how difficult it must have been for Bodie to lose his lover in such a horrifyingly violent way. And he wondered what sort of strength Bodie must possess to be able to go on after something like that.

"The Hive needs to be eliminated," Bodie said. "I can't do that without your help."

Unable to turn away from Bodie's plea, Doyle braced himself for what he had to do. Something had to be done to stop those murderous bastards. Perhaps Bodie was right and the only way to stop them was to kill every last one of them.

As much as Doyle hated the idea of arming the military or CI5 with the knowledge that could be used offensively, he knew he had to be strong like Bodie. He would have to do something he despised because it was necessary.

Moving away from Bodie, he shifted around on the floor so they were face to face. "Can you give me your word that my work won't be used against anyone other than The Hive?"

Bodie nodded. "I will do everything within my power."

"And if I give Cowley what he wants, can you promise me he'll let me go afterwards?"

Bodie's eyes lowered. "No. I'm sorry, I can't. But if they don't let you go, I'll break you out of wherever they're holding you." He gave Doyle a feral grin. "Even if it kills me."

"No, Bodie." Doyle pinned him with a fierce stare. "I won't let you die for me. I'm not worth the price of your life."

"You're a lot more valuable than you think." Bodie spoke quietly, his expression softening.

"So are you," Doyle told him.

"Does that mean you'll help me?"

Even more than helping to break the code, Doyle wanted to help Bodie recover from losing Nicolas. He wasn't sure how he would do it, but he was going to do his best to prove to Bodie that his lover's death wasn't his fault.

"Yes, mate," Doyle replied. "It does."

***

Part 3

Discovered in the Fairylights - PROS Fic: The Hive (Part 1 of )

2011-01-08T00:13:13Z

Title: The Hive
Author name: ankaree
Genre: Slash
Characters/Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Word count: 58,564
Warnings: NC-17
Story Note: Originally appeared in the zine, Professional Adventures

Link To E-Reader File (.pdf): http://www.megaupload.com/?d=ARYMTKWP

SUMMARY: Part-time cryptologist Ray Doyle refuses to have blood on his hands. When the military asks for his help to decrypt a code that would locate misplaced nuclear weapons, Doyle refuses. His life abruptly takes a drastic change for the worse when members of The Hive, a terrorist faction, break into his home and threaten his life. Suddenly it's all too clear that any blood spilled may be his own. When a military-clad man unexpectedly appears to safeguard him, Doyle has no choice but to trust the stranger. A stranger who is everything that Doyle is against... and everything he desires.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story is dedicated to Kat, my best friend and partner in crime. She was the one who first introduced me to the wonderful world of The Professionals and who, many years ago, encouraged me to try my hand at fan fiction writing. It has been an awesome journey, made even sweeter by having such an amazing friend by my side to experience it all with. I am both honoured and thrilled to be sharing this zine with her.

To my beta's, Chris, Lyn and Kat. This story would not have been possible if it wasn't for their expertise, advice and support. From the bottom of my heart, thank you my friends!

And to the Pros fans. A warm thank you to all of you for your support and kind words over the past two and a half years. When I first joined the fandom you opened your arms and embraced this newbie, making me immediately feel comfortable and welcomed. And for that I shall remain forever grateful.

Bodie had only been back in London for two months when the call came. He couldn't say that he was at all surprised to hear the familiar voice on the other end of the line. Had actually expected to hear from the man much sooner. Even had a rejection speech rehearsed for just this occasion. But listening to that voice again, hearing the urgency in its tone had Bodie tossing his speech out the window and agreeing to a meet at his own flat.

Precisely twenty-three minutes after the brief phone conversation, there was a brisk knock at his door. Tossing back the rest of his scotch, Bodie placed his glass on the coffee table and moved to answer it. Pulling open the door, he got his first look at his former boss in over two years.

"Sir," Bodie greeted, his tone flat.

George Cowley regarded Bodie with a piercing stare. A stare that, on many occasions, had been known to make less confident CI5 men tremble in their shoes.

"May I come in?" asked Cowley.

With a nod, Bodie stepped aside and gestured for the man to enter. Cowley had not changed much since the last time Bodie had seen him. His hair was a touch thinner and there were a few more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. But he still possessed that air of confidence and those eyes still held the emotions of a man who'd witnessed too much suffering in one lifetime.

"Drink?" offered Bodie once they were in the lounge.

"Aye, perhaps I will," Cowley replied, taking a seat on the settee. "A small malt, if you have it."

After retrieving his own glass from where he'd left it, Bodie poured two glasses of Scotch at the small wooden cabinet he used for a bar.

Cowley accepted the drink Bodie passed him and took a sip. "You're a hard man to find, Bodie."

"Wasn't wanting to be found, sir," Bodie answered, sitting down on the chair opposite the sofa.

"Aye, I soon realised that when I started searching for you. I was surprised to find you here in London."

"Only been back a few months." Not in the mood for idle chit-chat, Bodie demanded, "What do you want?"

"Ah, right to the point, then." Leaning forwards, Cowley placed his now empty glass on the table. "I need you. There's a… situation."

"So you said on the blower. And like I said, I don't give a damn about your situation," Bodie replied, purposefully adding a belated, "sir."

Cowley's mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "Well, I see you haven't lost your respect for authority over the past years."

"No, but I am about to lose my temper, so you'd better get on with it."

"I need you to take on an assignment."

"In case you've forgotten, I left CI5 two years ago."

Cowley looked directly into Bodie's eyes. "Aye, lad. Not a day goes by that I don't remember."

Bodie looked away. He closed his eyes against the pain that suddenly seared through his chest at the remembered failed op and just how much he'd lost. His body trembled slightly when he was once again forced to face the horror of his two year old memories, still painfully fresh in his mind.

"I won't go back," Bodie growled. Rising to his feet, he glared at Cowley. "I lost too much working for you to ever go back." Turning away, he moved to stand by the window, looking out but not really seeing the street below.

"The Hive has resurfaced. They've started killing again."

Shocked, Bodie spun around. "No! That's impossible. I killed every one of those bastards. I torched their ruddy building. Made sure none of them got out alive."

In the space of a heartbeat, Bodie relived every single moment of that time. He felt the rage that had gripped him as he'd killed. Felt the grim satisfaction of knowing that the IRA splinter group known as The Hive, would never hurt anyone again. Felt the emptiness of knowing that no matter how many men he'd killed, he couldn't bring back the dead – couldn't bring back the one person who meant everything to him.

Revenge changed nothing.

"Four civilians are dead. The life of another is at stake," explained Cowley.

"And you want me to protect this person." Bodie shook his head in disbelief. "You must be joking."

"His name is Raymond Doyle." Cowley stood up and moved closer to Bodie. "You know The Hive, Bodie. You also know their tactics. And you, more than anyone, know what will happen to this young man if he isn't protected."

Bodie spat out a searing curse. Squeezing his hands into fists, he seethed with rage. For two long years he'd thought he'd taken out every last member of The Hive. Before he quit CI5 he had made sure that they could never hurt another person again.

He'd been wrong.

For two bloody years, he'd been wrong.

"Tell me where The Hive is now," Bodie demanded in a near growl. "I'll kill every last one of those bastards myself."

"At the moment we don't know their whereabouts. But we do know what, or rather who, they want –"

"Doyle," Bodie stated.

"Aye." Cowley nodded. "If you stay with him, you won't have to find The Hive. They'll find you."

A slow, vicious smile curved Bodie's lips. "Where do I find Doyle?"

***

With a small amount of trepidation, Professor Raymond Doyle stood outside Dean Graham Rutherford's office. He was quite sure of the reason for his being summoned. The dean wanted to impel him into accepting a grant that Doyle had already turned down.

Three years ago he had become employed by the University of Cambridge as a full-time professor in the Studio Arts Department teaching Painting and Life Drawing. Then a year ago he'd been offered to teach an additional class in Cryptography, a particular hobby of his. Doyle had been more than thrilled to accept.

Raising his hand, he knocked on the large wooden door and waited for the dean's deep voice to bid him entrance.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Doyle asked upon entering the room.

"Professor Doyle. Please have a seat." The slightly robust man motioned to a chair situated in front of his large mahogany desk. Once Doyle was seated, the man continued, "Have you made a decision about the grant?"

Doyle stopped himself from releasing a long breath of frustration. "My answer hasn't changed since last week. I won't accept any grant funded by the military."

Dean Rutherford removed his glasses, folded his hands on top of the desk and leaned slightly forward. "You are the only one in the department who can do the work. Hell, as far as I know, you're the only one in the country who can do it."

"That's not true. There are at least four other people who know more about this particular type of cryptology than I do. And two of those people live here in London."

"Perhaps. But they weren't the ones who were offered the grant money, were they? When I spoke with the men who came to see me, it sounded like very exciting work."

"They want me to develop a mathematically based encryption system for military use."

The dean frowned at Doyle in confusion. "I see nothing wrong with that."

"If I do this for them, eventually it will be used offensively. When that happens, people will die. I cannot be responsible for that."

"You've a brilliant mind, Professor Doyle, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you that if you don't agree do this, someone else will." The dean paused a moment, staring directly at Doyle. "The university needs this particular grant."

"I realise that, but I won't have blood on my hands. I just won't do it. Even if it means I have to tender my resignation."

"You don't even know that anyone will get hurt. In fact, your work could possibly save lives."

"What if you're wrong?" Doyle rose to his feet. "No. I can't take that chance. Couldn't live with meself if my work caused the deaths of innocent people."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough." The dean stood as well and said heatedly, "This is your career we're talking about, Mr Doyle. Are you willing to walk away from it because of something that might happen?

Knowing he was sacrificing his job for his own moral beliefs, Doyle replied, "Sorry, sir. I won't be a part of killing. No matter how necessary some British general thinks it may be."

"Your entire future rests on this decision. Take the weekend to think it over one last time. Come and see me on Monday with your final answer."

Doyle didn't bother to tell the dean that he'd already done all the thinking he needed to do. He'd already made up his mind. He would, in no way, agree to do the work. He may be out of a job come Monday, but at least he'd be able to live with himself. That was something no amount of money could buy.

***

Doyle entered his tiny home, flipping on a few lights here and there. He shed his jacket, depositing it on the settee as he made his way through the lounge towards the kitchen. This evening he had stayed later in his office than intended, taking the time to shred every piece of paper that had to do with the military project. Now, he was famished and looking forward to a good meal. Deciding on a tuna casserole, he made quick work preparing it then slid the dish into the heated oven. Fancying a cuppa, he poured water into the kettle. Just as he was about to plug it in, the lights went out, plunging the house into darkness.

"Bloody hell." He sighed and pulled open the drawer that held his torch.

Even though the house he owned had its charm and character, it was also very old. The wiring tended to be a bit finicky at times. This would make the third time this week that he'd blown a fuse.

Switching on the torch, he walked to the cellar door, and carefully descended the bare wooden stairs. The damp, musky room caused Doyle to sneeze twice before he opened the metal door to the fuse box. Having left a new fuse on the workbench nearby, he made quick work of changing the old for the new.

Even with the new fuse in place, the lights refused to come on. He glared at the box while scratching the top of his head. As he contemplated what to do next, above his head the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house.

Doyle froze, listening intently.

A floorboard overhead made a quiet creak and he could hear the slow, methodical steps of at least two people walking around.

Christ, he was being robbed.

Quickly, he extinguished the light and slipped as quietly as he could away from the front of the stairs. The cellar was relatively empty; a few small cardboard boxes lay scattered about, making the only place to hide behind the staircase.

The footsteps came closer to the top of the stairs. Doyle held his breath as a beam of light flashed into the cellar, coming to rest on the spot where he had been standing only seconds before. He frowned slightly when a tiny red dot joined the pool of white and together they slowly slid over the dusty floor.

Staring at the red dot, Doyle sucked in a silent breath as realisation hit. That small red beam could be the sight from a weapon. Just yesterday, in the restroom at the university, he'd overheard two fellow professors discussing some new rifle the military was using that had a laser sight attached.

Doyle's heart hammered in his chest. These men weren't some kids out to nick a television or radio for a few quid. Whoever was in his house was armed with a serious weapon. But why? His mind screamed. Why would men with a gun like that be here?

The white light abruptly swung his way, landing on the floor near his feet. Doyle stood stock-still, knowing if he moved he'd give away his hiding place. The wood of the top step creaked and he watched wide-eyed as a booted foot stepped onto the stairway. Blood pounded loudly in his ears and he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep the gasp from escaping. When the beam of light moved away from him, he slowly and quietly shuffled backwards until his back hit the damp, stone wall behind him. He tightly clutched the torch, knowing it was his only weapon. Also knowing that it would be a poor match against men armed with guns.

Suddenly, there was a sound of a sharp pop, followed by a muffled thump coming from the lounge directly above him. The foot on the stair pivoted, as if the man had turned around to look behind him. Both the white beam of light and the red dot disappeared, casting the cellar into total darkness once again. Doyle heard another pop before the body crashed loudly down the steps, landing with a dull thud on the cellar floor, unmoving.

It only took a heartbeat for Doyle to realise the man was dead. Most of the face was covered with a dark knit mask, but from where Doyle stood, he could see the man's open eyes, glazed and unblinking. The rifle the man had been wielding lay next to his left hand, the red laser light shining a beam across the room to land on the opposite wall. The man's broken torch rested close to his oddly angled left leg. With the gun in easy reach, Doyle made a move to grab for it when the creak of the floorboard had him sliding back into the shadows once again. He glanced up, and to his dismay, saw a new pair of boots land stealthily on the top step.

The newcomer began down the steps, sticking close to the wall so the wood made as little noise as possible. The man's movements were cautious, but had a practiced grace that made Doyle believe that whoever this was had done such things many times before. Doyle watched him kneel before the dead man and press two fingers against the throat. He noticed that even though the man checked for a pulse, his eyes never lowered, they carefully scanned the room and the second Doyle was spotted, the man's body went still.

Their eyes met and a cold sweat began to trickle down Doyle's spine. Clutching the torch even tighter, he brought it up over his right shoulder preparing to swing it like a baseball bat.

"Professor Doyle?" the man asked in a low whisper. "Name's Bodie. I'm not here to harm you. I'm here to get you out." Bodie stood and extended a leather gloved hand. His entire body was encased in black and he wore the same type of face mask as the dead man. The assault rifle he held rested against his thigh with the confidence of someone who was used to handling weapons.

Doyle wanted to believe this man wasn't lying. As he looked into Bodie's eyes, something deep inside Doyle, an innate instinct, told him that Bodie was indeed here to help. He took a tentative step forwards, towards the extended hand, when a quiet thump came from above. Doyle jumped slightly, his heart kicking back into high gear again.

Bodie didn't even flinch. He raised a gloved finger to his lips to indicate silence then knelt to switch off the red light of the laser beam. Once again the cellar was cast into darkness. Doyle fought off the urge to flip on the light to his torch, but knew that if he did it would give away their position to whomever was wandering around upstairs.

Cautiously, Doyle slipped closer to Bodie. "What –" Any other words he had planned to say were muffled by a hand covering his mouth. Bodie pushed Doyle back and used his body to flatten Doyle against the stone wall.

Bending his head down, Bodie's lips brushed against Doyle's ear as he whispered, "Be quiet and I'll get us both out of here alive."

Doyle had no idea what any of this was about, or why these men were in his house trying to harm him. One thing he did know for certain was that no matter how much he wanted to flee from this situation, there was no way he was going to move until Bodie told him he could. He gave Bodie a slight nod to let him know that he understood.

Seeming satisfied, Bodie lessened the pressure of his fingers on Doyle's mouth. Doyle sucked in a deep breath. The movement brought them even closer together and he could feel the heat of Bodie's body seep through his own shirt. Doyle's nose was level with the side of Bodie's neck and he was able to smell the combination of the leather glove, cordite, and warm, male skin. In this deadly situation, he found himself liking the scent – actually found it oddly comforting.

Another loose floorboard sounded, giving away the position of the intruder above. The person was in Doyle's bedroom and he could tell by the slow creak and groan of the floor that the intruder was searching for something – or someone.

Bodie shifted slightly, and the hand that had been hovering over Doyle's mouth came to rest on his shoulder. Once again, he felt the brush of lips against his ear as Bodie spoke in a low, gruff voice. "Stay put. I'll be back for you in a minute."

"But –" Bodie's hand sealed off Doyle's mouth again, stopping any other words from escaping.

"I know what I'm doing. I'll come and get you when it's safe."

Before Doyle knew it, Bodie was gone, disappearing up the stairs and into the darkness without even leaving the faintest sound of his footsteps.

***

Bodie crouched down next to the man he'd just killed in the bedroom to pick up the weapon. A quick glance at it confirmed Bodie's suspicions – the laser weapon had been converted into a tranquilliser gun.

The men who were after Doyle were not here to kill him.

They wanted him alive.

Bodie should have felt relieved at that thought, but he knew The Hive. In the past, they had wanted many other hostages alive – at first.

A shiver ran down Bodie's spine as bitter memories flooded his head, causing his gut to tighten. Two years ago he had failed and it had cost a life. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

Moving out of the bedroom, Bodie headed down the hallway towards the lounge. As he neared the kitchen, a shadow fell across the smashed kitchen door, giving away the presence of another person outside. To Bodie's right the cellar stair creaked. He knew that Doyle was heading right into the line of fire. Gun raised and crouching low, Bodie moved quickly, attempting to cover Doyle's entrance into the kitchen. At the exact same time, the enemy came around the doorframe, making himself a clear target. However before Bodie had time to squeeze the trigger, Doyle entered the room, blocking the path directly between Bodie and his target.

With a silent curse, Bodie dropped the muzzle of his gun down towards the floor. "Doyle! Get down!" he shouted.

The man in the doorway ducked and fired, the dart finding its mark, the tip sinking into the flesh of Doyle's thigh. Doyle jumped, hissing in pain, the rifle in his hands falling to the floor with a metallic clang. For a second, Doyle stared at the object in his leg before reflexively ripping it out and tossing it aside.

Unfortunately, Bodie knew that the damage was already done. Doyle wobbled unsteadily on his legs as the drug began to take effect. He fell to his knees, hands dropping in front of him in an attempt to keep himself upright.

Bodie quickly rose from his crouch, levelled his gun at the enemy and squeezed off one shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the middle of the intruder's chest. Even before the dead man had crumpled on the ground, Bodie was rushing to Doyle's side.

Doyle's fingers were pressed over the wound in his leg, a dark spot of blood staining the material of his jeans. Drug hazed eyes met Bodie's and he knew he didn't have much time to complete the second part of his mission before the drug rendered Doyle unconscious.

Taking Doyle by the shoulders, Bodie gave him a shake. "Don't pass out on me yet, Doyle," he commanded in a quiet growl. "Where's your research?"

Doyle squeezed his eyes shut then opened them wide, trying to focus on Bodie's face. "Wha…?

"Your papers? For the military?"

Clumsily, Doyle's mouth worked to form words. "No papers. All here," he mumbled, tapping a limp finger against his temple. His eyes glazed over, his face went slack and Bodie caught him as his body toppled over.

"Save Doyle at all costs. We need him alive." Cowley's words came back to him. Bodie's orders had been crystal clear. Not wanting to wait around for any more visitors to appear, Bodie scooped Doyle up and positioned him over his shoulder. As soon as his burden was settled, Bodie raised his gun, went out the back door and headed for his Range Rover.

***

From his vantage point across the street, Enrico Krivas lifted the edge of the lacy curtain and watched Professor Doyle being carried away. Something nagged at his memory the second he saw the man who had killed his own men and now had possession of Doyle. Krivas frowned. There was something familiar about the way the man moved. Perhaps it wasn't so much that he knew this particular man as it was the fact that he knew men like him. Men who were dedicated to an ideal they would never see realised.

Such a waste of talent, Krivas thought. It's a shame that someone with so much to offer will be dead in a few hours.

As for Doyle, Krivas would have the pleasure of convincing him to use his special talents to help his organisation.

In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard. The authorities would be arriving any minute and Krivas wanted to be long gone. Letting the curtain fall back into place, he turned, stepping over the bloody remains of the elderly woman who used to occupy the house.

***

Bodie sped down the motorway until the lights from the city were only a faint glow in the night sky. After several lane and speed changes, he was fairly certain that no one was following them. With one last glance in the rear view mirror, he picked up the mic to his radio and turned the dial to the secure frequency.

"3.7 to Alpha One."

"Alpha One, go ahead 3.7," answered Cowley.

"I've got him, sir. A clean-up team will be needed at the house."

"What kind of mess?"

"Three bodies. One van parked in the drive."

"Did you get all Doyle's research?"

"He said there were no papers. That the information is in his head."

"I'll order a sweep of the house to be sure." There was a brief pause before Cowley asked, "What is his condition?"

Bodie looked at Doyle's limp form asleep in the passenger seat. Curled up the way he was against the door, Doyle appeared young and vulnerable. Since Bodie had no way of knowing what kind of tranquilliser had been used or how much was in Doyle's system, he found himself stealing glances to make sure the man was still breathing.

He hoped that there would be no ill effects caused by the drug. They needed Doyle. The professor was their best chance for breaking the most complicated bit of cyphertext that had surfaced since the end of World War II. That was the reason why The Hive, the military and Cowley wanted Doyle alive.

"He was shot with a tranq dart," Bodie replied. "He's still out cold. Perhaps I should take him to hospital."

"No. It's too risky."

"He may need medical attention, sir."

"You've been trained for this type of situation, 3.7. Deal with it."

"I don't like it."

"You have your orders."

"Yes, sir."

Bodie resisted the urge to tell Cowley where he could shove his orders and quickly glanced at Doyle. Auburn curls spilled over his forehead and onto the right side of his cheek. Doyle's skin was too pale and it worried Bodie. If he couldn't take Doyle to hospital then he needed to get him to the closest location that Bodie had scoped out during his quick preparation for this op. Not far up ahead was a lodge where he could take the time to check Doyle out more carefully and focus on getting the drugs out of his system.

"I'll check back in when I'm settled," Bodie said.

"Aye. Report in as soon as you can. Alpha One out." The line went dead and Bodie hung up his mic on the radio.

He drove for another two miles and turned off at the next exit. Pulling around the corner, he brought the Range Rover to a halt, switched off the headlights and waited to see if anyone followed. When he was satisfied that they weren't going to have any company, Bodie turned the lights back on and continued down the narrow laneway until he reached the Pinecroft Lodges. After signing the register under an assumed name, Bodie manoeuvred the vehicle past the main building, following the road until it brought him to a small wooden lodge that was tucked away from all the others.

Bodie shifted around, turning his body towards Doyle, who now sat slumped in his seat, looking rather uncomfortable. Sliding across the bench, Bodie took hold of Doyle's shoulders, lifting his body so that Doyle sat more upright. Doyle let out a quiet moan. His head lolled sideways, coming to rest on Bodie's shoulder. Bodie froze when Doyle's mouth pressed lightly against his throat and warm breath swept over his skin like a caress.

Entirely against Bodie's will, his body responded.

After the botched operation between CI5 and The Hive, Bodie had quit the organisation and gone into isolation – deep isolation – for over two years. Not once during that time had he touched or been touched, sexually or otherwise, by another man.

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut as a spicy scent mixed with male sweat filled his nostrils, scattering his thoughts. His body hardened in a maddening rush of blood – all of it leaking from his brain and heading south.

As if it had a will of its own, Bodie's hand reached out to touch Doyle's hair. The soft, silky texture of a curl slid between his fingers. Doyle released a contented sigh and leaned more heavily against Bodie. Suddenly realising what he was doing, Bodie snapped his hand away and cursed as sweat beaded along his hairline.

Why did it have to be a man who needed rescuing? A man whose exotic good looks were very appealing. It was the first time in two years that he'd been attracted to someone and he wasn't sure how that made him feel. Actually, if he was to take a moment to be honest with himself, it scared the hell out of him and he didn't want any part of it.

With an effort of will, Bodie moved away so that no part of him was in contact with Doyle. He adjusted Doyle's head so that it was resting comfortably against the seat, doing his best to touch the man as little as possible. Although he tried to ignore it, Bodie could still smell Doyle's unique scent and was sure he would remember it for a very long time.

After several long seconds, Bodie managed to slow his breathing back to a normal rhythm. He got out of the truck, walked around to Doyle's side and opened the passenger door. Under the cover of darkness, he hefted Doyle onto his shoulder and quickly made his way into the lodge.

***

The smell of strong coffee worked its way into Doyle's brain, slowly bringing him back to consciousness. His head felt like it had been dragged behind a lorry and his mouth was as dry as a barren wasteland. Unsteadily, he reached for the glass of water he kept on his bedside table, but instead of touching the smooth, cool glass, his fingers encountered something hard and warm instead.

Panic sparked to life, the adrenaline rushing through his body like fire through dry timber. Doyle's eyes shot open, the meagre light in the room stabbed at his skull, causing him to groan in pain.

"Easy," said a quiet, deep voice close by.

A warm hand slid around the nape of Doyle's neck, helping him to sit up.

"Here. Drink some water." The cool edge of a glass was pressed again his lips. Obediently, Doyle opened his mouth and welcomed the wave of cold liquid that slid down his throat.

Forcing his eye open, Doyle squinted as the dim lighting from the bedside lamp made his temples throb. The man sitting on the edge of the bed shifted his body so that his shadow fell across Doyle's eyes.

"Your headache should ease off in a little while. These pills will help." Two pills were pushed into Doyle's palm and he stared at them for a second before placing them inside his mouth. Once again the glass was offered, but his hand shook as he tried to take it. "Let me." When he felt the rim of the glass rest against his bottom lip, he parted his mouth, allowing the water to wash the pills down.

"Ta," Doyle said, his voice rough. He looked up, trying to focus on the other man. Although his vision was a little fuzzy, Doyle could easily see the set of wide shoulders and muscular chest. The man sat only inches from him. An arm was still supporting the weight of Doyle's shoulders, and Doyle could feel the heat of the hand pressing against him, its warmth seeping through his shirt.

Although the man seemed vaguely familiar, Doyle couldn't quite place him. Oddly enough, he did recognize his scent – leather, sweat, cordite – and somehow knew, without a doubt, that this man was responsible for getting him out of his house alive.

"Who are you? No. Wait." Doyle held up a shaky hand and concentrated on what had transpired that evening. It took a few seconds before the whole night came flooding back to him and he had to clamp down on the rising panic. With an effort of will, he forced himself to think logically, rationally. After a few deep breaths, he became calm enough that he could manage a clear thought and the name of the man came back to him. "Bodie, right?"

"Right," Bodie replied with a little smirk.

"Where are we?" Doyle asked around a yawn. "What am I doing here? And who were those blokes in my house?"

Bodie ignored his questions and eased him back down onto the mattress. Doyle's body felt boneless, weak. He didn't have the strength to sit up under his own power. It was a very vulnerable position to be in. Suddenly, fear began to rush through him.

Bodie must have seen the trepidation on his face because he laid a soothing hand on Doyle's forehead and brushed back his curls. "The weakness will pass in a little while. It's an after-effect of the tranquilliser –"

"Tranquilliser?" His brain supplied him with memories of the sharp pain, seeing the small, needle-like object sticking out of his thigh and reaching down to jerk it out. At the time, he'd not processed what had happened, however now it was clear that he'd been shot with some sort of dart. Like the kind he'd seen used on animals.

"Those pills I gave you will help clear the tranquillisers out of your system. You'll be feeling like your old self in no time." Bodie's fingers shifted from Doyle's forehead to lightly touch his temple. "How's the head?"

"Feels like it's been trampled by elephants."

A faint grin lifted the side of Bodie's face. "That bad, eh?" Bodie stood up. He moved into the tiny kitchen and Doyle could hear the clink of ice hitting glass followed by the hiss of water.

"Where are we?" Doyle enquired again.

"Outside of London. This place is only a temporary stop over. Had to make sure you were all right and to find out if there were any other copies of your work anywhere."

Work? Doyle frowned and blinked in confusion. "What work?"

Bodie returned to stand by the side of the bed and stared down at Doyle. From his vantage point, Doyle could see that Bodie was a fairly tall bloke with short, dark hair and a handsome face which was shadowed in dark stubble. He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. The tight, dark clothing nicely accentuated the well muscled body. Bodie possessed the kind of masculinity that could make both women and men, who happened to cross his path, do a serious double take – and that was exactly what Doyle was doing.

It shocked Doyle to be looking at Bodie with anything more than idle curiosity. Doyle had always had a fairly active sex life, although he'd never had such an instant attraction to a man as he was having with Bodie. He'd always preferred to get to know someone first. Go out on a few dates, before taking them to his bed. However, looking at Bodie, he found himself wanting to know what it would feel like to have that amazing body cover his own and press him down into the mattress. To have those soft looking lips take possession of his mouth. Perhaps it was the drugs causing him to feel this way, or perhaps it was the fact that Bodie had pinned Doyle up against that stone wall at a time when his whole system was being flooded with adrenalin. No matter the reason, at the moment Doyle was seeing Bodie as a very interesting, very physically appealing man.

"I've been given clearance to know about your work with encryption algorithms for the military," Bodie said, watching Doyle closely. "There's no need for you to hide it."

Doyle struggled to sit up, but his muscles refused to cooperate, making him want to scream in frustration. "I'm not hiding anything," he snapped. "I'm not doing any encryption work for the military. I gave it up when I found out they were the ones paying."

"And all the work you did before you gave it up? Where is it?"

"What little I did document, I destroyed."

"Bullshit." Even though Bodie's voice was quiet, his tone was still harsh enough to convey his disbelief.

"Pardon?"

"I was informed about your work on project Ghost Shield. You were offered a lot of money to do the work. You wouldn't have just thrown it all away."

"Don't know what you're talking about. I've never heard of project Ghost Shield."

"Not the name, perhaps, but you were offered grant money to complete your research."

"Grant money?" Doyle sneered. "More like blood money.

Bodie gave Doyle a casual shrug of indifference. "Call it what you want. All I want to know, Doyle, is the whereabouts of your research."

"Look, Bodie. Already told you, didn't I? Everything I had I destroyed."

Bodie stood silent, watching Doyle as if he was trying to determine the truth of his words. "You're sure there are no other copies anywhere? No forgotten files? Nothing written on paper napkins just lying about?"

"You think I'm an idiot, do you?" Doyle asked angrily, wishing that he had the strength to get up and thump the man. "I know better than to leave anything that valuable hanging about where anyone could find it and use it. I'll tell you one last time; everything I did for that project has been destroyed. Probably lose my job because I did."

One dark eyebrow rose. "You're going to be fired?"

"The university is undergoing budget cuts. Without that grant, I'm out."

"And even though you were going to be fired if you didn't take the grant money, you were still refusing to do the work?

"Yes. I refuse to do anything in support of violence. There was a chance my work would be used against innocent people. I will not be responsible for their deaths."

Bodie regarded Doyle for a moment before nodding and sitting down on the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight, causing Doyle to roll into Bodie's side until his hip rested against Bodie's leg. Doyle felt his heart skip a beat at the close contact.

Bodie slid his arm behind Doyle and propped him up against the "v" between Bodie's arm and body. The glass was held for Doyle to drink, but a little water spilled out the side of his mouth to trickle down his chin and neck. The cold liquid made Doyle gasp as it slid down onto his chest. Bodie grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and a shiver passed through Doyle as the long, strong fingers slipped beneath the collar of his shirt to dab at the trail of water.

"Cold?" Bodie asked, moving his gaze away from Doyle's chest. "Depressants can sometimes do that. Not to mention shock."

Doyle looked away from Bodie's hand to his face. He tried to concentrate on the man's words rather than just Bodie's mouth moving. It looked soft yet firm and Doyle found himself bizarrely wondering if the man knew how to kiss as well as he could kill.

"Shock?" Doyle mumbled, his gaze returning to look at Bodie's hand and the way the long fingers tapered to short, neatly trimmed fingernails.

Bodie lifted an amused brow. "You don't think that being attacked in your own home and shot at is enough to shock you?" As he talked, Bodie pulled the sheet and blanket up, carefully tucking it under Doyle's chin. The kind, almost intimate gesture caused Doyle's stomach to do a little flip. He watched Bodie closely, but nothing on the man's face gave away what he was thinking.

"Are you going to take me home in the morning?"

Bodie's head came up to meet his eyes and Doyle could see a hint of sadness in their depth. "No, Doyle. You can't go back home." Bodie paused. "You can never go home again."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Doyle's chest tightened in disbelief and he struggled to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," Bodie said, touching Doyle's shoulder. "It's way it has to be, mate. You'd best get used to it."

"I don't understand."

Before answering, Bodie stared at Doyle for a long minute. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Fear, confusion and isolation swirled together within Doyle, creating a cold ache in the pit of his stomach. "All I want to do is go home."

"You are currently listed as the most gifted civilian cryptologist in the country – possibly even the world."

Doyle nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculous statement. "That's absurd. My main work is as an artist. A painter. Cryptology is only a hobby of mine. There are at least two other men in London alone who have more knowledge and experience in that particular area than I do."

Bodie's voice was very low and quiet when he spoke. "Six months ago, perhaps, but no longer."

Doyle frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"You only need to know that the same thing will not happen to you," Bodie answered determinedly.

"Sure of that, are you?"

"Yes." Bodie's fingers carded through Doyle's mussed curls and Doyle was regarded with a fierce, unwavering stare. "Because they didn't have me protecting them."

***

Bodie watched Doyle as he fell back to sleep again. The tranquilliser was still affecting him, but not as much as Bodie had first feared. He could breathe a little easier knowing that the drugs weren't going to kill Doyle and now it was entirely up to Bodie to see that nothing else did.

Doyle shifted onto his side, the covers slipping down his arm. Bodie found himself reaching out to tug the blanket back up to cover the exposed shoulder. They couldn't stay in this lodge much longer, but Bodie wanted to give Doyle every minute possible to allow the drugs to work their way out of his system. He could tell by the panic he'd seen in Doyle's green eyes just how much it frightened him not to be in control of his own body.

Bodie doubted that Doyle fully grasped the concept that his name was at the top of a terrorist hit list. Four other men had been on that same list. Each had been kidnapped by The Hive because they possessed the expertise for cracking obscure codes. Those four men had either refused to cooperate or had simply been unable to break the code for they all had been found dead. Executed by The Hive. Bodie couldn't bring himself to tell Doyle that he was next. The man had already been through enough today.

As much as Bodie disliked having his isolation disturbed, he admitted that Cowley had been right to call him back into CI5. He knew just what would happen to Doyle if he didn't do this right. Mistakes were one hell of an effective teacher.

Bodie only wished that Doyle didn't appeal to him so much. With his scruffy curls and lean, muscular body, the man allured Bodie like no other had done before. He couldn't forget Doyle's unique scent or the quiet noises he made while sleeping. And it seemed like every time Bodie had to touch Doyle, he felt himself become excited.

It was pathetic, really.

Even though Bodie had gone more than two years without sex, he should be able to have enough restraint to stop touching Doyle more than was absolutely necessary. But it was as if his hands had a mind of their own. His fingers would caress the curly hair, touch Doyle's cheek or pat his shoulder.

All completely unnecessary.

But quite nice, actually.

It was possible that his protective instincts were running on overdrive, but Bodie had to keep fighting off the urge to pull Doyle into his arms and say that everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, Bodie understood the reality of the situation. It wasn't going to be okay – not by a long chalk. Chances were high that if Doyle wanted to stay alive, he would have to walk away from the life he knew and cut all ties with friends and family.

Doyle released a quiet moan in his sleep and Bodie looked down at the pale face. At least the drugs were wearing off quickly enough that Doyle should be able to walk out of here under his own power. That would keep Bodie from needing to touch Doyle more, which was for the best.

Come morning, Bodie hoped that he would be able to convince Doyle to cooperate with CI5 before they made it to the safe house, where Cowley would undoubtedly be ready to pounce. Bodie'd not been given the code that his boss wanted Doyle to break. "Strictly classified," Cowley had said. What his boss did say was that the information would lead them straight to the remaining members of The Hive.

The need for revenge still burned deeply within Bodie, even though he knew it would never change the past. He needed to wipe out every person involved with The Hive. Only then would he be satisfied.

For him to accomplish his goal, he needed Doyle's complete and utter cooperation. And, one way or another, that was what he was going to get.

***

Part 2

Men Stock Icons

2010-10-22T21:43:48Z

Made 15 m/m icons yesterday.

You can find them over here on my clmiles journal for original work.

TEASERS:

Please be sure to credit clmiles if snagged. Thank you!

Happy Birthday, aprilvalentine!!

2010-10-04T22:24:52Z

Wishing you every happiness for your birthday! Hope you had a wonderful day.

Hugs, Chris

Happy Birthday, sun_shined!!

2010-10-04T22:21:51Z

Happy Birthday, Nicky! Hope you had a great day and that you got to celebrate it with the people you love! May all your birthday dreams and wishes come true.

Love, Chris xxx

Happy Belated Birthday, rromantic!!

2010-10-01T21:10:19Z

Sorry I'm a day late with the wishes! Hope you had a wonderful day!

Hugs, Chris

QAF - 2 Gale Harold Wallpapers

2010-09-29T22:58:13Z

I had a few requests to make some wallpapers using Gale's new promo pic from Hellcats. Here are two that I finshed today. Hope you like them.

*hugs* Chris

Wallpaper size: 1280 x 1024

Note 1: As always, please take if you like.
Note 2: Comments and feedback always appreciated.

(click on images a few times for largest size)

Happy Birthday, gale_h_girl!!

2010-09-29T18:40:09Z

Best wishes for your birthday and throughout the coming year!

*hugs* Chris

Happy Birthday, smirra!!

2010-09-29T18:34:16Z

Wishing you a wonderful year of happiness and love. Happy Birthday!

*hugs* Chris

Happy Birthday, pfodge!!

2010-09-29T18:28:07Z

Best wishes for happiness today and always! May your birthday and the year ahead be wonderful!

*hugs* Chris

QAF - Brian/Justin Wallpaper

2010-09-27T22:47:27Z

I love seeing Brian and Justin dancing together... so I made a wallpaper *g*

Wallpaper size: 1280 x 1024

Note 1: As always, please take if you like.
Note 2: Comments and feedback always appreciated.

(click on image for largest size)

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 8 of 8)

2010-09-17T01:22:44Z

Doyle scooted around until his feet were pressed against the interior wall of the boot. He knew something about cars now that he hadn't known when he was five, not that it would have made any difference back then. He'd been too little to kick out the back seat – but he wasn't little any more.

His head was spinning and he felt weak. His skin was wet and clammy, his breathing laboured.

It was now or never.

Bringing his knees up, he thrust out, kicking the interior wall where the seat would be. It didn't budge. He pulled back and kicked again, harder. Something gave. Encouraged, he kicked again, and it gave a little more. A few more well-placed kicks and the back seat broke away from the frame. Writhing around, he used his hands to shove the seat forward a few inches. Immediately he put his face to the opening, taking a deep breath. Then another, and another. Relief eased his panic. He wasn't out of the boot yet, but he wouldn't suffocate, not today, anyway.

Turning so he was on his side, he put his shoulder to the seat, planted his feet on the opposite side, and shoved as hard as he could. The seat moved forward a few more inches. Just as he felt it begin to give way, he heard a click and froze.

The lid of the boot suddenly popped open and the interior light flicked on.

Raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness, he blinked several times, trying to assess the person standing before him, car keys in one hand, gun in the other.

His captor smiled and motioned at him to get out of the boot. "I'm happy to see you're still alive. Sadly, that's a condition that won't last much longer."

As Doyle uncurled his body and climbed out, he held on to the bumper to keep from falling. The chloroform, combined with lack of fresh air, not to mention yelling and kicking, had weakened him considerably. But his brain still functioned just fine, and that was all he needed.

Raising his head, Doyle looked into the deadest blue eyes he'd ever seen. "When you touched me, before the chloroform," he said, "I saw it all. Everything."

"Really."

Doyle nodded slowly, buying as much time as he could. With each passing second, his strength was returning, and he was going to need it.

"I know what you have in mind. It's never going to work," Doyle said. "The police aren't idiots. There's no way you can get away with this."

***

As Bodie threw the car into gear and slammed his foot down on the accelerator, all he could think about was Doyle in the hands of a murderous madman. He may already be dead for all he knew—

No... he stopped that train of thought before it could intensify itself. If Doyle were dead, Bodie would know it. He may not have fully accepted Doyle's abilities, but if being psychic was akin to a sense of finely tuned intuition, that he understood.

Doyle was alive – Bodie would know if he weren't.

But Doyle could be suffering. That alone was enough to break his heart and send a fire racing through his blood.

Just then, he felt something of Doyle move through his body. Doyle's life force, energy, thoughts, soul, for all he knew. The two of them were connected to each other in some way he never had been with another human being. He relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel a little, as certain as he could be about anything on this earth that Doyle loved him. Perhaps Doyle hadn't said it back, and perhaps that was okay, but it was there all the same. Bodie knew it.

"Turn here," Robert said, gesturing to a road that veered off to the left. "About half a mile down, there's a wrought iron fence on the right. I'll tell you where to park so the cameras won't pick us up."

As they drove along the smoothly paved street, the headlights reached out in front of them, illuminating tufts of grey fog blowing over the road.

"Got a match on that partial print we found on the diary," Bodie said.

Robert nodded. "The brother."

"Right. Terence Wadsworth was brought in on a drink driving charge a few years ago. His big shot lawyer uncle got the charges dropped, but not before he was fingerprinted."

Robert nodded again. "Arthur began to suspect it might be his brother, so we set up the hidden cameras to monitor Terence's activities. Terence has been slipping him knock-out drops, reading his journal, and mimicking the murders Arthur had dreamt about."

"Bastard." Bodie snarled.

"That would be my – pull over here," Robert ordered. "There's a locked side gate next to the garages. I know the code."

A moment later, letting the gate close quietly behind him, Bodie pulled his weapon and moved silently through the shadows of the large garage. He could see a silver Aston Martin, a gold Porsche, and a black Mercedes. The Mercedes had its boot wide open and it appeared as if somebody had attempted to kick out the back seat.

Panic hit him right in the middle of his gut.

Bloody hell, Terence had locked Doyle in the boot. His eyes closed for a moment and he felt nauseous. What had Doyle gone through, locked inside the boot of a car... again? What kind of terror had he endured? Terence couldn't have come up with a better way to torture Doyle than to lock him inside that small, dark space.

Inside the boot, on the floor lay a crumpled rag. Judging from the lingering scent, it had been doused with chloroform. Bodie let his anger roll through him, chill his blood, strengthen his resolve.

Robert had drawn his own weapon and sidled up next to Bodie. Glancing into the boot, Robert said quietly, "No blood. He's okay, Will. Doyle got up and walked out. He's smart and resourceful. We'll find him."

Bodie lifted his gaze, and the two brothers locked eyes for a minute. For the first time, he saw worry, maybe even fear, on Robert's face.

Simultaneously, they glanced at the house, at the partially open kitchen door. Since there appeared to be only a few lights on inside the house, Bodie hoped they could make their way through it without being detected.

"As soon as we get in," Robert whispered. "I'll disable the security system. It's in a small room off the kitchen."

Bodie nodded. "I'll head upstairs. Follow me when you're done."

As the two men silently moved through the kitchen door, the silence was suddenly shattered by the sound of a gun blast. Upstairs, a window smashed apart, and someone yelled.

"Doyle." Bodie mouthed his name, unable to find any breath in his body to give it voice. A second later he broke into a run, his brother hard on his heels.

***

Doyle flattened himself against the bedroom wall, his heart racing. While his bones had frozen stiff, his muscles had gone weak. Against his heaving ribs, he felt the hard barrel of a gun.

"That was a clever move, Doyle," Terence said sarcastically. "Try knocking the gun out of my hand again, and I won't care how I kill you. I'll simply do it."

Glancing around the room, Doyle noticed a figure lying prone across the bed, and guessed it must be Arthur. Gesturing toward him with his chin, Doyle rasped, "Is he dead?"

Terence chuckled. "Now, what good would killing him do? If I'd wanted him dead, I'd have done it months ago." He gave a little shrug. "If I had killed him, suspicion would have fallen on me. This way, he's convicted of murders even he thinks he committed, and I get all the sympathy and none of the blame."

Doyle's mouth went dry. Licking his lips, he said, "You've been drugging him, haven't you? So he'd be asleep on the nights you went out to kill."

Terence laughed as though Doyle had just told a great joke. "How else could I make sure he didn't have an alibi? I'll tell you, that dream log of his was a stroke of genius. When I read it, I felt like it was the answer to my prayers. And it was fun, too. A real test of my skills."

"Your skills?" Doyle stared into the eyes of the man who held his life in his hands. "Killing innocent people is a game to you?"

"No," Terence said. "Of course not." His blue eyes sparkled with a menace so astounding Doyle wanted to look away. "I have an infinite capacity to compartmentalise. I set aside my human feelings and focus on the job. In order for the plan to work, people had to die. I'm sorry for it, but that's just the way it had to be."

Stepping back, Terence lowered the gun a little as his expression changed from anger to regret.

"You have to understand, Doyle," Terence said. "I worked my arse off for my father. I got the highest grades in every school I attended, I graduated with honours, I even ran the company when Dad fell ill. I did it all, while Arthur played, gambled, partied, and screwed everything in skirts."

Taking a breath, Terence gazed around the large room, but Doyle was sure the man wasn't seeing his brother's room. Instead he was seeing a whole different world, a world in which Terence Wadsworth ruled.

"I drove myself," Terence went on, "night and day, with board meetings and data analyses, trips all over the world to talk to our subsidiaries and our customers. I made that company work," he hissed.

Terence's eyes suddenly filled with tears, but he angrily swept them away, as though they were burning his flesh. Taking another breath, he raised the barrel of the gun to Doyle's chest.

"I expected to inherit the company," Terence choked. "I adored my father, and I know he loved me. But he never saw me, saw what I did, the contributions I made. And the truth became known to me the day he died and I discovered he'd left everything to Arthur. It was as though I'd literally been stabbed in the back."

Doyle tried not to look at the gun, but his eyes kept drifting down to it, wishing it would point in some other direction.

"So you decided to eliminate Arthur, one way or the other," Doyle said.

Terence sniffed, then blotted his nose on his sleeve. "Killing Arthur outright would have raised all kinds of suspicions. I tried to get him to step down, convince him I was better suited to run the company. He could still party, spend loads of money... but no. No, he decided it might be fun to stand at the helm of my father's empire, the empire I should have inherited."

Doyle glanced around the room again. The door through which they'd entered stood open. Behind him, there was another door, but who knew where that led... right into a cupboard, for all he knew. The door closer to the bed was probably a private bathroom. Of course, there was always the broken window.

"... slipped things into his drinks and food to make him sick, give him nightmares, sleepless nights," Terence was saying. He kept talking as though he needed to tell somebody the whole sordid tale. Terence had been holding all this in for a year, and now he literally had a captive audience. He could unburden himself with impunity, since he probably figured Doyle would be too dead to pass the information along.

Terence paced the room for a moment, then turned again to Doyle.

"It started getting really good when he found the shoe. He was utterly convinced he'd killed her."

Doyle's pulse jumped. "Laura Sullivan's shoe? The woman who was strangled in St. James's Park?"

Moving to the window, Terence pulled the heavy curtain aside with the barrel of the gun, and looked out into the darkness. "From then on, I began getting more creative, making sure Arthur had blood on his hands or clothes when he woke up. I made certain he saw the newspaper articles about that old tramp in the alley and the guy in the fishing boat. I thought he'd crack any second, but he never did. Sit," Terence ordered him. "There." He gestured with the gun to a plush chair in front of the massive flagstone fireplace that took up the entire wall of the bedroom.

Never taking his eyes off the gun, Doyle eased his shaking body into the chair. As soon as he'd settled, Terence moved to the desk by the broken window, opened the drawer, and with a gloved hand removed a long, thin blade.

"My brother uses this as a letter opener," Terence said with a laugh. "It has his prints all over it."

"Why'd you come to my house that day?"

"So you'd follow me, get my vehicle registration number, and give it to the police. Hell, I gave you every clue, practically drew you a bloody map."

Doyle raised his chin. "You wanted me to get your car number. Wanted me to give it to the police so they'd find Arthur."

"Exactly. But when nobody put two and two together, I decided to move things along a little more quickly."

Doyle tried to get a line on Terence, a weakness, something he could use against the man. Looking Terence in the eye, he said, "Where's your humanity? Even people who are bad have some redeeming qualities."

"Perhaps I used to," Terence said with a sigh. "A long time ago, but I lost it somewhere along the way, and I don't care to get it back. When we were children, I loved Arthur. I suppose I still do, however there are more important things in life than love. Love never got me anywhere, now did it? Money. Power. That's what's important. One day I just decided I'd do anything to have as much of both as I could get."

"You think killing me will end this? They'll find me here and assume Arthur murdered me?"

Instead of answering, Terence glanced at his watch. "It's been lovely chatting with you, but it's getting late. I need to kill you so I can leave. When the servants arrive in the morning, they'll find your body on my brother's bedroom floor, your blood on his hands." He glanced at Arthur's prone form. "He should be awake by then. He'll think he actually killed you, so I'm sure he'll go willingly-"

"No, Terence, I won't."

Doyle spun around in his chair in time to see Arthur sit up on the bed, a revolver in his hand, rage in his eyes.

As Terence stared in shock at his brother, Doyle leapt out of the chair and bolted for the open bedroom door, slamming the light switch off as he ran, plunging the room into darkness.

The sound of a gun blast made him cry out as the wood in the doorjamb next to his face exploded behind him. Didn't stop him, though. He didn't stop to see who'd fired it or whether it had found its mark. He just kept running.

***

Bodie finished calling for backup and shoved his RT back into his jacket. Two more shots exploded from somewhere upstairs. Running for the wide staircase, he and Robert reached the bottom step at the same time. Without so much as glancing at each other, weapons drawn, they started up the stairs, taking two at a time.

Just when Bodie made it to the top step a little ahead of his brother, a shadow appeared in the darkened bedroom about ten feet down the hall to his right. He caught the glint, and realised the figure in the doorway was armed.

"Drop your weapon!" Bodie yelled. Clutching his gun in both hands, he raised it straight in front of him.

His eyes glued on the figure, Bodie began to inch forward when he felt fingers coil hard around his collar. Robert jerked him off balance, then quickly stepped in front of him.

From the shadows at the opposite end of the hallway a second figure appeared, a shot exploded. A split second later, Robert lurched against Bodie's shoulder, knocking him down, trapping Bodie's gun hand between them.

Another shot from the shadowy hallway went wide. Robert raised his arm and squeezed off a shot, then slumped against Bodie.

As he wrestled himself out from under his brother and stood, the figure in the doorway stepped into the hall – Arthur Wadsworth. A gun dangled loosely from his limp arm, a wash of red blood smeared his shoulder. His face was pale and haggard as he slid to the carpet.

"Terence. The back stairway," Arthur managed. Raising his arm, he pointed down the hall. "That way."

Bodie spun to face his brother.

"Goddammit!" Bodie shouted, grabbing Robert by the arm, yanking him up, shoving him back against the wall. "What the hell were you doing?"

Instead of glaring back at him, Robert blinked slowly, his eyes gone dull and sleepy. As Bodie watched, Robert's lips curved into a smile, then faded as his legs seemed to go out from under him.

Bodie caught Robert in his arms just before his body hit the floor. Easing his brother onto the carpet, he drew his hand away and realised it was sticky with blood.

"Robert? Shit, no... God, what..."

Robert's eyes pinched open. "You didn't see Terence. I did."

"So you stepped in front of me to take a bullet, you stupid arse! Why?"

His voice harsh, his breathing laboured, Robert whispered, "You're... my brother."

The two men stared at each other for a second, then Bodie blinked.

"I've got to go," Bodie rasped. "You okay?"

"I'll live."

Bodie squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Arsehole."

"Berk." Robert smirked.

On the floor in front of the bedroom doorway, Arthur let out a long moan.

"I'll take care of him," Robert said. With a flick of his gaze down the hall, he bit out, "Go get that bastard for me, will you?"

***

Doyle knew he had a good head start, but the house was so dark, he was losing valuable time just trying to figure out where he was and not bump into any of the furniture – or Terence's gun.

Having been brought onto the estate inside the boot of a car put him at a disadvantage. He hadn't seen the road, landscape, or even what the house looked like until he'd walked into the back of the house from the garage.

After fleeing Arthur's bedroom, it had been pure dumb luck that he'd found a staircase leading down to what appeared to be a workroom off the kitchen.

Keeping low, Doyle crept along as quickly as he dared, heading toward what appeared to be a door. Light coming from somewhere else in the house eased the shadows a little, helping him find his way. All around him it was deathly quiet. Any noise he made could bring Terence down on him in an instant.

When he reached the door, he turned the handle and opened it only as far as he needed to inch through, then silently closed it behind him. He stood on some kind of patio surrounded by large oak trees. The already dark grounds were made even darker by the branches swaying high overhead and the dense fog that lay low on the earth like a damp blanket. Faint moonlight tried to shine through the fog, but it was a losing battle.

A few feet away from the patio, Doyle caught sight of a path that led away from the house and into what looked like a garden. Beyond that the mist obscured everything and he had no idea what he'd be running into.

However, he did know what lay behind him, so whatever was ahead of him couldn't be any worse.

As he plunged into the fog, he heard the door through which he'd just exited being flung open. Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes were met with only grey mist. He quickened his pace, keeping his attention focused on his feet, hoping the brick pathway would lead to some sort of safety.

He considered trying to make his way back to the garage to get a car, but it was unlikely any of the cars had their keys conveniently dangling in the ignition. Besides, that was something Terence would probably anticipate. Best to stay clear of the garage.

As he stumbled along, Doyle's eyes grew used to the darkness. Throwing another glance over his shoulder, he left the path and slid behind a trunk of an enormous elm tree, flattening himself against the rough trunk.

Slowly, he eased himself down into a crouch as far as he could, held his breath, and listened.

Nothing. He wondered if perhaps Terence was doing the same thing.

The air was cold, sending shivers through Doyle's body. He rubbed his arms, trying to warm up but it was no use. The mist dampened his hair, his skin. His clothing felt wet and uncomfortable.

The snap of a twig a few feet away made his heart jump. He wasn't wearing white, however his jade-coloured shirt may be light enough to be seen in the fog, and Terence, dressed all in black, would be nearly invisible.

Doyle looked around. Eerie shapes, tree branches dipping low to the ground, rocks, thorny bushes, all became barriers to his freedom.

"Doooyyyle," Terence's voice taunted him from a few yards away.

Shit, Terence was much closer than Doyle had anticipated. His only option at the moment was to stay where he was until Terence either moved off in another direction or walked by.

Footsteps in the dark, receding, it seemed, in the opposite direction. Doyle shivered, but whether it was from the cold or sheer terror, he couldn't have said. Wanting to put as much distance as he could between himself and Terence, Doyle moved. As he stepped away from the tree, his foot kicked a small stone, sending it rolling away. A second later, it connected with the side of a metal rake lying at the edge of the path. The clang the contact made resonated loudly through the quiet night air and Doyle bit his bottom lip, knowing that Terence had to have heard it.

He moved quickly, hoping he could be somewhere else by the time Terence reached the spot where Doyle had been standing. As he rounded a large, leafy bush, he skidded to a halt.

"Hello, Ray, love," Terence cooed. The gun he held was pointed straight at Doyle's heart.

Doyle let his arms drop to his sides in capitulation. There was nowhere left to run, and they both knew it.

"Change of plans," Terence said, moving quickly forward. "Unexpected company. Instead of killing you, I need you as a hostage. Come on." He gestured with the barrel of the gun. "This way."

Knowing that if he was taken away by this madman he'd surely die, Doyle decided his only option was to put his life into his own hands. As they walked along the path leading up to the garage, Doyle's eyes roamed the ground for any type of weapon he could use against Terence. Spotting a medium sized rock a few feet ahead, Doyle pretended to trip, falling to his knees. As Terence grabbed him by his arm and yanked him roughly to his feet, Doyle snatched up the rock undetected.

Curling his fingers around his weapon, Doyle quickly twisted around, leapt forward, and slammed the rock against the side of Terence's head as hard as he could. Terence screamed and fell to his knees.

A few seconds later, Bodie came barrelling through the fog, grabbed Terence's arm and flipped him onto his stomach. Pressing his knee into Terence's back, Bodie retrieved the dropped gun. From his back pocket he pulled out a pair of handcuffs and snapped them first on one wrist, then the other.

Out of the mist, men with guns and torches emerged, swarming the area. Floodlights came on, washing the darkness with bright light. Blinking rapidly, Doyle covered his eyes and turned his head away.

When he looked back, Bodie had risen to his feet and was coming toward him. Before he could move, strong hands latched onto his shoulders. Holding Doyle at arm's length away from him, Bodie looked him up and down. "Tell me you're all right," he panted, sounding like he'd just run a thousand miles and more.

Doyle looked up at Bodie, at his smudged face, his rumpled hair, his grin and practically threw himself into Bodie's arms. As Bodie wrapped his arms around him and placed his cheek against Doyle's hair, Doyle spoke the words he'd been longing to say ever since Bodie'd said them to him in the car. "I love you. God, Bodie. Should have told you before, but I-"

"It's okay, Ray," Bodie soothed. "You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do!" Doyle insisted. "I love you. Just didn't know how to tell you."

Bodie's bright, happy grin made Doyle's stomach do a little flip. "And I love you," he said, voice warm and mellow. "Even if you are a stubborn, pig-headed-"

"Hey!" Doyle laughed and swatted at Bodie's arm.

It was done. It was done, and now that it was, Doyle wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life in Bodie's arms, walking by his side.

"Tell me the truth, Ray." Bodie lifted his face with a knuckle, eyes serious. "Are you really all right? I know you were locked in the boot of the-"

"I'm fine." Doyle smiled at him. "I found the strength to finally deal with my demons. I kicked me way out of that boot, Bodie. Harry would have been proud of me. I would have got away, too, but Terence showed up."

Bodie glanced around, and seeing that they were alone, pulled Doyle to him. "I'm proud of you," he whispered, and took Doyle's mouth in a tender, loving kiss.

Pulling back a little, Doyle asked, "Do you finally believe I'm psychic? That I can see other people's dreams?"

Bodie looked at him for a long time, then said with a wry smile, "Perhaps one more small test is in order."

"Test?" Doyle said warily.

"Close your eyes and tell me what I dreamt last night. If you get it right, you'll have made a believer out of me. Deal?"

Doyle smiled. "Deal."

Reaching out, Doyle took Bodie's hand and curled his fingers around it. He had only lowered his eyelids for a second before he immediately raised them again.

"Oh!" Doyle laughed, looking deeply into Bodie's eyes. "We'll definitely have to try out those positions."

"Bloody right we will." Bodie grinned, bent his head and claimed Doyle's mouth, his soul, his life.

***

Epilogue:

Bodie sat on the sofa in Doyle's living room, an exhausted Doyle plastered against his side. It had been one hell of a long, daunting day and night and it was all finally taking its toll on Doyle. It chilled Bodie to the bone every time he thought of how differently this day could have ended. The reminder sent a shiver down his spine and he tightened his arms, pulling Doyle even closer.

The movement caused Doyle to stir. Doyle shifted a bit and his arm slid even further around Bodie's waist. "Bodie?" he murmured.

"Shh, it's okay, love." Bodie kissed the top of his head. "Everything's fine. You're safe. Go back to sleep."

"Okay," Doyle mumbled before drifting off to sleep again.

"Is he all right?" Collin asked. He carried a tray laden with tea and biscuits into the room and set it down onto the coffee table.

"Yeah, just knackered," Bodie replied, slowly caressing Doyle's arm with his fingers.

"I can imagine. Want some?" Collin gestured toward the tea.

"Not yet," Bodie answered quietly.

After pouring himself a cup, Collin sat down in the chair opposite the sofa and asked, "How's your brother?"

"The doctors got the bullet out of his chest. He's going to hurt like hell for a while, but he'll live."

"I'm so glad." Collin blew on his tea before taking a cautious sip. "God, I'm so relieved that this whole thing is finally over. What's going to happen to the others?"

"Gavin Hughes is going to make it. When he woke up, the first thing he did was identify Terence Wadsworth as the one who shot him. Arthur Wadsworth has been treated for a superficial gunshot wound and was discharged."

Collin shook his head sadly. "Terence did so much damage. I'm grateful he didn't harm Ray."

Bodie nodded. He couldn't even begin to explain how relieved he was that Doyle walked away from this incident safe and unhurt. "Terence Wadsworth confessed to everything. He not only committed the three murders to duplicate his brother's dream log entries, he pushed Doyle in front of that bus."

Collin sucked in a breath. "Why on earth..."

"Anger mostly, we think. The man is a vindictive bastard. He felt Arthur should have talked tohim, not gone to a dream interpreter. He wanted Arthur out of the way, but he also wanted his brother to acknowledge him as the head of their family. It only came to him later, after he'd read about Arthur's dream of killing Doyle, that he decided to hold off until the timing worked to his advantage."

Collin settled back into his chair. "But why did he shoot Gavin?"

"After Terence discovered Arthur was seeing Doyle, he tracked down Gavin Hughes and befriended him. I guess he was hoping to get some insider information on Doyle. Terence appears to be very controlling and manipulative. Knowing he was going to get rid of Arthur and Doyle, he needed to tie up any loose ends, which meant he had to kill Gavin-"

"Because Gavin knew what he looked like," Collin cut in.

"Right." Bodie tipped his head in affirmation.

"What happens now?"

"Terence will face three charges of murder plus a whole lot of other offences, including kidnapping. There's no chance he's ever going to harm anyone ever again." Bodie lightly kissed the top of Doyle's head. "Gavin Hughes has dropped the case against Doyle."

"Oh, bloody fantastic." Collin bounced a little in his seat. "That bastard doesn't deserve a penny from Ray. I mean, I never wanted to see him nearly killed, but he really was an arse. He was horrible to Ray."

"Yes, I heard," Bodie said, his tone serious. "Ray told me."

"Did Gavin say why he decided to let it go?" Collin asked, curious.

"A little persuasion can go a long way." Bodie winked.

Collin's eyebrows rose to his forehead and he stared at Bodie. "You-"

"Let's just say he won't be bothering Ray ever again and leave it at that."

Collin opened his mouth then closed it again. "Thank you, Bodie," he said sincerely. "It means a lot to me that you were looking out for Ray."

"You're welcome." Bodie smiled.

"You really do love him, don't you?" Collin grinned happily.

"I do." More than he could ever say.

"I love you, too." Doyle's sleepy voice interrupted them.

Collin chuckled and asked, "How long have you been awake?"

After Doyle stretched, he snuggled into Bodie once again. "Not long."

"You know, it's rude to eavesdrop," Bodie said, giving Doyle a playful squeeze.

"Wasn't," Doyle murmured into Bodie's chest. "Appreciate that you took care of Gavin for me, but next time, I'll fight me own battles."

"You were listening, you little git!" Bodie slapped Doyle's arse teasingly before moving his fingers to attack Doyle's side. Doyle yelped, then laughed as he tried to wiggle away. Bodie stopped his retreat with his other hand, and continued to bombard Doyle with tickles.

"Bodie!" Doyle laughed harder. "Enough! Please!"

In a quick, fluid movement, Bodie flipped Doyle onto his back. He straddled Doyle's hips, pinned his hands above his head and gazed down at his still giggling lover.

Bodie grinned broadly and cupped the side of Doyle's face in his hand, stroking his thumb along soft skin. He lowered his head and as he claimed Doyle's mouth in a long, passionate kiss, the feeling of contentment, of warmth and happiness washed through him. He never expected this, never dared hope to have someone he could share his life with. Yet here it was. In the blink of an eye he had it all. Had everything he ever wanted right here with this man he held in his arms.

THE END

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 7 of 8)

2010-09-17T01:20:12Z

"You wouldn't really arrest your brother, would you?"

As they drove out of the darkened car park beneath the D-Tect Investigations offices, Bodie risked a glance at Doyle. Concern shone in the beautiful green eyes, misguided distress for a man who didn't deserve it.

"No," Bodie finally said. "Might beat the shit out of him, though."

"Hmm," Doyle mused. "Think he'd give you a run for your money. Looks quite capable of holding his own."

"So we beat the shit out of each other," Bodie growled. "I'm up for a good row."

Changing gear, he turned at the corner and headed in the direction of his flat. He gripped the steering wheel, letting his fingers curl around the unyielding leather, imagining it was his brother's neck.

"Bodie," Doyle said quietly. "I saw that photograph on Robert's desk. No mistaking the two of you as boys. Don't you find that... interesting?"

Bodie shrugged. "No."

"Oh, don't pretend it didn't surprise you, didn't make you wonder about it. Want to know what I think."

"Not really."

"Good." Doyle smiled over at Bodie, lips curved in gentle sympathy. "I think he loves you. Misses you. You're his only brother. His only family now. That picture... it's his only connection to you."

"Loves me," Bodie mocked. "Well, he's got a twisted way of showing it."

"Yes, he does. Perhaps it's the only way he knows. Give him time, Bodie," Doyle urged. "Eventually, he'll find a way to show you how he feels."

Neither agreeing nor disagreeing, Bodie simply grunted.

"What happened when you touched him?" Bodie asked. "Did you see something?"

Doyle's brows shot up and his lips parted. A heartbeat later, he sent Bodie a sarcastic look. "Thought you didn't believe in what-"

"Did you see something or not?"

Doyle looked down at his hands for a moment before glancing at Bodie. "I did see something."

"Tell me."

"I can't." Doyle shook his head. "Not my story to tell, is it. You want to know, ask Robert. Some open communication between you would-"

"Yeah, right." Bodie released a long, weary sigh. "Okay, why don't you tell me whether what you think you saw has anything to do with this case?"

Doyle seemed to consider that for a moment. "Only indirectly. It affects his personal code of ethics, which, from what I can tell, are insanely high and completely unyielding."

"No kidding."

After a pause, Doyle continued. "Touching Robert, it wasn't what I expected. It surprised me, but I understand him better now. What I saw, it's what drove him to start his investigations company."

"What drove him?"

"I shouldn't say anything."

"Oh, come on, Ray," Bodie said, frustrated.

Doyle shook his head and went silent. Just when Bodie didn't think he'd go on, Doyle said, "Ask him about... Abbey."

Bodie sent Doyle a quick glance. "Who the hell is Abbey?"

"Just ask him, Bodie. He might tell you."

Bodie snorted. Yeah, right. If he and his brother had any chance of repairing their fractured relationship, Robert's refusal to reveal his client's name pretty much put an end to it. As far as Bodie was concerned, Robert was every bit the cold-hearted bastard he'd always been, maybe worse, because Robert knew Doyle was named in the diary. And unless Robert was completely dense, he also knew Doyle was important to Bodie. Robert's silence could be putting Doyle at risk, and that was something Bodie was going to have a very hard time forgiving.

A few streets before they reached Bodie's flat, the dark, gloomy sky opened up, so by the time he parked the Capri on a secluded side street, it was raining heavily.

Shifting in his seat, Bodie turned to look at Doyle. "I need to change, then we'll head out for supper."

Next to him, Doyle was shrouded in shadows. Fat raindrops assailed the roof and struck at the windows, making it sound like he'd parked under a rushing waterfall.

"Know what?" Doyle said softly, huddling down in his seat. "Not really hungry, but... there's something about the inside of a car at night during a rainstorm..." He looked over at Bodie, gaze hot.

Bodie's mouth went dry.

Reaching to his left, Doyle pulled the handle, and his seat slowly reclined. He unfastened his seatbelt, pulled his t-shirt off and stretched his arms above his head, lengthening his body, giving Bodie a good look at what he had to offer. Doyle turned his head toward Bodie and whispered, "Lock the doors, Bodie." Lowering his right hand to his groin, Doyle cupped his cock and groaned in pleasure when his fingers squeezed. "Get over here."

Bodie didn't need to be asked twice.

Suddenly he was so hard he could barely breathe. He practically snapped a femur leaping over the gearstick. With a little concentration, a few laughs, and a lot of hard work, they switched places, putting Bodie on the bottom. Doyle straddled him, undid his jeans and wiggled out of them and his shoes, cursing when his head thwacked against the roof.

When Doyle situated himself once again on Bodie's lap, he wrapped a hand around the nape of Doyle's neck and yanked him down for a kiss. Doyle released a moan when Bodie shoved his tongue deep, taking complete possession of his lover. His thumb circled Doyle's taut nipple making Doyle wiggle his hips against him, telling Bodie that Doyle was as eager as he was to get on with it.

"Always wanted to do it in a car in the rain," Doyle panted against Bodie's open mouth.

"Happy to comply," Bodie growled, then manoeuvred Doyle further up his body to take a nipple into his mouth.

"Yes," Doyle breathed. "Oh, God..."

Fumbling like a horny teenager, Bodie managed to get his pants open and down over his hips.

"Need lube," Doyle said and moved against Bodie, rubbing hard against his cock.

"Glove-box."

Doyle looked down at him, eyes twinkling, and quirked an eyebrow.

Bodie smirked "Always be prepared... it's me motto."

With a laugh, Doyle twisted, popped the glove-box and snagged the bottle. Doyle turned back to him, only to whack his head once again and bang his elbow against the side window.

"Bloody hell," Doyle complained, rubbing at the sore spot on the top of his head.

Bodie chuckled. "Come and give us a kiss, it'll make it all better." Complying, Doyle bent down and Bodie kissed him, their tongues tangling together, laughter mingling.

Taking the lube from Doyle, Bodie opened the cap. He coated his fingers generously before quickly preparing his lover. Satisfied that Doyle was ready, he coated his own cock with more lube, lined up and impaled him. Doyle gave a soft cry, arching over Bodie, and Bodie took the opportunity to suck and tongue a hardened nipple.

"Bodie." Doyle hissed.

Bodie pulled back slightly then thrust into Doyle again and again, barely able to hang on. He hoped to hell Doyle was close, because he didn't think he could last much longer.

With the rain pounding the roof wildly above them, Bodie's head spun, and the only thing he could feel was where his body met Doyle's.

Bodie's universe collapsed down into this small space where the cold rain hammered out a hot rhythm and the night air was overpowered by the warmth of the man in his arms.

In all Bodie's life, nothing had ever felt so perfect, so complete.

Doyle found his release, letting out a satisfied sound that electrified Bodie deep in his soul. Burying his face against Doyle's neck, he thrust again, and once more, his climax coming harder than he would have believed possible.

A few moments passed before Bodie felt Doyle stir. Cupping his fingers under Doyle's chin, Bodie lifted his head and kissed him, long and slow. Inching back a bit, he met Doyle's eyes and ran a finger along his bottom lip.

"I love you," Bodie said softly.

Doyle's breath caught. Pellets of rain hit the windscreen like tiny rocks tossed against glass. Even in the watery shadows, Bodie could see Doyle's eyes boring into his.

Okay, it had been abrupt, unplanned, all of it. Doyle didn't have to say it back. Bodie was an adult after all. Doyle didn't have to say it back. Really. He didn't.

Doyle lowered his lashes and set his jaw. Suddenly the silence had lasted too long. Bodie tugged his trousers in place, flicked the locks and opened the door. Easing himself out from under Doyle, he clumsily stumbled out onto the pavement, then quickly closed the door.

By the time he reached the driver's side and slid behind the wheel, his clothing was back in place, albeit a little wet.

Cranking the ignition, Bodie said nothing as he steered the car away from his flat.

"Bodie," Doyle said, but Bodie ignored him. Out of the corner of his eye, Bodie could see that Doyle had fixed his own clothing and brought the seat back up. "Please, listen."

"Later," Bodie said, too casually. "Just remembered an early meeting with Cowley in the morning."

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of Doyle's house. Doyle quickly stepped out of the car and closed the door quietly behind him. When he reached the steps, he turned to face Bodie.

Behind a curtain of rain, standing in the circle of the porch light, Doyle looked lost, vulnerable. Bodie knew he should do something about it, but he couldn't. Not after what had just happened.

Doyle lifted his hand, gave a small smile and a wave, yet Bodie did nothing but change hard into gear and pull away from the kerb.

The interior of his car still smelled like sex, so he rolled the window down. Rain splashed inside, wetting the upholstery. Cold air slapped at his face, but he didn't care, he deserved the punishment. Perhaps enough fresh air would obliterate the stupidity of what he'd done.

When the hell would he learn to think before he said something as explosive as I love you?

And Bodie did... love Doyle. The thought of losing him scared Bodie. However, not losing Doyle absolutely terrified him.

He didn't know how to be in a permanent relationship. What if he screwed it all up? What if Doyle got tired of him or bored by him? What if... damn, a million things.

Bodie hadn't even been able to properly pull off telling Doyle he loved him. He'd blurted it out in a car after having sex. Shit, that must have really impressed Doyle.

Not to mention that Doyle obviously didn't love him in return. Doyle's eyes had widened and stared at Bodie like he'd just admitted to stealing candy from a babe instead of making a confession of love.

Perhaps if Doyle had blurted it right back, it would have been okay, but he hadn't. Which only meant Doyle didn't return the same feelings, and now Bodie'd gone and ruined everything by not taking his time and doing it right.

He needed to think about this, about how to fix it, if he could. He'd never told anyone he loved them before. This was uncharted territory and it left him feeling a little queasy.

Had he lost Doyle for good? Had his unbridled idiocy put Doyle off and out of reach?

What Bodie really wanted to do was punch something, instead he blew out a harsh breath and decided to move past the incident for now. He'd turn his attention to the case, to finding out who his brother's client was. Familiar territory. Work. That he knew how to handle.

First thing in the morning he'd talk with Murphy regarding everything they had on the case. There were leads there, clues. They just needed to decipher them, follow them.

Besides, Doyle could still be in danger, and just because Doyle didn't love him didn't mean he was going to abandon his commitment to protect him. Far from it.

***

Between bites of scrambled egg, Doyle sensed his best friend's scrutiny. He knew Collin was waiting for him to say something about his weekend stay at Collin's parents' home, and how he'd got home without his car, but so far no direct questioning had occurred. But this was Collin, after all. It was only a matter of time.

Pouring hot water into a mug, Collin said casually, "Get everything all sorted out this weekend?"

Doyle swallowed. No. It's worse than ever. "Mm-hmm."

Collin set the steaming kettle back on the stove and took a seat across the table from Doyle. "Bodie came looking for you. He said it was official business, so I told him where you'd gone. I hope that was okay."

"Fine," Doyle said, his eyes glued to his plate.

"I didn't hear you come in last night," Collin said. Since he was looking after Doyle's plants, and bringing in the post, Collin had stayed at the house for the weekend, instead of heading back to the city to his own flat.

"I came in," Doyle replied. "Was late."

Collin chuckled as he raised his mug to his lips. "I assume so, since you're sitting here now." Cocking his head, he said lightly, "How did the business with Bodie work out-"

"If you're going to grill me like this, I suppose I'll have to tell you!"

Doyle slammed his fork down. It made a clattering sound as it hit the porcelain plate, and bits of egg splattered across the table top. He was about to storm out of the room, then thought better of it. Wasn't Collin's fault that things had gone to hell between him and Bodie. Placing his palms face down on either side of his plate, Doyle took a deep breath, and held it for a second before releasing it. He looked up and met his friend's eyes. "Sorry."

Collin sent him a kind look and said softly, "I take it you and Bodie slept together."

Doyle nodded. Miserably.

"I understand," Collin said. Reaching for Doyle's hand, Collin covered it with his own and squeezed gently. "You've been so determined to never let another man into your life, Bodie just sort of sneaked up on you, didn't he? You were angry at being out of love, and now you're angry about being in it. But you can't have it both ways, love."

Doyle sighed and nodded again. "He told me he loves me, but I couldn't say it back. Don't know why, I just couldn't. God, Collin, Bodie was so hurt."

"I wouldn't worry too much," Collin soothed. "If Bodie really loves you, he'll come around. He just needs to figure out a few things first."

"Like what?"

"About you. Something inside him must know you love him in return, which is why he felt safe telling you how he feels. Give him some time, and in the meantime, you have some thinking of your own to do."

Doyle gazed at Collin and smiled. "You're the best friend I've ever had."

"Bloody right I am." Collin grinned. "Besides, no one else would put up with you."

Doyle laughed and they both stood to take their dishes to the sink. When Collin turned to walk away, Doyle pulled him into a hug. "Thanks, mate. I mean it."

"Any time, love." Collin wrapped his arms around Doyle's waist. "Any time."

***

"Arthur," Bodie grumbled. "Dammit. Arthur who?"

Across the small conference table, Murphy shuffled through a stack of papers. "Well, you've got your Arthur Wellesley, Arthur Conan Doyle, King Arthur-"

"Think we can rule them out. They're all dead."

Murphy snorted.

Scanning Doyle's handwritten notes, Bodie said, "Apparently this Scott Williams looked and acted rich, maybe even powerful. Since Doyle thought Arthur drove an Aston Martin, we can tentatively assume these are people who move in high financial and social circles."

Murphy grabbed his cup of tea and took a gulp. "So we have a rich guy named Arthur something who would be plunged into scandal if his name was connected with a murder investigation. That could narrow it down." He picked up a pen and scribbled on the paper filled with their case notes.

"According to Doyle," Bodie said, "Arthur's father died recently, which would put a great deal of stress on him, I think. We need a list of obituaries for men over the age of say, fifty, in the last eighteen months. Perhaps one of them has a son named Arthur."

Rubbing his jaw, Murphy nodded. "Going to take some time to assemble that kind of data."

"Then we'd better talk with Cowley about this and get started."

***

Gavin Hughes chuckled out loud as he headed for the lift on the fifth floor of the posh building in central London.

His scheme to have Doyle's grandmother put both his and Doyle's name on the deeds had worked and the house was by rights half his. The news from his lawyer had been tremendous. That old wreck of a house was going to bring a tidy sum on the market, and he going to be first in line to cash in.

Gavin grinned brightly and rubbed his hands together in excitement. Finally, he'd have enough money to get the hell out of England and move somewhere where it was warm and sunny all year round.

He ran his fingers through his thick hair. At thirty-four, he knew he was prime stock. He had looks, style, a killer smile. A microscopic twinge of guilt pinched his brain. He probably shouldn't have slept with that bloke last night, but the lad had given him the come-on, and there was no way he'd let that fine looking arse walk away without having a piece of it.

As long as his boyfriend didn't find out, he'd be okay. Especially since his boyfriend's uncle had a reputation for getting huge settlements for his clients and it wouldn't pay to piss the man off.

With a dance in his step, he made his way to his motor parked in the underground car park. As he approached his vehicle, he heard a noise behind him, a slight scuffling, then a popping sound.

Something stung him between his shoulders, searing pain making its way from his back to his brain, driving him to his knees. He was having trouble breathing, and as he put his hands to his throat, he looked down to see a red stain growing on the front of his white shirt.

Jesus. What the hell...

He slumped over, his strength easing itself away from him as though he were drugged and going into a deep sleep. Unable to remain upright, he slid to the cold concrete floor.

He closed his eyes for a moment, too weak to keep them open. Seconds ticked by, or was it minutes? The sound of footsteps caused him to open his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus on the retreating figure, but his lids were too heavy and they began to close again.

He heard a car door slam, an engine humming to life. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, he forced his eyes open in time to see his killer's car roll through the garage and head for the street.

No way. Son of a bitch...

Running his tongue over his dry mouth, he tried to form words, but his lungs didn't have enough air to propel them from his lips. He stared vacantly at the empty, silent garage.

***

Monday drifted into Tuesday, and the rain clouds blew away, but Doyle's heart felt bleak and heavy as if it were encased in ice. He'd spent the best part of two days in his studio painting, which occupied his mind and helped keep his thoughts from straying to Bodie. By Wednesday he was utterly exhausted and miserable and more than ready to teach his dream interpretation class. Interacting with his students always made him feel better, and he was hoping this week's session would have that same effect.

As he got behind the wheel of his car, Doyle thought about how much he missed Bodie. His throat ached all the time, not to mention his heart. Whenever the phone rang, his stomach would do a little flip in expectation hoping that it would be Bodie. It never was.

Doyle knew he could call Bodie and apologise, but what could he say?I'm sorry I hurt your feelings because I wasn't ready to say the words back to you?

He supposed the better question would be, why had he bitten his tongue rather than confess his feelings? Collin had been right, Doyle did have to ask himself some hard questions soon, or he risked losing a man he'd grown to love from the very centre of his soul.

It wasn't love itself that was the problem, it was his trust about love. Doyle understood full well that the person you loved could love you fiercely one moment, and the next the heat that warmed your relationship was gone. And so were they.

Doyle was sure his parents had once had that kind of love, but look what had happened to them. His father had suddenly decided he no longer wanted to be married and up and left his mum – left Doyle, without a word. No good-byes, no I'm sorrys, no I love yous, just gone.

And Gavin had done exactly the same thing.

Doyle had loved Gavin deeply. And he'd been convinced that Gavin had loved him in return. But Gavin had begun to stray whenever his ego needed a boost, and when Doyle had come home unexpectedly that fateful day to find the man he loved in their bed with not one, but two blokes...

He blew out a breath and released his tight grip on the steering wheel. "Arsehole," Doyle murmured as he turned the corner a street away from the community centre.

And now that lying, cheating bastard wanted money, wanted to take Doyle's home away from him. His grandmother's house was the anchor of his life, his home base, the one place he could go to and feel safe and secure, and now because of Gavin he might lose it. After Gavin had left, Doyle's emotions and feelings of self-worth had shattered, the betrayal and hurt so great it had taken him an entire year to recover. He'd put his heart and soul into their relationship and Gavin had thrown it away like last week's rubbish.

Doyle couldn't fathom Bodie doing something so horrible, but where was Doyle's guarantee Bodie wouldn't simply grow tired of him? That would be the worst betrayal of all.

Pulling into the community centre's car park, he slid into his usual spot, feeling more unsettled than ever.

What Doyle needed was some time to sort things out. He'd hoped it would have happened at Collin's parents' house last weekend, but then Bodie had shown up...

Heat curled through Doyle's body at the memory of the two of them together. He let it warm all the dark, cold places that he didn't even know he had, until he'd met Bodie. Bodie had been so loving and caring with him after he'd told Bodie about Harry. It was at that moment when he realised he'd fallen in love. Bodie had held him while his tears of grief and loss had fallen, had said soft, soothing words while he'd stroked Doyle's hair.

Oh, Bodie. I do love you, but I can't risk having you walk out the way my father and Gavin did. I just... can't. How can I make you understand?

Doyle got out of his car and a few minutes later he entered the classroom and forced himself to relax. While he wrote the lesson plan on the blackboard, a few more people trickled in behind him and took their seats. When he turned around, his heart skipped a beat and his tongue went numb.

There Bodie sat, front-row centre, wearing faded blue jeans, and a black turtleneck sweater that stretched across his muscled chest and flat stomach like a second skin. He was sprawled in his chair, long legs out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Bodie's deep blue eyes raked Doyle's body, then locked with his. Steely-eyed and serious, he surveyed Doyle like a gunslinger preparing for a showdown.

And Doyle knew exactly who it was Bodie was gunning for.

***

Doyle forced his mouth into a smile. "Welcome to class, everyone." He sent a quick glance at Bodie then continued. "As usual, we'll begin with a discussion and analysis of a student dream. Anybody have a dream they'd like to-"

Bodie's hand shot up.

"-share?" Ignoring Bodie, Doyle looked around the classroom. "Anyone?"

But Bodie's was the only hand raised. He wiggled his fingers, then stretched his arm higher.

Looking over Bodie's head, past his shoulder, out the window, Doyle let his gaze roam everywhere but over Bodie.

Because he was bent on ignoring him, all eyes in the classroom turned to Bodie and his childish bid for attention. Mrs Felder, sitting just behind Bodie, snorted a little laugh.

Sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, Doyle plastered a cheery smile on his face. "Okay, since nobody has anything to share-"

"Coward," Bodie mumbled, loud enough for the class to hear,

Doyle narrowed his eyes on Bodie, jaw tightening.

With a smirky curl to his lip, Bodie lowered his hand. "I had a dream I'd like to share, Mr Doyle."

Placing his hands on his hips, Doyle said, "I find that surprising, Mr Bodie, since you once informed me that you don't remember your dreams. Unless, of course, you plan on making one up. Again."

"No," Bodie drawled, lengthening the word to five syllables. "It's real. I remember every detail. Vividly." His voice was low, throaty, and a warning bell chimed inside Doyle's head.

The other students stayed quiet, sitting up straighter in their chairs and watching the exchange with growing interest.

There was obviously no getting around this situation. Doyle had no choice but to cave in. "All right, Mr Bodie. Make it quick. Tell us your dream so we can get on with the class."

A look of wry satisfaction shone in Bodie's eyes as he straightened in his chair. "I think I should warn everyone," Bodie began, "it's x-rated."

Titters and sighs emanated from some of the women in the class.

"In that case," Doyle said, "perhaps you shouldn't-"

"Oh, let him tell it, Mr Doyle," Molly Baxter begged. "We're all adults here. I'm sure we can handle whatever Mr Bodie has to say with... maturity, and an open mind." Then she blushed and grinned at Bodie while several other people nodded in agreement.

"Fine," Doyle said in a tone of irritated capitulation. "Go ahead, Mr Bodie."

Leaning forward, Bodie placed his elbows on his knees and looked into Doyle's eyes. Doyle braced himself for what he was sure was coming.

"I dreamt I was in my car with my lover."

Doyle froze. His heart ceased to beat. His brain ceased to function.

"It was cold and windy and raining."

Doyle swallowed.

"We were in the passenger seat of my car, having absolutely phenomenal sex."

Even though Doyle's blood turned cold, his cheeks burned hot. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Bodie.

"Actually it was my lover's idea," Bodie continued. "It was raining hard, the windows steamed up. My lover was so hot and seductive, I went for it. Who wouldn't?"

Bodie looked around the classroom. Heads nodded, throats cleared, students swallowed and murmured affirmative responses. Doyle was mute, but kept his eyes glued on Bodie.

"It was a very passionate encounter," Bodie insisted, "and when it was over, when we were relaxed and having a nice conversation, I... well, I told my lover that I loved him."

A couple of women actually sighed out loud. Doyle scowled at Bodie, his throat tight in embarrassed fury.

Bodie cocked his head and entwined his fingers in front of him. Doyle's gaze dropped to Bodie's hands. The man had such wonderful hands, and knew just what to do with them, the bastard.

"But my lover just stared at me and didn't say it back. That was when I woke up." Bodie paused. "What do you think it means, Mr Doyle?" he asked with an innocent lilt to his voice. "Why do you think my lover didn't tell me he loves me?"

The whole class appeared to stop breathing while all eyes turned to Doyle.

Licking his lips, Doyle paced for a moment, then swivelled to face Bodie. "What do you think it means, Mr Bodie?"

Bodie's gaze narrowed on him. "You tell me."

"But it was your dream."

"You're the expert. Why wouldn't my lover say it back?"

"Class," Doyle said, ignoring Bodie's challenge. "What type of dream did Mr Bodie just describe – prophetic, release, wish, or problem-solving?"

"Erotic," somebody mumbled.

"Wish dream," said another.

"Seems like a classic release dream to me," Bodie said, running his eyes over Doyle's body.

Everyone but Doyle laughed. "Perhaps," he began, "in your dream, your lover was caught off guard. Didn't know what to say. You're getting angry and sullen certainly didn't open the lines of communication."

"Yeah, I was angry. But not at my lover." Bodie sat back in his seat. "Don't you think my lover would want to hear me declare my love, especially after sharing something so intimate?"

"Yes. Sometimes." Doyle took a deep breath. "Perhaps in your dream, your lover had some trust issues, and simply didn't know how to respond."

"Trust issues?" Bodie snorted. "I would never intentionally hurt-"

"Yeah, trust issues, Bodie." With his hands at his sides, Doyle balled his hands into fists. "With a father who walked out on me, and an ex-lover I caught with two men. Did you ever stop to consider that perhaps your lover is a bit upset because you deny part of what he is, who he is, and perhaps that hurts him."

Bodie's brows rose. "Wasn't my intention to hurt him."

"Well, it did!" Doyle closed his eyes briefly and waited until he calmed down a little before he spoke again. "Perhaps, if you'd let him know that, even though you might not believe in his gifts, it's okay. That if you'd been willing to keep an open mind, you might have come to understand the real reason he didn't tell you he loves you." Doyle was breathing hard and shaking with anger. "Shit," he swore under his breath. "I'll be right back," he told the class.

When it looked like Bodie might follow, Doyle shook his head and said so only Bodie could hear, "Wait here. I need a minute alone."

With that, Doyle hurried down the hall and out the double doors that led to the car park. His head down, his emotions in a jumbled mess, he reached his car and jammed the key into the lock, flinging open the door.

Bloody hell! Did Bodie have to be so public about their private affairs? Did he think this little stunt was going to get Doyle to reveal his innermost feelings and fears to him – in front of a classroom full of people?

Hearing footsteps behind him, Doyle grumbled under his breath. Instead of doing as he'd asked, Bodie had followed him instead. This was neither the time nor the place to hash out their relationship problems. When he did finally decide to tell Bodie how he felt about him, Doyle wanted it to be meaningful, special, not part of some angry battle of wills in a car park.

Turning, Doyle watched Bodie emerge from the shadows into the lamp light and Doyle suddenly realised it wasn't Bodie at all.

"Oh, it's you," Doyle said, as his heart stammered over its next beat. "What are you doing here?"

***

Just as Doyle's delectable arse disappeared out the door, Bodie's RT beeped. Slipping out of the classroom and into the hallway, he spoke into the radio.

"3.7."

Murphy's voice greeted him. "Are you with Doyle?"

"Yes." Bodie frowned. "Why?"

Murphy seemed to hesitate before he said, "His ex-boyfriend, Gavin Hughes was shot three days ago-"

"You can't possibly think-"

"Shut up and listen a minute, Bodie," Murphy said. "Hughes is in a stable condition now. The doctor is pretty sure he's going to make it. He didn't have any identification on him though, that's why it took a couple of days for the authorities to figure out who he is. Now the police want to question Doyle about the shooting."

"Bollocks!" Bodie snapped. "Doyle's not capable of doing that."

"I spoke with the investigating officer. He seems to think that Gavin suing Doyle over the house is a pretty good motive for killing him."

"Where was he shot?"

"Lower back."

Bodie half grinned. "Geographical location, you berk."

Murphy snickered. "Underground car park on Victoria Street. Somebody shot him from behind while he approached his car. The bloke who does maintenance on the building happened to show up for work right after it happened and called an ambulance."

"Did Hughes identify the shooter?"

"He's in a coma," Murphy explained. "Lost a lot of blood, was unconscious, had been in surgery for hours. Doctors don't know if he'll make it."

"Doyle's not involved in this, Murph." Bodie glanced down the hall to see if there was any sign of Doyle returning.

"I know that. But he needs to be questioned."

"I'll bring him back to headquarters. We can talk to him there."

"Righteo." Murphy paused a second before continuing. "There's more."

"Bloody hell. What else?" Bodie massaged his left temple with the tips of his fingers, willing away the headache he felt brewing to life.

"No, it's good news, mate. Your hunch paid off. I just picked up the computer printout with the search criteria you came up with... we have a hit."

Bodie straightened, listening intently.

"Everything fits," Murphy went on, "from the recently deceased father to the money to the fact he lives in Totteridge."

The back of Bodie's neck began to itch. "His name?"

"Arthur Wadsworth. Got a photo ID here, and it matches the description Doyle gave us."

"Perfect." Bodie glanced down the hall again, toward the exit doors. Doyle really should have been back by now. A tingle of apprehension suddenly flowed down his spine. "Hang on a sec, Murph." Bodie pushed away from the wall and hurried down the hall. He rammed through the doors that led out to the car park and scanned the area, looking for Doyle's car. When he spotted the white Ford Escort, his heart began to race. The driver's door was open and the overhead light was on. Checking inside, Bodie saw nothing that would indicate what had happened to Doyle. As he shifted position, he stepped on something and looked down.

Doyle's car keys lay in a heap at his feet.

Bodie straightened and yelled Doyle's name, frantically taking in every inch of the large car park. He spun on his heel, did a three-sixty, and continued calling for him. From his RT, he could hear Murphy's voice demanding to know what was wrong.

"Doyle's gone," Bodie growled into the radio. "The bastard got him."

True panic thickened Bodie's brain, numbed him, paralysed his muscles. He could hear Murphy say something, but didn't understand a word that was spoken.

A cold breeze blew across the car park, chilling him to the bone. Along the busy street, cars moved at a steady pace. Behind him, people began to meander out to get into their cars, chatting and laughing, looking forward to going home to their nearest and dearest.

Bodie barely heard them. The words from Arthur Wadsworth's journal came back to him with haunting clarity...

It's easy. He's so surprised, he doesn't even struggle. The knife slides between his ribs like an oar through quiet water. Blood gushes from the wound...

Bodie narrowed his eyes and gazed into the night. "It's not going to happen," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll find you, Ray. Or die trying."

***

The moment Doyle came to, he realised where he was. Exactly... where he was.

Pressing his lips tightly together, he swallowed the scream that wanted to form, the panic that had begun to rise in his throat.

He fought down the terror, fought it with everything he had. He wasn't five years old anymore. He was a grown man, and if he kept his head, he could handle this. He could. Really.

God, how could he have been so blind? How could he not have realised? It all made sense now. He would have laughed at his own stupidity, but it would have used up too much precious air.

Forcing himself to calm down, he slowly inhaled. The air inside the boot was hot and thick, musty, smelling of motor oil and grime. Something rigid poked into his hip, but he couldn't imagine what it could be. He lay on his side, slightly curled, his knees bumping against the spare tyre.

Reaching up, he let his fingers move along the inside of the lid. Then forward, then behind him. The boot was only slightly bigger than he was, but he did have a little wiggle room.

How long had he been in there? How much air had he used up? How much remained? How long before it would run out and he would drift off to sleep and not wake up?

Doubling his fists, he pounded on the underside of the lid. With each strike, his panic increased until he hit harder and harder, until he was pummelling the metal like a street fighter thrashing an enemy.

Gasping for air, he began kicking, thrashing about, letting his fear and anger out, venting his rage, his humiliation and terror on the space that confined him.

Tears trickled down his face and he bit back a sob that threatened to escape. He closed his eyes, continuing to kick and yell until his rage was spent, his lungs had emptied and his flame of hope diminished to a tiny, fragile flicker.

With one final blow to the lid, he let his hands fall to his chest, holding his bruised knuckles against his throat, no longer able to hold back the sob. Finally, he lay still and quiet, his muscles nearly spent from the exertion.

"Bodie," he gasped. His voice sounded tired, strained, but somehow talking out loud made him feel not so alone. "I love you. Why didn't I have the courage to tell you when I had the chance? Life is too short. Sometimes even shorter than we expect. Should have told you... Should have let you know..."

His voice trailed off into a throaty whisper. "I love you, you arrogant, stubborn, funny, tender man."

Closing his eyes again, he saw his mother's face. He was grateful that she was no longer alive to bear the loss of having another son die this way. How ironic and cruel the fates were to do this again.

Doyle's heart jumped suddenly. What if they never found him? What if the car was parked in the woods somewhere, abandoned to time and the elements?

No. That wasn't right. It didn't fit Arthur's journal. In the dream log, Arthur had used a knife and stabbed Doyle with it. It wouldn't work if he simply suffocated in the boot of a car. No. His fate wasn't sealed quite yet.

He swallowed, and scrubbed away the tears. Doubling his fists again and steeling his spine, he prepared himself for battle.

The scent of chloroform still clung to his clothes, making him feel lightheaded, or perhaps it was from lack of oxygen, but he fought not to go under again. Time was of the essence. He had work to do if he expected to save his own life.

***

Robert's mansion in Totteridge had been built just after World War II, amid towering oaks, and offered a view of the beautifully maintained gardens. When he bought the place two years ago, he'd left the decorating to a professional. He'd liked what the woman had done well enough, but it had that showroom quality about it that made it clear Robert had nothing to do with the final outcome. As long as he had a kitchen with food in it, a bed at night, and a housekeeper to make sure everything worked and the bills got paid, he didn't care.

Though the rest of the place was comfortably furnished in relaxing colours, his home office was every bit as high-tech as his office back at work.

As he eased back in his chair, his eyes never left the small surveillance monitors on the far wall. Three rows across, three down. Nine views from which to choose, and nothing happening on any of them.

Three hours ago he'd watched as the first monitor flickered to life. Through the grainy picture a car had pulled out of a garage and headed down the long drive. Immediately Robert had contacted his field agent, Russell Lawson, and set a tail in motion.

All had gone as planned, until he'd got a return phone call from Lawson an hour later informing him the subject had slipped away due to an accident that had trapped him on Westminster Bridge.

Robert glanced at the telephone sitting on his desk. Perhaps he should call Will, warn him. But warn him of what? Going for a drive in the city wasn't a crime, and that might be all that this was.

Moving his gaze away from the phone, he set his attention back to the monitors again. As he watched, the same car that had driven away three hours ago turned onto the drive, pulled into the garage, and cut its engine. Robert narrowed his eyes on the screen. Everything looked normal, but it wasn't. He knew it.

Hell, anything could have happened in the city in those three hours – another lady in a purple dress, another tramp in an alley, another old man fishing quietly in his boat. The authorities wouldn't know about it until somebody found the body.

While he watched the monitor, the car door opened. Nothing seemed amiss, as far as he could tell. Unfortunately, the driver had his back to the camera, face obscured. As he began to walk away from the vehicle, there was a slight pause at the boot, then a gloved hand reached out and slowly stroked along the bumper.

When the kitchen door opened, the interior camera picked up the action. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. There was no staff moving about tonight. The house was empty. Convenient, Robert thought. He suspected it had been that way other nights, too.

On the console to the right, a red light flashed in warning. Somebody was coming to his own house for a visit. Switching on the monitor that displayed the entrance to his drive, he recognized his brother's Capri.

By the time Robert reached the front door, he could hear a fist pounding on it as curses filled the air. Throwing the safety locks, he yanked the door open to face his furious brother.

Bodie lunged over the threshold, grabbing Robert by the collar. Shoving him up against the door frame, Bodie snarled, "What kind of security cameras did you install at Arthur Wadsworth's house, and how do I get past them?"

Without moving a muscle, Robert said quietly, "Let go of me, Will."

Bodie shoved harder. "How do I get into Wadsworth's house undetected."

Robert cocked his head. "So you figured it out."

"Yeah, I figured it out, no thanks to you."

Bodie pressed his face close to Robert's, blue eyes hard with fury and purpose. "Doyle is missing. Kidnapped. According to the diary, Arthur kills him with a knife. If anything happens to Doyle, I'm holding you personally responsible!"

"Bloody hell." With a twist of his body, Robert thrust his hands between them and broke the death grip Bodie had on his collar. "Come with me."

As they hurried through the house toward the office, Robert said, "I've been monitoring the surveillance cameras. I can get us past the security system, no problem. But what if Doyle's not there?"

"He's there."

At the door to the office, Robert stopped. "How do you know?"

"Because that's got to be the plan. That's where the murder will take place, in Arthur's room. Doyle's blood on his hands. It'll be the final blow. It's what will put him away for good. He'll either get arrested or turn himself in. Either way, he's finished."

Robert pointed to the third monitor. "That's Arthur's bedroom. He's in bed. Been there since about ten."

Bodie's eyes narrowed on the screen. "He won't even know what happened until he wakes up with blood on his hands and Doyle's body on his floor. How far is it to Arthur's house from here?"

"About five miles."

Bodie gave a brisk nod. "Let's go."

***

Part 8

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 6 of 8)

2010-09-17T01:14:10Z

A little over an hour and a half later, Bodie found himself manoeuvring his car along a long, winding tree lined paved drive. Pulling into a clearing, his eyebrows rose at the size of the house that appeared before him. A magnificent grey and white stone mansion stood three levels high, and was enlivened with beautiful leaded glass windows and a massive portico which embraced its front entrance.

After exiting the car, Bodie made his way up the wide slate staircase, its railings draped with the blooms from the large lilac bushes. The fragrant scent of the flowers wrapped around Bodie, embracing him as he raised his hand and knocked on the large wooden door.

A few minutes later it opened and Doyle stood glaring at him. "Bugger off, Bodie." When he started to slam the door in his face, Bodie wedged his body into the doorway, leaving Doyle no choice but to open it again.

"I read Arthur's diary," Bodie growled. "Why didn't you tell me he'd dreamt about killing you?"

"Wasn't important."

"Like hell it wasn't," Bodie snarled.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Doyle snarled right back, "Why are you here? You don't believe in what I do, in who I am."

"I'm sorry, but sceptics have rights, too, and I'm exercising mine!"

"No you-"

"Yes. I. Do." Bodie emphasized his remarks with a jab of his index finger to Doyle's chest.

Doyle's green eyes narrowed. "Listen, Bodie, you-"

"No, you listen, Ray," Bodie interrupted. "I care about you. Okay? I don't just like you, don't just find you attractive. I care about you and what happens to you."

Doyle's arms fell away slowly to his sides, and his eyes widened. "I'm so bloody mad at you... I don't know what-"

"Shut up," Bodie said, stepping toward Doyle. "Knew I was in trouble the minute I laid eyes on you."

Doyle released a quick laugh. "Bodie, I-"

Bodie's kiss ended the argument. Wrapping his arms around Doyle, he backed the man inside the house, and closed the door behind them. Turning them, he pushed Doyle up against the hard wood surface. He yanked up Doyle's t-shirt to his armpits and groaned when his fingers came in contact with warm, smooth skin. Wanting to deepen the kiss, Bodie thrust his tongue inside Doyle's mouth, enjoying the sweet flavours he found there.

He pulled the t-shirt over Doyle's head and stared at the chest laid bare before him. Doyle's nipples looked like hard little nubs, lying in wait for Bodie's hungry mouth. Bending, he licked one, then nibbled on it, then sucked hard.

Doyle's head fell back against the door with a soft thud as he murmured Bodie's name.

Moving his hands across Doyle's skin, Bodie grasped his arse. With a quick tug, he pushed their groins together, feeling the hard length rub against his own.

Then Doyle's fingers were at his belt buckle. "Wait," Bodie panted, with a hand on Doyle's wrist to stop him. "Is there anyone else here?"

"No. Away on holiday." Doyle took his mouth in a long, passionate kiss and attempted to make a go at Bodie's trousers again.

"Wait," Bodie said again.

Doyle growled and glared at him in frustration, but his eyes were glowing with heated desire. "What?"

Bodie smirked. "We need something..."

"Bloody hell." Doyle turned and stomped out of the hall. A few minutes later he returned and shoved a bottle of hand cream into Bodie's hand. "Where were we?" he asked before his fingers once again dived for Bodie's belt. Seconds later, Doyle pushed his jeans down far enough for his hand to curl around Bodie's shaft. They both groaned and Bodie clung to Doyle's shoulders, hips thrusting into the warm tunnel of Doyle's fingers.

Bodie kissed Doyle again, ran his tongue along Doyle's teeth, sucked at his bottom lip. He felt Doyle's fingers stroking him, and his head began to spin. He wanted them both naked and he desperately wanted to be inside Doyle.

Against Doyle's parted lips, he huffed, "Clothes. Off. Now."

Doyle chuckled deep in his throat and slid his palm up and down Bodie's cock. Bodie released a long hiss and pushed against Doyle's hand. The little git had to know what he was doing, tormenting Bodie like this. He was panting, barely able to catch his breath. The want, the need to thrust into Doyle was just about killing him, and he was damn sure Doyle knew it.

With a parting kiss to Bodie's lips, Doyle stepped back and grinned at him. He watched as Doyle slowly began to remove the remainder of his clothing, wiggling his hips, teasing Bodie again, as the jeans slid down those long, toned legs.

Once they were both naked, Bodie tugged Doyle down to the floor. With Doyle lying under him, Bodie snatched up the hand lotion and made quick work of preparing his lover. Easing his hips forward, Bodie pushed until he was partially buried inside him. Then with one long glide, he finished the job, sinking to the hilt. Doyle arched his back, and sighed in sweet satisfaction.

Bending his neck, Bodie watched himself thrust into Doyle once more, then again and again. He reached up and grabbed a fistful of Doyle's glorious hair, tugging his head back while Bodie kissed him deeply. He ran his tongue down Doyle's neck, across his collarbone, down to one nipple.

Around his waist, Doyle's legs tightened, holding Bodie in place so he could hardly move, and he felt Doyle go still. Every muscle in Doyle's body tensed, his breathing becoming loud and raspy, and he suddenly stopped rocking against Bodie.

Doyle's head fell back, his eyes squeezed closed. Bodie bit his neck, suckling hard at the mark and Doyle moaned. Doyle's hips began to buck wildly against him and a second later wet heat splashed between their bodies.

Thank God. Bodie didn't think he could hold out much longer. With three hard thrusts, he came, his panted breaths turning into grunts of satisfaction.

After a few moments, Bodie pulled out of Doyle, slid down next to him and wrapped his lover in his arms. The scent of the lilac flowers must have followed Bodie inside. The sweet smell floated around them and seemed to cling to Doyle's skin and hair. Holding Doyle close, Bodie nuzzled his neck, taking in the scent of the flowers and the spicy scent of his lover. It was a very intoxicating aroma.

Lifting his head, Bodie looked down into happy, sated green eyes. Doyle's lips were red and swollen as he smiled up at Bodie and began to play with Bodie's hair. He felt the tips of Doyle's fingers against his skull, and caresses at the nape of his neck. Doyle lay there, incredibly beautiful and naked and inviting, and Bodie knew he'd never be able to get enough of him.

Running a finger along Doyle's jaw, Bodie stared into his eyes and let his mind go where he'd feared it might since the day they'd met. He saw them together at Doyle's house, in Doyle's kitchen making breakfast together, laughing and teasing one another. Christmas dinners. New Year's celebrations. Cold nights and hot sex... and love.

"Are you all right?" Doyle's eyes were filled with concern. With a wry grin, he said, "You look a little green. Was it someone you ate?"

Bodie all but yanked Doyle to him, cupping Doyle's head in his hands, burying his face in the warmth of Doyle's neck.

Doyle's arms came up and around, encircling him, holding him close and he felt their bodies press together. Mmm. Soft. Hard. Warm. His. All his.

Shifting slightly, Doyle slid his legs through Bodie's and he trapped them, locking his ankles, imprisoning Doyle against him.

"Bodie," Doyle whispered. "Have to get up."

"You're not going anywhere." Lowering his head, he took Doyle's lips in a long, passionate kiss, then murmured, "Not going anywhere for a long, long time."

***

"Who wants to see me?" Robert asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. From behind his desk, he stared at his secretary in astonishment.

"Mr Arthur Wadsworth," she repeated. "He says you're neighbours and that his father was a friend of yours."

Robert blinked at the woman. Millie Tamsin, thirty something, blond, beautiful, with a genius IQ. If Robert hadn't been such a stickler for his rule of no dating amongst his staff, he would be very temped to ask Miss Tamsin out to dinner.

"Sir?" Millie's sweet voice broke through his thoughts. "Should I show him in?"

"Please." He nodded, anticipation tightening his gut. "And make sure the equipment's working. I want every word recorded."

"Video, too?" she asked, turning to leave.

"Yes."

Ever since he'd dropped Doyle off at two that morning, he'd spent the last eight hours investigating the hell out of Arthur Wadsworth. Exhausted and in need of sleep, he had damned little to show for his efforts.

Perhaps there was just no connection between what he'd read in the dream diary and the murder of his gardener. But his instincts told him there was. Too many coincidences. There had to be a link.

Before he had a chance to sort through his tangled thoughts, the door to his office swung open, and Arthur Wadsworth shuffled in. His skin was pale, pasty. His hair was in great need of cutting and he hadn't shaved in days. He wore rumpled jeans and a faded red t-shirt, and looked like he'd just crawled out from behind a dustbin.

Had a year at the helm of his father's company wrung the life completely out of him, or was he busy wringing the life out of innocent victims? More importantly, had Eldon Pratt been one of them?

Robert stood and extended his hand, and Arthur shook it in a brief, lifeless clasp.

Keeping his voice even, Robert said, "I haven't seen you since your father's funeral."

The other man nodded, then took the seat Robert offered.

"May I get you something? Coffee? Tea? Water? I have some excellent whisky-"

"Nothing," Arthur said absently.

Before Arthur's father had died, Arthur had been nothing more than a playboy, a major partyer, spending the old man's money as fast as possible. But the man who sat before him was a far cry from the youthful, grinning, easygoing womaniser Robert had first met years ago.

Had the weight of responsibility done this, or was it guilt of being a murderer?

Robert eased into his own chair behind his desk. How interesting that Arthur should show up here, today of all days, when he'd planned to pay the man a visit that afternoon.

"What brings you here today, Arthur?"

"I... uh..." Arthur stopped and cleared his throat. "I want to upgrade my security system at the house." He lifted his eyes to Robert. "Right now it works on sensors, but I want to add video. Can you do that?"

"The servants been stealing you blind? Or has somebody been trying to break in?"

Arthur shook his head and averted his eyes. "No. Nothing like that. Umm... Robert, I need to ask you for a favour."

"I make it a policy never to do favours."

Arthur eyed him with a mixture of desperation and hope. "I know we were never friends, even though our fathers were. He admired you, my father did. You were honest. Forthright. Hardworking. My father liked that, and when you needed a break, he loaned you the money to start up your security firm. Now I need a break. I've turned my life around only to find..." His voice faltered and he stared at his clenched hands. His knuckles stood out in white relief. "I need your help. I have nowhere else to turn, nobody else I can trust."

"What about your brother? He-"

"Nobody can know. This has to be a secret, just between you and me. At least until I get to the truth." He looked into Robert's eyes, misery and despair plain to see on his haggard face. "For the sake of my father who helped put you where you are, help me."

Robert thought of Eldon Pratt, shot to death for no good reason. He thought of a woman in a pretty purple dress with yellow flowers. Of an old homeless man in an alley. Except for their murders, none of them had anything in common. Was it possible the man sitting across the desk from him might be the common denominator?

There was only one way to find out. With a curt nod, Robert said, "All right."

***

He stood looking at himself... but not himself. The image was distorted in some way, as though he were staring at his own reflection in moving water.

A hand reached for him, touched him, caressed his cheek, and the image suddenly cleared. He knew now who he was, where he was, and what. He was the dreamer. He was the dream.

A thumb stroked his bottom lip. He raised his face to the man, and the man kissed him. Beneath his palm, he felt the steady beat of the man's warrior heart.

Inside his head, he heard the man laugh, felt the man's happiness, and confusion. Stepping back, he gauged the length of the man's strong body, the wide stance, the gun gripped in long fingers.

The man spoke to him, but the words bounced against his own thoughts and he missed what the man said. Somehow he knew the words were important, so he closed his eyes, trying to recapture them. When he opened his eyes again, the man was a teenage boy. The gun was gone, and in the boy's fist he held an iron key.

"It's not enough," the boy said to him, flinging it to the floor. "It's useless."

The boy turned and walked toward a table where his mother and Robert sat, deep in conversation. The table was heaped with foods of all kinds, but instead of joining the family, the boy stood to the side and watched, staring, but not uttering a word. The boy waited for them to acknowledge him, but they never did.

And still the boy waited...

Doyle's eyes fluttered open as he slowly became aware of where he was. At some point after their love making he and Bodie had got to their feet and made their way to the room Doyle was sleeping in. Now he was nestled in Bodie's arms, his head resting on a strong shoulder, their hands clasped together. He could hear the steady rhythm of Bodie's breathing, watched the rise and fall of his bare chest. Bodie was still in the throes of his dream... the dream that Doyle had seen as clearly as if it had been his own.

As he eased his hand from Bodie's relaxed fingers, the images began to fade and Doyle's own thoughts started to tumble back into his head again. He curled in a little closer and Bodie's arm came around him, pulling Doyle snug against his side.

As the daylight had faded they had made love again, and then again. Throughout the night, Bodie had sought Doyle, gently rousing him from sleep, and Doyle had eagerly complied. In the wee, quiet hours just before dawn, Bodie had pulled Doyle on top of him. Doyle had come only moments after he'd straddled Bodie's hips and impaled himself on that long, hard dick. Now spears of bright sunlight stabbed through the crack in the drawn curtains, announcing the new day was well on its way toward afternoon.

"We've been in bed for nearly twenty-four hours," Doyle said sleepily. "Hungry?"

Bodie opened one eye. "You tired? Because I don't have to be at work until tomorrow morning. Gives us plenty of time for at least ten more rounds-"

Doyle placed his fingertips over Bodie's mouth and laughed. "Would be a good idea to pace ourselves, don't you think?"

Letting his smile fade, Doyle lowered his hand and traced the taut muscles of Bodie's flat abs with the tip of a finger. He hesitated a moment then said, "Tell me about your family. About your mum, and Robert. Why are you and your brother so... unfriendly toward each other?"

Bodie took a deep breath and blew it out slowly before he answered. "We flipped a coin when we were lads. Heads got to be the easygoing fun brother, tails became the bastard."

"You got tails, right?" Doyle chided.

Bodie snorted, flipped Doyle onto his back and began to attack his ribs. He squirmed and laughed until he was able to shove Bodie's tickling hands away.

Lowering his head, Bodie gave Doyle a quick kiss to his lips. "I'm hungry," Bodie said and rubbed his hands together. "I'm envisioning toast, eggs, sausages, beans, tomatoes."

"Don't change the subject." Doyle poked Bodie playfully in the ribs. "Tell me about your family."

Bodie flopped back onto the mattress and made a face. "Is this the part where we tell each other our life stories?"

How can I fall utterly and completely in love with you if we don't?

"You're right. It's silly," Doyle mumbled. He shifted to get off the bed, but was stopped when Bodie's arm fell across his waist.

With a quick lift of his shoulders, Bodie leaned on one elbow, looked at Doyle and said, "Look, mine's really not worth mentioning. My parents had a bad marriage. When I was thirteen, they finally called it quits. Got a divorce. Robert and I were supposed to live with mum, but my dad seemed so... dejected. I hated to see him go off by himself, so I went with him."

"What did your dad do for a living?"

"Was a copper."

Doyle nodded. "Your leaving – didn't that upset your mum?"

Bodie sighed and said, "I suppose so. Don't know, really. She never said. My mum and I, we were very different. I suppose I'm more like dad. She was probably happy not to have to deal with me all the time."

"I'm sorry." Doyle placed his hand over Bodie's heart and moved his fingers in a gentle caress.

"I loved my mum, and I believe she loved me," Bodie assured him, "but we didn't see each other very often. Robert dealt with her much better than I ever did."

Twirling his finger around Bodie's taut belly button, Doyle asked, "How did your going with your father affect your brother?"

"It angered Robert. He'd never got along with Dad. Didn't understand the choice I made. He accused me of abandoning him and mum. Guess he's never forgiven me."

"But you were just young lads? Victims of your parents' divorce, not the cause. You were both forced to make choices that were hard and painful." Edging up onto his elbow, Doyle stared into Bodie's eyes. "When you grew up, didn't you want to reunite with Robert? Establish a better relationship?"

Bodie closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, "Yes. And no. Being apart physically only reinforced that we were apart emotionally. Any time I went to visit Robert and mum, I was never there long enough to make things better between us. Besides, Robert's got a stick to far up his arse, he can't bend over. I'm tired of trying."

"You know, it probably hurt him that you picked your father over him... He was just a kid, so that's probably how it looked to him back then. Now he's scared that if you both find common ground, you'll take off again. Could be he's just afraid."

"Robert's not afraid of anything."

Stroking Bodie's forehead, Doyle slid his hand down to brush his knuckles across a whisker rough cheek. "I can see how you'd think that. Perhaps if you tried to look at things from his point of view..."

"I'm willing to do it, but he's not going to reciprocate."

"You assume."

"I know."

"Now who's being rigid? Sounds to me like you two are a lot more alike than you'd care to admit."

"Ta very much, Dr Doyle," Bodie snorted.

Doyle laughed and pounced on Bodie, pushing him flat on his back and stealing a kiss. Stretching out across Bodie's body, Doyle crossed his arms over the muscular chest and gazed down at him. "What happened to your father?"

"He died five years ago. Cancer."

"Do you miss him?"

Bodie swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Silence stretched between them. Doyle settled back down next to Bodie, pulling the sheets up to cover them.

A moment passed. Then another.

"I had a brother," Doyle said softly. "But you probably already knew that."

Bodie made an angry noise in his throat. "Yeah. Look, Ray, about that background check... I didn't know you then, and-"

"His name was Harrison," Doyle interrupted, resting his head against Bodie's chest, closing his eyes. "I called him Harry. He was a nice looking lad. Bet that part wasn't in your file. My father had opened the boot of his car to get something, and left it open. I thought it would be fun to climb inside and close the lid, scare him when he came back. So we did, climbed inside. Harry and me. He was a few years younger. Followed me everywhere. Did whatever I did."

Bodie went very still. Against his ear, Doyle could hear the steady beat of Bodie's heart. Hearing it gave him courage.

"The boot had seemed big because we were so small," he whispered, "but the air went fast. We were in there, huddled together, my arms around my little brother. And he... he fell asleep. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn't open his eyes."

He had grown more terrified by the moment, kicking and pounding and screaming. For a long time. Forever.

"It was so dark in there, and hot. I remember the darkness, how it seemed to clutch at me. Then I went to sleep, too. I dreamt of white lights, and dancing ladies, and Auntie Rose was there, and Uncle Frank. Then I woke up and me mum was holding me, sobbing so hard..."

But Harry didn't wake up. All Doyle knew for sure was that it had been his idea. Harry had gone to sleep forever, and it was all Doyle's fault.

"I wondered if Harry had dreamt, too," Doyle said softly. "And if he had seen Aunt Rose and Uncle Frank, ladies and lights. If he had liked it so much, he decided to stay with them. When I discovered I could see other people's dreams, I thought perhaps it was Harry, forgiving me, letting me know that he was glad that he had stayed. That perhaps helping people understand their dreams was what I was meant to do, because I knew what it was like to wake up and not understand, like on that day, that day I woke up, and Harry didn't."

***

Bodie made love to Doyle again. Tenderly, with the utmost passion and care. Hell, how could he not? What Doyle told him, the stark look in his love's eyes, the torment in his simple words. Making love to Doyle didn't nearly begin to soothe the heartache Doyle felt, but Bodie did his damndest to try.

When they were finished, he held Doyle in his arms while Doyle cried a little. And with Doyle's head buried against his chest, Bodie closed his eyes and ignored the tears that trickled down his own cheeks.

A million thoughts jumbled together inside his head. A million scenarios formed. A million words he wanted to say. No, not a million. Just three. But he knew Doyle wasn't ready to hear them, so instead Bodie held him, stroked his hair, and swallowed down the grief he felt for the man he loved.

After a while, Doyle raised his head. "I need to wash me face," he said, and pushed himself away. Scrubbing at his eyes briefly, Doyle gave Bodie a slight smile, then padded into the bathroom.

As Bodie lay there with his hands folded behind his head, letting his mind work on what he was going to say to Doyle next, his RT beeped.

"Not yet, goddammit." Getting off the bed, Bodie retrieved his jacket, tugging the RT out of the pocket. "It's my day off," he snarled.

"Hello to you too, 3.7.," a female voice replied sarcastically. "Sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, Bodie, but a call just came through the switchboard. Urgent message from your brother. Wants you and Mr Doyle to meet him at his office."

Bodie sighed. "Ta, love," he said into the RT before cutting the connection.

Doyle entered the room and frowned at seeing the radio in Bodie's hand. He had washed his face and managed to tame down the unruly curls ever so slightly. Doyle looked vulnerable, and beautiful, and again those three words clamoured inside Bodie's head, wanting to be spoken.

"You have to go to work?" Doyle asked.

"No," Bodie replied, walking over to him. "Let me take you to dinner. Some place fancy."

Smiling, Doyle asked, "What's the occasion?"

Bodie placed a kiss on his lips. "It'll be your reward for enduring a meeting with me brother."

Nearly two hours later, he and Doyle walked through the unlocked double glass doors of D-Tect Investigations.

They entered the reception area which was furnished in an elegant, yet masculine design. A large mahogany desk, adorned with a bouquet of fresh flowers, dominated the space. The carpet was thick, the sofa made of fine fabric. Bodie had seen the place a few times before, but Doyle hadn't, and he stood looking around, his eyes wide.

"Nice paintings," Doyle said, gesturing to the original oils displayed on the walls. "I'm assuming your brother serves a particular clientele, and not just your average person looking for an adulterous spouse."

Behind them, Bodie heard a snick, and realised the locks on the doors had been thrown. A moment later, Robert's voice came over the intercom.

"The door to the inner offices is open."

Escorting Doyle through the heavy mahogany doors, they were greeted by Robert standing across the corridor, a coffee mug in his hand.

"Hello again, Mr Doyle," Robert said as he gestured them inside his office. "Will."

Their eyes met and locked. Robert was the first to look away.

Robert's private office was large and tastefully decorated. In mahogany and chrome, it was all polish and sharp edges, just like Robert. Nothing of a personal nature had found its way here, except for one small item on the desk. Bodie couldn't recall having seen it there before.

It was a photograph of two little boys sitting closely together on a sofa, grinning broadly for the camera, arms around each other.

When Robert caught Bodie staring at the photo, he moved a stack of files in front of it, obscuring the small portrait from view.

"Please have a seat." Robert gestured toward the conference table.

"You always work on Sundays, big brother?" Bodie asked as they sat down.

"I work every day," Robert answered. He flipped open a file folder and slipped a grainy photograph across the table top toward Doyle.

Next to Bodie, Doyle sucked in his breath and reached out to bring the photo closer.

"You recognise him, then?" Robert said to Doyle.

Bodie watched Doyle nod, his green eyes shocked and filled with what appeared to be sympathy.

"It's Arthur. He looks horrid," Doyle said with a frown. "Where did you get this, Robert?"

"He paid me a little visit."

Bodie shot a look at his brother. "He came to see you? Where is he now?"

"I let him go home."

Bodie felt his temper start to rise. "You had him, and let him go? Bloody hell, Robert! He'll be long gone by now."

Robert's hazel eyes narrowed as he relaxed back in his chair. "It's complicated."

"If it's so fucking complicated, why did you bother asking us here? You know CI5 wants to talk to this bloke. Why didn't you hold him here? If you didn't want to bloody well talk to me, you could have at least talked with Cowley."

Robert shrugged. "I could have done a lot of things. But what I did was, I let him go. Like I said, it's complicated." Leaning across the table, he narrowed his gaze on Bodie. "I want him more than you do, so stop your bitching. I'm handling it."

Bodie stood, placing both palms flat on the polished surface, and leant toward his brother until they were nearly nose to nose.

"How are you handling it? Who is this guy? Why did he come to see you? Enlighten me, Robert, or I swear I'll arrest you for interfering with a CI5 investigation."

***

It was like watching two gladiators in the arena, and Doyle was afraid they'd come to blows. They were both big healthy men, well muscled, fit, equal in every way.

He watched as they glared at each other across a chasm of years too deep, too difficult, too painful to span, especially when their only bridge was the anger they shared.

"He tried to hurt Ray," Bodie bit out between clenched teeth. "The bastard names him in his diary. Describes himself murdering Ray. Tell me who he is."

Robert flicked a glance at Doyle, and in those eyes Doyle saw an instant flash of compassion, then hard resolve. And Doyle knew Robert would never tell, not if the man didn't want to, no matter what.

"I'm sure Doyle is well protected," Robert said casually. "Besides, do you have any evidence against Arthur? Can you connect any of those murders with physical evidence? Got any witnesses? Do you have anything that points to him as the killer, other than his dream diary?"

"We have a partial print on a shard of glass-"

"Not good enough, Will, and you know it."

Doyle watched Bodie's chest rise and fall as he stood with his fists clenched at his sides. "You're not going to help me out, are you? You only wanted Doyle to verify you had the right guy."

"I can see all this time you've spent in CI5 has finally paid off." Robert snatched up the photo and placed it back in the folder.

"Shove it up your arse, Robert." Turning to Doyle, he wrapped a hand around Doyle's upper arm, practically yanking him out of his seat. "Let's go. I owe you supper."

Once standing, Doyle looked at Robert, assessing him, trying to figure out who he really was underneath all the bitterness and stoicism. There was a way, if Doyle could pull it off. But Robert was very smart, so Doyle would have to catch him unawares to make it work because if Robert suspected, the man would shut down and Doyle would get nothing.

Taking a step forward, Doyle feigned to stumble and reached for the table to brace himself.

"You all right, Ray?" Bodie asked, concern evident in his voice which made Doyle's gut twist with guilt for deceiving him.

"Just a tad dizzy. Need to sit for a minute." Bodie pulled out a chair and hovered nearby as Doyle sat down. "Could use a glass of water, Robert."

Though Robert said nothing, he rose and walked to the small bar behind his desk, filled a glass and brought it to where Doyle sat. As Robert placed the glass on the table, Doyle reached out and touched the back of Robert's hand.

A woman... face down, floating in the bay. Her hair swirls around her head like golden seaweed. He reaches for her, panic choking him. Inside his chest, his heart is bursting with agony. No, no, no, no! He yells for help, but the water is tinged pink, and he smells the blood and death, and knows it's too late...

Doyle snatched his hand away. Robert looked down at him, his hazel eyes confused at first, then they came into bright focus. First Robert glanced at his own hand, then at Doyle's fingers.

"Very good," Robert said. "Aren't you clever."

"I'm sorry." Doyle swallowed. "I didn't understand..."

"What are you talking about?" Bodie asked, flashing a look between them.

Without answering, Robert walked toward his desk and dropped into the chair. "I don't care if you think me a bastard, Will. I have to do this my way."

Bodie's eyes flared with anger. Stalking to the door, he yanked it open. "Things were bad between us before, Robert," he growled. "You've just made them a hell of a lot worse."

As Doyle followed Bodie out into the corridor, behind him he heard Robert murmur under his breath, "Yeah. I know."

***

Part 7

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 5 of 8)

2010-09-17T01:04:03Z

Doyle huddled in his seat, watching the light fog shift around above the stadium, softening the ground's bright lights to bursts of grey fuzz.

Curling his hands into fists inside his jacket pockets, he hunkered down a little more, waiting for Bodie to return with more hot tea, hoping Bodie remembered to double the sugar in his again.

The game wasn't going well – not from Bodie's perspective anyway. Doyle couldn't help himself, he grinned brightly. Poor Bodie. Chelsea were defeating Arsenal – just as Doyle'd known they would. Bodie was trying to be stoic about it, but every time a player on Doyle's team made a good pass, Bodie would grunt. Whenever an Arsenal player slipped up, Bodie would remain silent and sullen through the crowd's cheers.

Watching the match was good, but being with Bodie was fantastic. Sitting next to him, so close their thighs would touch, Doyle would feel the electricity charge through Bodie's strong, healthy body. He felt a connection with Bodie that he hadn't felt with a man for a very long time – perhaps never.

Doyle felt light and happy and couldn't stop grinning like a fool. You're falling, aren't you… Collin's words came back to him.

No, not really. Not on purpose, anyway… Okay, maybe. A little. Okay, maybe a lot.

When they'd pulled into a parking space a few streets away from the stadium, Bodie had shut off the engine, but instead of getting out right away, he'd grabbed hold of Doyle and kissed him. Long and deep and wet, tongues sliding together, breath mingling. Doyle had closed his eyes and envisioned being wrapped in Bodie's arms like this night after night after night...

Doyle could almost see the triumphant gleam in Collin's eyes. Oh, yes, mate, you are falling for him...

Bloody hell... he was, quickly and deeply.

When he'd pulled back from the kiss, he'd licked his lips, and revelled in the Bodie flavour that still lingered there. "If you don't feed me, I'm going to pass out." Doyle had grinned.

"No worries, mate. I got it covered." Bodie had given him a crooked smile. "Tea and meat pie?"

"Sounds smashing."

Bodie had leant forward again, raised Doyle's face with his knuckle, and kissed him until he could barely breathe. "You ready to go?" Bodie had whispered against his mouth.

"Uh... okay?" Doyle had blinked a few times, getting his bearings. Bodie had made his head spin.

With a laugh, Bodie had got out of the car and Doyle had followed. As they'd made their way toward the entrance, he couldn't help but admire Bodie's muscular body and the effortless way he moved. Bodie was sweet and charming and fun, and Doyle couldn't help it, he let himself fall just a little-

"Raylove! Hello!"

Doyle shook his head, abruptly ending his reverie. Lifting his gaze, he realised there was a man standing at the railing in front of him.

Shit, Gavin. "Gav?"

Well, if that just didn't put a damper on the evening. The smile slid from Doyle's face and the effervescent tingle in his body suddenly turned to an uncomfortable cold shock. "What are you doing here?" Doyle asked.

Gavin snorted a laugh. "Same as you. I suppose. Watching football."

"You don't like football."

Running long fingers through his perfectly styled brown hair, he said casually, "Tastes change. Beside, me boyfriend's uncle has season tickets. You look really good, Raylove-"

"Don't call me that," Doyle snapped. "I hated it when we were together, and I hate it now."

"Come on, now, lighten up." Gavin grinned, showing white teeth and deep dimples that had so captivated Doyle back when he'd been trusting and naive enough to fall for the bastard."

Sliding under the railing, Gavin plopped into Bodie's vacant seat and curled an arm around Doyle. He tried to move away, but Gavin gripped his shoulder tighter, holding him in place.

"I'm going to win, you know," Gavin said lightly as his fingers dug painfully into Doyle's shoulder. "My boyfriend's uncle is a solicitor-"

"I don't care." Doyle shifted harder and raised a fist. "Move your arm or I'll move it for you."

Gavin let go of Doyle but didn't make any show of leaving. "How much do you figure that old relic is worth?"

Doyle glared into his calculating grey eyes. "Doesn't matter. My gran left that house to me-"

"To us, Raylove," Gavin corrected. "She left it to us. I want the house or half its value in cash, or I'll keep you tied up in court for so long it'll bankrupt you. You'll be forced to sell it. Either way, I get what's coming to me."

He only wished.

"It's my home, you sodding moron. I live and work there. You don't deserve a shilling."

"Oh, my heart's breaking for you, Raylove, really it is."

Doyle glared. "Even you can't be so bloody mean as to chuck out of my own place. Tell you what. If I ever sell, I'll think about giving you a few bob for past services rendered." Doyle eyed him with a cold look. "But you try anything, you'll be sorry."

Tapping his fingers against the side of Doyle's face, Gavin said, "That's not good enough."

With a jerk, Doyle moved away from him, anger causing his body to shake.

"Is there a problem here?"

Doyle nearly jumped right out of his seat at the sound of Bodie's voice.

Bodie flicked a glance into his eyes, and whatever he saw there made his mouth flatten and his jaw tighten. Without a word, he slowly directed that hard gaze at Gavin.

Gavin shot a quick glance from Bodie to Doyle, then back again. "No trouble, friend," he said lightly. "Just saying hello."

"Try saying good-bye, friend."

Gavin stood and dipped back under the railing. With a small grin at Doyle, he said, "Bye, Raylove. Remember what I said." With a quick glance at Bodie, Gavin swivelled on his heel and sauntered away.

Sliding into his seat, Bodie looked at Doyle. "Who was that arsehole?"

Taking his cup, Doyle replied, "You read my file. Surely you can guess."

"Your ex."

Doyle sipped the tea, sighing as the hot liquid began to warm him from the inside out. Raising the cup in his hand in Bodie's direction, he mumbled, "Thanks."

"What did he want?"

"Money." His eyes lowered and he tried not to think about how much it was going to cost to hire a solicitor to fight his ex-boyfriend. When it looked like Bodie wanted to pursue the topic, Doyle said, "I don't want to talk about Gavin right now. He's a blight on me brain."

Bodie gazed into his eyes for a long time, then nodded.

Out on the pitch, somebody apparently did something spectacular. The crowd jumped to its feet and cheers went up all around the ground.

After taking another sip of his tea, Bodie looked over at him. The glint of humour had returned to his blue eyes. "Either Chelsea did something really good," he said, "or Arsenal did something really bad."

Doyle smiled, forcing himself to return his attention to the game. Across the field, he checked the time on the scoreboard.

"Would you look at that," he said, forcing Gavin's threats out of his head. "Time's running out, mate, there is no way Arsenal can win."

Bodie swallowed a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth before he spoke. "You'd be surprised. We've come from further behind than this."

"Not this time."

"Bet?"

Doyle looked at the scoreboard again and nodded. "Bet."

Switching his cup to his left hand, Bodie offered him his right. Doyle took it, sealing the wager.

"If I win..." Doyle drawled, then corrected himself. "I mean, when I win, you let me do a painting of you."

Bodie thought about it a moment. "Okay. Fair enough," he said, his eyes taking on a mischievous glint. "And if I win-"

"Which you won't," Doyle assured him with a cheeky smile.

Bodie pursed his lips and seemed to assess him for few seconds, eyes slowly sliding down Doyle's body.

At the base of his spine, a sweet, tingling vibration began to make its way through his body to the parts that hadn't been vibrated for quite some time.

Leaning toward Doyle, Bodie whispered in his ear, "Did I mention I have a very big, wrought-iron bed?"

Doyle's eyes drifted closed and he caught his breath. Every muscle in his body began to go limp and quivery.

"If I win..." Bodie whispered again, slowly, his breath sending a quiver of excitement all across Doyle's skin. "When I win... you... naked... on my bed... stretched out... arms above your head, holding on tight to that wrought-iron... while I fuck you long and hard."

***

The crowd's moans and groans still echoed inside Doyle's head as they made their way with the surge of dejected fans out of the stadium.

No painting Bodie. Not tonight, anyway.

How the hell had they done it? How the hell had Arsenal beat Chelsea?

Unable to think past the erotic mental image Bodie had created in Doyle's head, he walked along next to him. Every time he blinked, he could see himself stretched out on that bed, see Bodie bending over him, feel him buried deep inside.

When they were finally outside, Bodie grabbed hold of Doyle's wrist. He tugged him along the side of the building and around the corner to a secluded little alcove where no one could see them.

Pushing Doyle back against the brick wall, Bodie took his mouth in a hard kiss. With the muscular body covering him, Doyle felt completely enveloped by a powerful sexual energy. Bodie shifted, rolling his hips into Doyle's and he couldn't miss the hard erection brushing against his own.

"Won't hold you to it," Bodie breathed against Doyle's lips. "I want to, but I won't."

If Doyle could have formed some sort of coherent sentence, he would have, but as it was, he was too paralysed with pleasure to utter a single word.

"The bet," Bodie murmured. "Was mostly a joke. We don't have to... won't hold you to it," he said again before he kissed Doyle.

"That's very... considerate of you."

Bodie backed away a step. "Come on. I'll take you home."

Reaching out an arm, Doyle snagged Bodie by the back of the neck and pulled him close and panted against his open mouth, "A man honours his bets, Bodie. I'm holding you to yours."

Bodie froze, searching Doyle's eyes. Before the man could say anything, Doyle gave him a kiss that told him in no uncertain terms just how much he wanted Bodie.

Somehow, they made it down the street and into the car. Cranked the engine... moved through road junctions, by stop signs, people walking... green light, amber light, red light. It all became a slow blur to Doyle.

Every nerve ending he had was on edge. His body ached in anticipation. His skin felt sensitive under his clothing and he couldn't get past what it would feel like to finally have Bodie's hands sliding all over him.

Finally, the car stopped and he heard a door slam. Then Bodie was there, opening his door, tugging him out. Wordlessly they moved into the building and up to the second floor. Somehow they got inside.

As soon as the door closed, Bodie pressed him up against it, his mouth warm and open on Doyle's. Fingers moved to unzip his jacket, hands slid under the sweater he wore. First Bodie's thumbs found his taut nipples, followed by his mouth and tongue, and Doyle nearly collapsed from the pleasure of it.

In the darkness of the flat, Bodie guided Doyle to his bedroom. He yanked at Doyle's clothing and it was soon gone. Once again Doyle felt hands on his naked skin, touching him, not gently, not roughly, but everywhere, making him groan loudly.

Slowly, Bodie lowered him to the bed, pushing Doyle's legs wide, licking along his erection... long strokes, wet and hot.

"Don't stop," Doyle panted. "Christ, don't stop."

He arched his back and Bodie licked along his length again, taking the head into his mouth and sucking gently.

"Bodie..." Doyle implored, begging for release.

Bodie moved up, pinching Doyle's nipples with strong, warm fingers, exciting them into hard peaks. His mouth covered one, and sucked, teasing Doyle with tongue and teeth, until he moaned.

Doyle was totally naked, while Bodie was still fully clothed. Why that turned him on even more, he couldn't have said, but his palms began to itch in anticipation of touching Bodie's skin.

His fingers tugged at Bodie's clothing and in moments he was naked as well, and cradled between Doyle's thighs. He ran his hands over Bodie's muscular body, his smooth, supple skin. Against his belly, he felt the ridges of Bodie's stomach muscles, the tease of hair around his navel and groin.

Gliding his hand along the flat plane of Bodie's torso, he found the silky, damp tip of Bodie's penis. He slid his hand down the shaft and curled his fingers around it... so long, so hard, so slick.

"Want you in me," Doyle breathed. "Now."

Bodie leant over him and slapped at the bedside cabinet. The alarm clock and a magazine went flying before he came back with a bottle in his hand and a triumphant grin on his face.

Going up on his elbows, Doyle nuzzled Bodie's cheek, then kissed his way down Bodie's neck and licked at a scar on his collarbone. "Please, Bodie. Need you." He moaned and flopped back down on the bed when he felt a hand slip down to stroke slowly up and down his cock.

Letting go of Doyle's erection, Bodie cradled his head in both hands and kissed him hard and deep before reaching for the lube. He rubbed some of the slippery gel on his fingers before pushing lightly against Doyle's opening.

Doyle couldn't help it, he released a sharp, needy sound, and bucked his hips up. Wanting more. Wanting to feel Bodie's fingers enter him. Wanting to feel Bodie's cock moving deep within him.

Bodie worked in the finger and then another and Doyle's entire body shuddered. Reaching up one hand, he pulled Bodie down and took his mouth in a fierce, bruising kiss. Doyle's cock was achingly hard against his hip and he didn't think he could wait much longer.

"Now, Bodie," Doyle gasped.

Bodie snatched up the lube again, squeezed a large amount of gel onto his hand and coated himself with it. Doyle opened his thighs wide in invitation and Bodie knelt between them. He lifted one of Doyle's legs, positioned the head of his cock at Doyle's entrance and slowly pushed all the way into him.

"Oh, God," Doyle groaned. "Good."

At first, Bodie did nothing. His breathing was laboured, as though he were holding himself in rigid control. Doyle felt the movement of his muscles against his body and he ached for Bodie to move inside him.

Then Bodie did, torturing Doyle further, pleasuring him until Doyle could no longer hold back his moans of want and desire.

Nuzzling and kissing Doyle's neck, Bodie breathed, "Christ, you're amazing."

Raising his arm, Doyle slid his fingers into Bodie's hair. He held Bodie's head to him while he closed his eyes and did nothing but feel the two of them together, treasuring the closeness he hadn't felt for so awfully long.

Turning his brain off, Doyle focused on the slide of the cock inside him, in and out, bringing him closer, and closer still.

Bodie urged Doyle's legs wider, placing kisses down his neck, across his collarbone, down his chest. Capturing a nipple in his mouth, Bodie sucked it hard, bit it until the pleasure was too intense and Doyle began to buck. His own loud cries mingled with Bodie's harsh pants. He tilted his hips... there. Almost there.

Reaching above his head, Doyle stretched out his naked body, arching his back, and grasping the iron rails of the headboard with both hands.

"Fuck me, Bodie," Doyle urged. "Hard."

Bodie slammed into him again and again, the sound of his lover's breathing harsh and rasping. Pulling back, Bodie thrust in, this time more slowly, so slowly that Doyle felt every inch, staying his orgasm, keeping it out of his reach until he growled in frustration.

Suddenly it was too much, and his body burst with sweet delight, the rush of pleasure flooding him, easing his taut muscles, bathing his skin in sensual heat as he clenched around Bodie, and clenched again.

Bodie grunted a satisfied sound, then shifted position, grasping Doyle's hips in his large hands, and pulling Doyle hard to him. Bodie's mouth opened over his, tongue thrusting deeply inside and he came. Doyle felt it, hot and thick and slick, coating his passage and seeping out of his hole.

Doyle wrapped his arms around Bodie and hung on, never wanting to let go, never wanting this to end, this connection, this closeness that he had never felt with another person – not psychically, not physically, not emotionally.

Their bodies pressed close, their hearts slammed against each other's, their stomachs moved in and out, together in time, their sweat and Doyle's cum coating their skin. Sex was messy. Sex was fun and intense. Sex with Bodie was glorious.

For a while, neither of them spoke, only breathed, and recovered, and savoured.

Doyle kissed Bodie's damp brow, ran his fingertips lightly through the soft wavy hair. Lifting his head, Bodie moved his hand up and slid his thumb along Doyle's jaw. They grinned into each other's eyes.

Then they laughed, too sated to speak, too amazed by what had happened between them, its power, its glory.

They kissed again, tenderly, and he felt the curve of Bodie's smile against his lips. There should be words to define this elusive and staggering moment, Doyle thought. Words like love and forever and you and me, and he wanted to say them. For the first time in memory he wanted to say them so badly, holding them back made his throat hurt.

A loud thumping suddenly interrupted their intimate atmosphere. "What's that?" Doyle asked.

Pushing himself up on his elbows, Bodie frowned. "Shit," he snarled. "Someone's at me front door."

"Perhaps they'll go away-" Doyle was interrupted by more banging. "Or not."

"Sorry," Bodie said, and Doyle could see in his eyes that he meant it. "Give me a minute."

Pushing off Doyle, Bodie swivelled into a sitting position, splendid in his nakedness. Reaching for the blanket that had fallen on the floor, he used it to cover Doyle, then leant down and gave him a kiss.

As Bodie yanked on jeans and moved away, Doyle's sensual world closed in around him and collapsed. A foreboding feeling hit him hard causing a shiver to rush through his body. The heat cooled, the colours dulled, the words he had so desperately wanted to say faded like invisible ink on a page.

***

Flipping the front door open, Bodie frowned as he confronted his brother.

"Sorry, already gave at the office."

Robert scowled and pushed past Bodie to enter the lounge. "This couldn't wait," he said, casting a glance at the furniture and decor, most of which had been purchased at flea markets. "I see CI5 still doesn't pay its agents a living wage. Christ, Bodie, why don't you get yourself a real job."

"Careful, or you'll hurt me decorator's feelings."

Spying the guitar case standing in the corner by the television, Robert asked, "You still play?"

"When the spirit moves me. What about you? Still bringing tears to people's eyes with you-"

"Nope. Gave it up years ago."

Closing the door, Bodie turned on the lamp next to the crammed bookcase, illuminating his brother's ever-present glower. "It's one in the bloody morning, Robert." And his blood still hummed from sex with Doyle. Somewhere between the bed and the front door, his body had recovered, and he was ready for another round. More than ready.

Robert turned to face him. "I read Malone's diary."

Bodie's brows shot up. "How the hell did you get a copy-"

"I want to talk to Doyle," Robert interrupted.

Before he could stop himself, Bodie cast a quick glance at the closed bedroom door.

Robert's gaze followed, then he turned and walked to the window that faced the street. "Get him."

Bodie's blood heated a few degrees. "You can talk to him tomorrow. Now get out."

Over his shoulder, Robert said, "If you don't get him, I will."

Bodie made a move toward his brother at the same time the bedroom door opened. Both men swivelled to face Doyle.

"Fighting over me, lads?" Doyle gave the visitor his attention. "What's going on?"

Bodie moved quickly to put himself between Doyle and his brother. Doyle had got dressed and tamed down that unruly hair slightly, but there was no mistaking the soft gleam in his eyes, the flush of his skin, his kiss swollen lips. Doyle'd just had satisfying sex, and it showed. Not that Bodie wasn't proud that he'd been the man to do the job, but he hadn't planned on exposing Doyle so blatantly to another man's scrutiny immediately afterwards.

He suddenly felt like he needed to protect Doyle, make it clear he wasn't just some casual lay he'd brought home. But before he could say anything Robert spoke up.

"I'm Robert, Will's brother."

"Doyle." Glancing quickly from one brother to the other, Doyle's brow furrowed. "Don't look at all alike, do you."

"Thank God," Bodie mumbled under his breath.

"Prick," Robert responded.

"Pillock," Bodie muttered. "Now that we've dispatched with the pleasantries, why are you here, Robert, and what the hell do you want?"

***

"So, you wanted to talk to me?" Doyle lifted his chin and looked directly into Robert's sharp hazel eyes. As the man narrowed his gaze on him, Doyle couldn't help but notice that he was absolutely gorgeous, in a dark, menacing and complex sort of way.

"There was a murder in Totteridge a month ago," Robert said. "The details match almost exactly one of the dreams in the journal."

Bodie's response was immediate and furious. "Tell me how the hell you got a copy of that diary."

Robert only flicked a glance at his brother. "Connections."

It was obvious to Doyle that Robert was used to being in charge. He could feel that Robert was holding himself in check, keeping his emotions, his words, perhaps even his thoughts under rigid control. There was anger in him, possibly rage. Here was a man who was all work and no play. To him, the world was a very serious place.

Clearing his throat, Doyle asked, "Which dream?"

"Why do you care, Robert?" Bodie asked as he pulled on a t-shirt that'd been lying on the back of the sofa. "Was the victim rich? Famous, perhaps? Why aren't the police handling it?"

Robert's stark eyes followed his brother's every move. "The victim was a personal friend of mine," he said quietly. "His name was Eldon Pratt. He worked for me as head gardener at my house in Totteridge. I don't know what the police are doing, and I don't care." His eyes turned colder, if that was possible. "I want this murderer, and I am going to get him."

Before Doyle could stop himself, he reached out and touched Robert's arm, then snatched his hand back, half expecting to see burn marks on his fingertips. But the brief contact had been enough. His guilt and remorse had filtered through his wall of defences, and Doyle had picked them up. So much anger... so much pain...

"I'm sorry," Doyle stammered, as Robert turned the full force of his gaze on him. "What do you want me to do?"

Robert took a piece of paper from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him. Doyle's fingers trembled slightly when he looked down at the uneven scribbles on the photocopied page. He didn't need to read it to know exactly what it said.

I'm on a boat. It's very lonely out there on the water, nobody around on the flat blue sea. Then I see another boat and a man with his line in the water, fishing. I come alongside. There is suddenly a weapon in my hand, and I point it at him. For a split second he looks at me, his expression curious, oblivious to what I'm about to do. Then I see it in his eyes. He knows. He looks very sad. For no reason at all, I kill him. One shot, that's all it takes. He falls to the deck, dropping the fishing pole. His boat drifts away, out to sea, and is gone.

Doyle nodded slowly. "I remember it. Arthur came to me about it a month or so ago. I saw the dream very vividly, but..." Something itched at the back of his brain. "What time of day was your friend killed?"

"Evening. He was heading back after spending the day fishing."

"Something's wrong, then. The dream took place in broad daylight, while the victim was fishing."

"The diary doesn't actually say anything about the time of day," Bodie murmured, taking the page from Doyle's hand. Addressing his brother, he asked, "What kind of weapon was used?"

"Shotgun. Both barrels," Robert replied.

"That's not right either," Doyle rushed. "In the dream, it was a handgun of some kind. I saw it clearly."

Bodie placed a hand on Doyle's shoulder and shook his head. "Ray, I'm sure you think-"

"You don't believe me, do you?" Doyle stepped out of Bodie's touch and glared at him. "You don't believe I saw Arthur's dream. In fact, you don't believe I'm psychic at all."

Bodie lifted a shoulder, and pursed his lips, refusing to meet Doyle's gaze.

After what they'd shared together, Bodie still didn't understand. The man still had no idea who Doyle was, what he was all about, what was important to him. Why the hell did Bodie have sex with him if he didn't understand Doyle and perhaps even thought he was unbalanced?

The betrayal Doyle felt made his chest squeeze and his throat tighten.

Turning to Robert, Doyle said, "Would you give me a lift home?"

Robert shot a quick look at his brother, then his eyes narrowed on Doyle. "Of course."

Bodie grabbed for Doyle's arm, but he pushed at Bodie and stepped away.

"Listen, Ray," Bodie said, "I can't just sacrifice evidence and logic for –"

"No," Doyle hissed. "Shut up, Bodie. I don't want to hear another word."

When he got to the front door, Doyle turned to face Bodie, hating the words he was about to say, but knowing he had to say them.

"I don't want to see you again. You and I live in different worlds. While I'm willing to give yours a try, you can't even see mine. And it's very apparent you don't want to."

Silently, Doyle walked away and followed Robert through the door, down the stairs and out to the street.

***

Laying his aching head back against the headrest, Doyle let the purr of the expensive car's engine lull his mind. When he felt his eyes burn with the threat of tears, he cursed and willed them away.

Robert shifted gears as they moved through a road junction. "When I talked to Will earlier he said something about a man coming to see you. A man who knows Arthur."

"Yes." Doyle cleared his throat, took a restorative breath and said, "Said his name was Scott Williams. Claimed to be a close friend of Arthur's. Also said something about him being powerful and that becoming involved in a scandal would ruin him."

"Anything else?"

"Said Arthur was under a lot of stress, that his father had died recently."

Robert seemed to mull this over for a moment. "What did Williams look like?"

Doyle described as much as he could about the man. "I got the vehicle registration number."

Checking the rear-view mirror, Robert changed lanes, then turned left. "Are you really psychic?"

"Yes, but only when I touch people, occasionally when I hold an object."

Pulling up in front of Doyle's house, Robert put the car in neutral, leant over and opened the glove compartment. "Here's a pen and paper. Write down the registration number and description of Williams's car."

As Doyle scribbled it all down, he said, "I've already given this to Bodie, but he told me..." He let his words drift off and lifted his eyes to Robert, who had a curious expression on his face.

When Robert took the paper from Doyle's hand, their fingers touched, and for an instant, an image blasted its way into his head.

"Robert?" Doyle said quietly. "You live in Totteridge. You don't happen to know anyone who drives a gold Porsche 911, who is close to a wealthy and powerful man named Arthur whose father died recently... do you?"

***

"Arthur?"

At the sound of his name, Arthur stumbled around to face his brother. Rubbing at his tired eyes, he tried to focus on Terence, but his vision wouldn't cooperate.

Terence stood a few feet away, more of a ghost than a man. Though Arthur couldn't see his brother's face clearly in the darkness of the hallway, the disapproval was plain enough in the man's voice.

Arthur's vision cleared a little, and he realised he was standing just outside his bedroom door. He suddenly couldn't remember if he was coming out, or going in. Couldn't remember what the time was, whether it was the middle of the night, or nearly dawn.

"Arthur?" Terence's voice was softer now, curious, concerned. "It's five-thirty in the morning. Are you ill?"

He shook his head, but that made his vision worse. Blinking, he tried desperately to see more clearly. "I'm fine. Just restless."

"Have you been out?"

Arthur frowned. Had he? Everything was all mixed up in his brain. Looking down, he saw that he wore a t-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and his feet were bare. "No. I've been asleep. Something woke me, I think."

"Another nightmare?"

He searched his memory. Yes, he'd been asleep, quite soundly, thanks to the sleeping pill Terence had given him earlier. However, no dreams, no nightmares had come. Still, something had awakened him, he was sure of it.

"No, not a nightmare," Arthur replied and rubbed his temples. "I've got to be in the city at ten o'clock, so I'm going to try to get a few more hours sleep."

In the shadows of the hallway, Terence nodded. He may have smiled, but Arthur was still too out of it to tell.

"We can talk later, if you like," Terence offered. "You sure you're okay?"

Turning the knob on his bedroom door, Arthur nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

Closing the door behind him, he went into his bathroom to use the toilet. He didn't turn on the light. The large window allowed the full moon to bathe the room in a cool, silvery glow. Flushing the toilet, he turned to wash his hands and tripped over something.

Crouching down, he examined the bundle on the tile floor. Instantly he recognized his old athletic shoes, a crumpled pair of jeans, and his favourite red sweater. Except the red from the pullover had somehow bled onto his jeans and shoes.

Arthur stared at the clothing for a moment, not quite comprehending what he was seeing. Letting the sweater drop from his shaking fingers, he held his palm in front of his face. His hand was sticky, and red. Blood. Fresh blood on his clothing.

Snatching up the nearest towel, he frantically wiped all traces of blood from his fingers and palms. He choked as though he were being strangled, frantic to breathe, gasping for air, air that failed to fill his lungs and relieve his suffering.

Not knowing what to think, how to feel, where to turn, he fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands.

"No," he sobbed. "No, no, no, not again. Please, God. Not again!"

He knew he should go to the police, tell them everything, at least what he knew, what he remembered. Except he didn't remember anything. They'd laugh at him, or lock him up in a mental institution and throw away the key.

Unless, of course, he really was a murderer. Then the penalty would be far greater.

Arthur shook his head. No. No! He was not a killer. It didn't fit with the man he knew himself to be. He was as nice and as easygoing a bloke as anyone could be. He rarely got angry and when he did, he was pretty reasonable in sorting things out. And he'd never had psychotic dreams in the past.

Yet the nightmares... and the blood. He was confused and didn't know what was real from what was in his messed-up head.

No, he wouldn't go to the police. Not yet. Not until he knew what was wrong with him.

He forced himself to focus, to concentrate. Yes, there was a way. There was a way, but it would have to be a secret, and in the end, he would know the truth.

Feeling a sense of control he hadn't felt in months, Arthur rose to his feet and looked at his reflection in the mirror. Could he really be a psychotic murderer? He didn't used to think so, but if he was wrong, if it turned out he was a monster...

Slowly shuffling into his bedroom, he went to his bedside cabinet and pulled open the drawer. With his thumb, he eased aside a notebook and some papers to reveal the revolver, its silver barrel glinting in the moonlight.

Taking a deep breath, he held it in his lungs for a second before blowing it out past his lips. He slid the drawer closed and crawled between the cool sheets of his bed.

If it turned out he was a monster, he may not know how it had begun, but he definitely knew how it would end.

***

Bodie sat on his bed. His cold, empty, dishevelled bed. The bed that held the scent of seduction, and sex, and Doyle. Though morning light flooded the room, it did nothing to ease his unhappiness.

As long as he lived, he'd never forget the sight of Doyle reaching for those iron bars, lithe body stretching out beneath Bodie, and offering himself to Bodie with everything Doyle had.

Gazing down at the pillow where Doyle had laid his head, Bodie let his eyes wander over the light blue sheets and tousled navy bedspread. Funny how his bed had never seemed so big and lonely before.

Bodie had wanted Doyle there the whole night. Wanted Doyle under him again. Wanted the man bare-arsed over Bodie's favourite chair in the lounge, on his knees with Bodie's prick between his lips, on the settee straddling Bodie's lap. Hell, he wanted Doyle every way they could manage.

But Doyle had left the moment he'd got the chance, and it was all Bodie's fault.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering if Doyle realised just how much he was asking of Bodie. It's not that he wasn't willing to change the beliefs of a lifetime, but that kind of change took time and a desire to change. He still wasn't sure if psychic abilities such as Doyle's were real, or if they were just nonsense based on finely tuned intuition and lucky guesses.

Bodie used to think he knew the answer, however, since meeting Doyle, he wasn't so sure anymore. Yes, he'd seen Doyle do some interesting things. But seeing wasn't necessarily believing, and he wasn't as gullible as a lot of people were. It was hard to believe in those types of abilities without scientific data to prove them real.

I'm sorry, Ray. His arms suddenly ached for Doyle to be in them again, his body ached to lose himself in him. Bodie hadn't felt this way about a man in a long time, well over two years. Yet even then, as much as he'd cared for that man, it didn't come close to what he felt for Doyle.

He needed to work it out with Doyle. Somehow. Get the man to see reason. They'd be okay if Doyle could just overcome his ridiculous attitude about being able to read people's minds and admit it was simply that he was very good at reading people.

As he gripped the papers in his fist, a sense of urgency prickled his brain. Not only did he need to change Doyle's thinking, Bodie needed to find a way to protect him as well.

It had taken him two hours to decipher the wretched handwriting on most of the pages in the dream diary, but when he finally did, his skin crawled and his heart went numb.

He's beautiful, with his unruly curly hair and exotic looks, and stunning green eyes. He looks at me, and I can see the quality of his soul. He means well, wants to help me. How can he know what's in my heart. How can he know his trust is dangerously misplaced?

It's easy. He's so surprised, he doesn't struggle. The knife slides between his ribs like an oar through water. Blood gushes from the wound. He makes a sound in his throat and blinks up at me, so sad. So terribly sad, and disappointed, too.

"Bye, my sweet Ray. Truth be told, I think you were my only friend."

Bodie rubbed the back of his neck. Worry and fear tensed his muscles. He glanced at the bedside clock – ten thirty. It was Saturday, and he had the weekend ahead of him. Picking up the phone, he started to dial Doyle's number, then stopped. He had a better idea. Leaping off the bed, he set his plan in motion.

Just after three o'clock in the afternoon, Bodie knocked on Doyle's front door, but instead of being greeted by Doyle, he was met by his best friend. "Collin."

"Hello, Bodie," Collin said, arms crossing over his chest.

"I'd like a word with Ray, if I may."

"He's not here."

When Collin attempted to close the door, Bodie put a hand out to stop it. "Do you know where he is, or when he'll be back?"

Bodie watched as Collin seemed to consider the question. Then after a long sigh, Collin said, "He went away for the weekend. To think. I'm here watering the plants for him."

"Look," Bodie said in his best grovelling voice. "I owe him an apology-"

"Damn right you do."

"Can't deliver it, can I, if I don't know where he is."

Biting his lip, Collin gave Bodie the once over, then the tension seemed to leave his body and he opened the door a little more. "I'd love to tell you where he is, but I've been sworn to secrecy. If you show up there, he'll know I'm the one who ratted on him."

"I'll tell him I threatened to arrest you." Bodie arched a brow and gave a little smirk.

"You plan to be around for a while, don't you, Bodie." It wasn't a question. "As in, for decades."

Without hesitation, Bodie replied, "Yes."

Collin nodded. "Come in and sit for a minute. There's something you need to know." Once they were seated in the lounge, Collin continued, "Just before his sixth birthday, Ray accidentally got locked in the boot of the family car. He was clinically dead when he was found, but the medical team was able to revive him."

Bodie knew about the boot incident. Robert's report hadn't missed a thing.

Collin continued, "His mum told me that he'd been conscious in there for a long time. They could tell by the bruises on his little knuckles, arms, and knees that he'd fought and kicked in an attempt to get out. He must have screamed and screamed, because his voice was so raw he couldn't speak for two weeks."

Bodie shut off his emotions against the agony of what a very young Doyle had gone through. He couldn't bear to think about it just now. "Why didn't anyone hear him?"

"His dad was mowing the lawn at the time. The noise from the mower drowned it out. By the time they realised what had happened..." Collin gave a sad shrug.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"To this day, Ray hates being in small places. He still has nightmares about being trapped in that boot." Collin took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "Ray and I have known each other a very long time. Since we were two. I love him like a brother and I only want what's best for him. I want your assurance, your promise, that you'll always give him a lot of space and room to breathe."

Bodie's heart clenched for a moment and he swallowed hard. "I promise," he vowed.

A few minutes passed as they gazed at each other, then Collin nodded. "Ray's ordeal appeared to trigger a latent psychic ability, at least that's what his mum and dad were told at the institute. You see, they had him tested when he was eight, then again when he was twelve. His abilities are genuine, Bodie." Collin stabbed him with a piercing glare. "It's important that you accept that about him."

"I'm trying, Collin. I swear I am."

Getting up, Collin went to a small desk in the corner. "He's staying at my parents' country home in Kent." After jotting down the information on a piece of paper, he handed it to Bodie. "When Ray asks, I'm going to deny everything," he said with a smirk.

***

Part 6

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 4 of 8)

2010-09-17T00:57:57Z

Getting to sleep was proving to be a real challenge. Nothing Doyle usually did to get comfortable was working. His head hurt from lack of sleep, and his eyes felt gritty, like they had a ton of sand in them.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Doyle gave his innocent pillow a hard punch and tried to manoeuvre it into a shape that would allow him to rest his weary head. But as soon as he closed his eyes, the images that popped up behind his lids kept him tossing and turning, kicking and cursing.

Maybe he should get up and go for a jog. Let all those emotions spill out as he ran until he was so exhausted, his muscles spent, he'd collapse on the bed and fall asleep.

Sex would work, too, if he only had a partner... it would work even better if that partner happened to be Bodie.

Frustrated, Doyle sat up in bed and switched on the bedside lamp. He pushed off the covers and was about to get up when the phone rang. With a frown, he picked up the receiver, and glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-six. "Hello?"

"Mr Doyle?"

Doyle forced air into his lungs. "Mr Malone."

"I'm sorry to call so late," Malone rushed, "but I need to talk to you. I'm... I'm so sorry about the other day. It's trite to say it, but I don't know what came over me. Are you all right? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," Doyle said carefully. "But you could have. You need professional help, Mr Malone. You risk hurting others in future if you don't get it." Malone seemed to still be listening, so he pressed on. "I can give you some referrals, if you'd like."

"I don't want referrals," Malone protested. "I only want you. You're the only one who understands. No one knows about... I mean, I can't talk to anybody about the dreams. Just you. You're kind and caring, and you don't judge me."

Doyle wondered what he should do next. He didn't want to say anything that would make Malone hang up, maybe even disappear, especially when the police wanted to talk to him.

"Mr Malone, it would help if you would share your name with me. David Malone is not your real name, is it?"

When Malone didn't answer, Doyle quickly said, "How about just your first name? That's all. I could help you better if I knew what it was."

Even though Malone didn't speak, Doyle knew the man was still on the line because he could hear the faint rumble of cars, the blare of horns, distant conversation.

"You're right," Malone finally said. "David Malone isn't my real name."

"What is it?" Doyle carefully pressed when Malone didn't continue.

"I'll tell you, but in return, you must do something for me."

The possibilities of what Malone would want Doyle to do tumbled through his head. He wasn't getting a thing from Malone psychically. The man was totally shut down and the only way Doyle could get him to open up was to assure him he had Doyle's trust.

"Okay," Doyle agreed. "Tell me your first name and I'll do something for you in return. But in all fairness, I do need to know what I'm agreeing to before I decide."

"No. If I'm going to trust you enough to tell you my name, you're going to have to trust me, too."

Doyle did his best to hide his growl of frustration. "Fine. I agree. Tell me your name."

There was the briefest silence on the other end of the line, then Malone said, "It's Arthur."

"Arthur," Doyle repeated. "It's a good name."

"Thank you," Malone said quickly. "Now, Mr Doyle, here's what I want you to do."

***

The ringing of the phone startled Bodie out of a deep sleep. Rolling over onto his back, he reached his hand out to the side and fumbled for the receiver. "Hello," he said groggily.

"Hi."

"Doyle?"

"Yeah, it's me. Look, I know I'm not supposed to call you, but... it's Malone, he wants to meet, I'm leaving to see him now."

Bodie sat straight up in bed, the impact of Doyle's words slamming into his skull like a fist to his temple. "No," he snarled. "You are not meeting him alone."

"Listen, I made a deal with him. He promised to tell me his first name if I'd do something for him in return. That would help the case, wouldn't it? To get his name?"

"Doyle-"

"No, just listen for a second, Bodie. It's the only way to draw him out. He wants to talk about his dream log, even said he'd bring it with him. I'm meeting him at twelve-thirty at St. James's Park. Figured it would be safe enough there. Still lots of people about, even at this time of night. He wouldn't be able to corner me or anything."

Bodie closed his eyes. "Not unless he pulls out a gun and shoots you from across the street!" he yelled in frustration. If that bastard touched one hair on Doyle's head...

"Wasn't born yesterday, you know. I've already called Murphy," he rushed on. "He's going to be waiting at the west end of the park. I just... I thought you should know. Oh, and Bodie? David Malone's real first name is Arthur."

Before Bodie could say anything, the line went dead. "Damn it!" he shouted and slammed the receiver down. Without wasting a second, he yanked on a pair of black jeans and t-shirt, and dark leather jacket. As soon as he'd put on his socks and shoes, he grabbed his weapon and rushed for the door.

Flinging his car door open, he threw himself behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition. By the time he shifted into first and pulled out onto the street, he was on the radio with his partner.

"You're supposed to stay out of this, Bodie," Murphy said, his voice sounding slightly annoyed.

"Like hell I will!" Bodie barked. "How could you let him go off on his own?"

"Doyle's the only one who can identify this bloke, and he refused to stay out of it. Said he was confident that we would keep him safe."

"Christ," Bodie grumbled as he guided the Capri around a tight corner in a squeal of tyres. "He's going to get himself killed."

"I've talked to Cowley and backup's on its way. Once he and Malone make contact, we'll move in. I'm at the park now, but I haven't seen Doyle yet, it's foggier than bloody pea soup down here."

"I'm almost there," Bodie said, cutting off contact and tossing the mic in the direction of the passenger seat.

Roaring down Abingdon Street, he dodged cars and late-night pedestrians. He quickly checked his watch: twelve thirty-seven. Shit. A red light forced him to slow, but as soon as the road junction was clear, he gunned the car through it. He was still five streets away and didn't dare use his siren for fear of scaring Malone away, or making him hurt Doyle.

As soon as he approached the junction of St. Margaret Street and Bridge Street, he cranked the wheel left and shot the Capri around the corner. One street before the park, Bodie slammed on the brakes, parked the car and began to run the rest of the way.

His heart thundered in his chest as he approached the far east side of the park. Sticking to the shadows, he scanned the area – what he could see of it, that is. In typical springtime fashion, London was shrouded in a dense, damp fog that obliterated any objects more than twenty yards off. Despite the weather and the hour, people milled around. Couples strolled along the pathways, their arms entwined, enjoying the cool night air and each other. But while there were people around, none of them appeared to be a lame-brained golly biting off more than he could chew.

The fog thinned suddenly and Bodie caught sight of Charlie and McCabe sitting in their parked Capri just opposite the park. Pulling his RT from his jacket pocket, and speaking into it quietly, he contacted them.

"8.5. here, go ahead 3.7.," Charlie answered.

"Been here long?" Bodie asked.

"About ten minutes. Just been keeping an eye out, like Murphy asked. So far, no suspicious-looking men lurking about. Fog's making it tough, though."

"Where's 2.6.?" Bodie enquired about Murphy

"Headed off into the park about five minutes ago."

Just then Bodie spotted Doyle emerging from the mist, sauntering along one of the pathways. He was wearing jeans and a denim jacket, but it was the hair that snared Bodie. There couldn't be another person on the planet who had a mass of curly hair like that.

"I've made visual," Bodie said into his RT. "Stay put for now. I'm going to approach."

"Roger that."

Crossing the street against the light, Bodie headed in Doyle's direction. Doyle hadn't noticed him yet, but his head was up, arms rested at his sides, and he walked along like he owned the place. As Bodie neared, he could tell that Doyle's eyes were alert, his demeanour assured. Although Bodie didn't know for sure, it looked like Doyle'd had some training in self-defence, or at the very least to march along like you're not a victim waiting to happen.

Bodie smiled to himself. Damn if Doyle wasn't something.

When Doyle slowed down for a moment to get his bearings, Bodie moved toward him.

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur," Bodie said loudly in a pseudo-French accent.

Doyle looked at him as recognition dawned and Bodie didn't miss the look of relief he saw in those green eyes.

"Je suis perdu... umm, I am... lost. Perhaps you could point me in the correct direction?"

With a lick of his lips, Doyle flicked a quick glance around the area. "Where is it you want to go?" He met Bodie's eyes and Bodie could tell he was nervous, but not afraid.

"I look for le café… at the Inn Restaurant. I am to meet with mes amis… my, uh… friends."

"It's not far from here. Just down this path, and around the corner." Doyle raised an arm and gestured to his right. "I'm meeting someone myself, but he hasn't shown up yet."

A couple holding hands came up behind Doyle, wove their way around him and past Bodie, then kept walking, huddled together, sharing an intimate conversation.

Bodie nodded, scanned the area in an interested tourist kind of way. "This fog, it is très thick. Perhaps I stay until your friend arrive, oui? It is not safe to be here all alone." Bodie leaned in closer. Ditching the French accent, he lowered his voice so only Doyle could hear and said with a growl, "In fact, some would say it was downright idiotic."

Narrowing his eyes, Doyle replied, "No need. Can take care of myself. But thank you for the concern. You can go now."

"Mr Doyle?" A man's voice emerged from the fog a split second before he did.

From the corner of his eye, Bodie could see a vague figure approaching.

"Arthur?" Doyle asked.

The man stepped forward, coming within a few feet of Doyle. He wore a heavy parka and a woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. His jaw was unshaven, and in the dim glow from the streetlamps Bodie couldn't make out his features clearly.

Speaking to Doyle, the man gestured to Bodie and asked, "Is this man bothering you?"

Bodie fought down his sense of irritation and focused instead on the small book clutched in the bloke's left hand.

"Arthur, are you all right?" Doyle asked, shifting toward him, "You look terrible."

Arthur never took his eyes off Bodie. "You're intruding. Please leave."

In his peripheral vision, Bodie saw Arthur cautiously make his way even closer to Doyle. He knew by this time his fellow CI5 agents would be close by, hidden by the fog. Now that Bodie had made contact, to ensure Doyle's safety nobody would do anything until he gave the signal.

Arthur was standing way too close to Doyle for Bodie's liking. He needed to get between them, then take this bloke down.

Just then a group of people appeared, chattering and filling the path with too many bodies, temporarily obscuring Bodie's view of both Doyle and Arthur.

As the crowd cleared, he saw Arthur make a grab for Doyle, snaring his wrist in a tight grip.

That changed everything.

Bodie rushed forward, thrusting his free arm around Arthur's neck, putting him in a lock.

"CI5," Bodie growled as Murphy, McCabe and Charlie materialised out of the fog, their weapons drawn. "You're under arrest for assault-"

"What the hell?" Arthur choked. "Let me go! I didn't do anything!" He began to struggle, reaching forward, clawing at the mist with his fingers, making a grab for Doyle. But Doyle stepped back, out of reach, his arms wrapping around his waist.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. Didn't know what else to do. It'll be okay," Doyle placated.

"You set me up?" Arthur rasped as Bodie kept him in a hold. "You fucking bastard! I trusted you! You were the only one I trus — Goddamn you!" He directed his yell at Bodie now. "Let me go!"

"Settle down, mate," Bodie warned. "Don't make this-"

Behind them, a woman suddenly screamed and McCabe turned in her direction. Arthur lashed out with his foot, kicking the agent in the side of the head, sending him sprawling onto the wet grass. The woman screamed again.

Suddenly a crowd gathered, and Murphy shouted at them to stay back. Arthur took advantage of the distraction to elbow Bodie straight in the gut. Not a hard blow, but enough to knock him off balance.

Arthur was as big as Bodie, and quick. His fist came back, smashing Bodie in the nose, nearly blinding him with pain. As the two of them grappled for domination, Arthur broke free of Bodie's hold.

Like a shot, Arthur was on the run, Bodie right on his heels.

"Hold your fire!" Bodie yelled to the other agents as he drew his own weapon.

All of a sudden there were too many people in the way, blocking Bodie's view of Arthur, slowing his pursuit. Cursing, panting, his nose bleeding like buggery, Bodie peered into the fog trying to tell which way Arthur had gone.

"Fuck!" Bodie ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. The fog closed in, welcoming the fleeing suspect into its embrace, but shutting Bodie out.

For an hour they combed the entire area. It was too late, though. Arthur, a.k.a David Malone, had vanished.

***

Doyle watched in dismay as Bodie, Murphy and another agent took off after Arthur. The agent that Arthur had kicked in the head remained with Doyle, staying close and positioning himself between Doyle and the small crowd that had gathered.

"I'm McCabe," the agent introduced himself and held out his hand.

Doyle shook Charlie's hand. "Ray Doyle."

"Don't wander off," Charlie ordered. "I don't think the suspect will come back, but just in case."

"I understand." Doyle took in the blood on the side of the agent's face. "You all right?"

Clutching a white handkerchief in his fist, Charlie put it to his temple and grinned. "I've got worse just roughhousing with me mates."

Dear God, he hadn't meant for any of this to happen. What had he done? Maybe he should have met Arthur alone after all...

No, not only would that have been really stupid, it would have proved Bodie to be right.

Doyle glanced around. What if Bodie's pursuit of Arthur got one of them hurt? He'd never forgive himself if anything happened to either of them...

But especially to Bodie.

Shut up, he told his conscience. He had enough to worry about beside whether he was letting himself fall for some cynical CI5 agent.

As the hour grew later, the crowd, with little excitement left to see, dissipated. Doyle narrowed his eyes and tried to peer through the fog, but nothing moved out there now.

Doyle shivered and pulled his jacket more tightly around him. It felt like it was getting colder.

As Charlie continued to keep tabs on the situation via his odd looking hand radio, Doyle paced, wondering how long it would be before Bodie came back. How long would he and the other agents pursue Arthur before either catching him or giving up?

Damn, why had Arthur grabbed him like he'd done? That had given Bodie the excuse he needed to use force rather than reason. Doyle's thoughts were drowned out by a helicopter hovering overhead, its rhythmic beating of rotors obliterating all other sounds. As its searchlight illuminated the mist around him, Doyle thought he saw something in the grass a few feet away.

Walking toward it, he knelt down. The moisture from the wet grass immediately seeped through the fabric of his jeans, chilling his knees and shins. He reached forward to pick up the dream log, when a voice stopped him.

"That's evidence. Don't touch it."

Doyle yanked his hand back as he raised his head to see Bodie emerge from the fog. His t-shirt was torn, his face smeared with blood. He had a bruise just below his left eye, and a cut lip.

To Doyle, the man looked glorious, like a medieval warrior just returned from battle. Doyle had the sudden urge to peel his clothing away and bathe him, tend to his wounds, feed him a bowl of hot gruel and a mug of mead...

"You look like hell," Doyle said in a quiet voice, while some insane joy quickened the beat of his heart at the realisation that Bodie was okay. "You should see a doctor."

"I'm fine," Bodie replied, crouching down next to him.

Doyle looked at him, suddenly finding himself unable to speak. How sick was it that with his hair mussed, his slightly stubbled jaw bruised, Bodie looked more appealing than ever?

However, instead of telling Bodie that, Doyle said, "This kind of thing happen to you often, does it?"

Pulling a plastic bag from his jacket pocket, Bodie said with a smirk, "On occasion. Your friend got away." Using the edge of his t-shirt, he eased the dream log into the bag and sealed it. "Where'd you park?"

When Doyle gestured down the street, Bodie rose. "Let's go." When Bodie spoke, Doyle didn't miss the annoyed tone to his voice.

"Why are you angry?" Doyle asked, getting to his feet.

Bodie's mouth flattened. "You shouldn't have agreed to meet him without consulting us first. We could have used an agent as a decoy and had more control over the situation. And kept you out of harm's way."

"There was no time-"

"Wait right here," Bodie ordered, and turned away to talk with his partner for a moment. He passed a set of keys to Charlie, then Murphy and the other agents left. As the men walked away, Bodie came up to him and took him by the arm.

"Here's the plan, Sherlock. We're going to your car, then we will proceed to my flat, where I will obtain clean clothing, after which, we will go to your house, where I will park me arse on your sofa, unless you have a spare bed."

"What?" Doyle stopped in his tracks, halting Bodie's forward march. "Why?"

"For the simple reason that it's three in the morning. I'm knackered and in need of a good kip before I take this diary in to have it analysed, dusted for prints, and a copy made that I can read. In the meantime," he growled. "David Malone, or Arthur, or whatever his bloody name is may take it in his head to get even with you for setting him up. If he does, it will be my beautiful face he sees when he comes knocking on your door."

"I know he was surprised, angry, but after he cools down... You don't really think he'd try to hurt me-"

"Yes, I do," Bodie replied as he once again soldiered Doyle along the path toward his car.

"And here I'd wanted to nurture you!" Doyle spat out, pulling his car keys from his pocket. "Well, I have news for you, Bodie, I can easily change nurture to neuter with a little imagination and a sharp knife!"

When they reached Doyle's white Ford Escort, Bodie turned him in one quick motion. He backed Doyle up until his arse was pressed against the passenger door. Bodie's hands came down on the roof on either side of Doyle's body, trapping him.

"Don't think you want to do that, Sunshine," Bodie murmured, leaning closer. His blue eyes held a glint that could have been menace – or lust.

***

He'd lost the book! During the struggle with that agent, he'd dropped the goddamned dream log!

Arthur fought to calm himself and think.

Perhaps those agents wouldn't find it. The night had been dark and foggy. Someone else could come across it tomorrow and toss it in the dustbin. Nobody knew what it was, just a bunch of scribbling that wouldn't mean anything to anybody who didn't know. He'd never put his name on it, so even if the agents did find the thing it would be quite a stretch to connect it to him.

Fingerprints. Shit, yeah, fingerprints. But he'd never had his prints taken. Even if they lifted some, there was nothing to match it to.

But Doyle... he'd seen it and could identify it as belonging to him.

Arthur's stomach squeezed hard, and he thought he might vomit.

Well, nothing he could do about the diary now, he thought. The only thing he could hope for was that it had been overlooked in the fog. He certainly wasn't going to go back there to look for it.

Dawn played with the horizon, lightening it a shade or two, teasing the sun to rise. He pulled his silver Aston Martin into the garage and turned off the ignition. Finally able to relax, he let his tired body slump behind the wheel as anger and depression hollowed out his insides.

Doyle had set him up. The one person he'd trusted with his innermost thoughts, with his worst fears and literally his most horrific nightmares, had set him up. Doyle'd been his last hope; now he had none. There was nowhere to turn.

With his heart in shreds, his brain a tangled mass of emotions, Arthur walked from the garage toward the private entrance that led upstairs to the bedrooms.

His eyes burned as he quickly went through the doors and took the flight of stairs. At the landing, he stopped and listened before heading for his room. The only sound was the soft tick-tock coming from the ancient grandfather clock that stood in the marbled hall below.

Arthur rubbed his eyes. Sleep, rest, a total and complete shut-down, that's exactly what he needed. He'd sort all this out tomorrow. Somehow, someway. He wasn't a killer, he just couldn't be. But the dreams... so real... so violent...

"Arthur?"

He jerked around to see his brother standing a few feet away in the open doorway of his room. He looked wide awake and wore his gold and black running outfit.

"T-Terence," Arthur stammered. "A bit early to be going out for a run."

His brother was two years younger than he and just as tall. He was a well-disciplined exercise fanatic, was toned and trim and his skin glowed with health. His eyes were blue, like his, like their father's, and at that moment they were bright with alarm.

"Are you hurt?" Terence asked, taking Arthur in, rumpled hair to soggy shoes. "What's happened? Is that blood on your shirt?"

"I'm fine," Arthur rushed. "It's okay. I just need to get cleaned up, get some sleep. It's... it's not what it looks like. Just a little accident."

Terence tilted his head and looked deeply into Arthur's eyes. He hadn't fooled his brother at all. Terence knew him better than anyone, better than he liked.

When Terence spoke, it was almost parental. "Something's been going on, Arthur. I want to know what it is. You come and go at all hours of the day and night. You look like hell. I think it's time we talked."

Arthur swallowed past a painful lump in his throat. Taking in a breath, he blew it out slowly, letting his shoulders drop, letting his heart slow, letting it all go.

"Yes, Terence," Arthur said quietly. "Let's talk."

***

"So he spent the night at your house?" Collin's green eyes widened, gleaming with mischief. He set down his coffee mug and leaned across the small café table. "In your bed? Did you have sex? Please tell me you had sex with him. Tell me every detail."

Doyle assessed his best friend over the rim of the cup he held in his hand. "He slept on the sofa in the lounge. By the time I got up he was gone, but he'd folded the blanket, rinsed out the coffee mug he'd used, and put it away."

"He folded... rinsed... aaand put...?" A dreamy look crossed Collin's face. "God, if he was that considerate with a coffee mug, imagine how he'd be in bed."

"Not going there." Doyle sipped at his tea. "What time are you meeting Ethan at the gym?"

Checking his watch, Collin said, "Not until three. We still have half an hour, and don't change the subject. He sounds like an absolute darling. You mustn't let him get away."

"Enough!" Doyle tried to suppress his smile, but it didn't work. "I'm not interested."

Collin snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Collin," Doyle said with a half-hearted scowl. "Bodie is totally wrong for me. First off, he's a CI5 agent. Second, he's arrogant. Third, he's bossy. Fourth, sceptical-"

"He's also gorgeous, and you haven't been laid since Gavin left." Collin drained the rest of his coffee and placed the empty mug on the table. "Seduce him, love. You're dazzling. He won't be able to resist. He'll thank you for it. Hell, I'll thank you for it because you'll stop being so snippety and moody all the time."

"What? I am not snippety and moody."

Collin arched a brow.

Doyle sighed. "He investigated me, you know. Behind my back."

Understanding softened Collin's eyes. "Well, he is a detective... agent... whatever," he waved a hand around in the air, "and you do have a suspicious client. I wouldn't beat him up too badly over that, Ray."

Doyle considered his friend's words. "You're right. I got upset because it was him, and now he knows things about me. If I only thought of him as just a CI5 agent, that would be one thing, but I don't."

"What do you think of him as?"

"He's bloody gorgeous. I'm attracted to him, and not just physically. He's somebody I could be with." Doyle sat back in his chair and tilted his head. "He's smart. Has a very odd sense of humour... but I like it. Then there's this look he gets in his eyes sometimes, like there's something deep down inside his soul that he's a little sad about. A yearning for something he's lost."

"Oh, dear," Collin said with a sympathetic smile. "You're falling for him, aren't you?"

"Feel like I am, mate. But it's bloody confusing. Find myself falling in love with him, but I'm not sure I want to. After what Gavin did to me, swore I'd never get seriously involved with a man again."

Collin smiled warmly. "Listen to me, love. Stop over-analysing the situation and go for it. See what happens."

Doyle pressed his lips together for a second, then said, "I don't want to get hurt."

Lowering his palms to the table, Collin said, "Nobody does. But sometimes it's worth taking that chance to find the love of your life."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Doyle shifted his gaze away from his best friend, not sure how to answer.

"Come on, Ray," Collin said softly. "What are you going to do with the sexy Mr Bodie?"

"Don't know. The next move is up to him, if there is a next move in this... situation. He was quite upset with me for meeting with Arthur. Have tried talking to him about my abilities, but Bodie doesn't believe in them. He isn't even willing to consider the possibility that the paranormal can coexist alongside what he believes is normal, and that some of us can live in both those worlds."

"Is he coming to your house again tonight?"

"No, but he did call earlier with a list of dos and don'ts – don't go here, don't go there, don't do this, don't do that." Doyle chuckled. "For a list of dos and don'ts, it sure as hell was skimpy on the dos. He says these rules are for my safety. Says he's being cautious because he thinks Arthur may be bent on revenge."

"That's what Bodie says. What do you say?"

Doyle closed his eyes for a moment, trying to sort out what he knew, from what he thought, from what he sensed. Opening his eyes, he said. "On one hand, there's Arthur, who has dreams of killing people who actually turn up dead."

"That would certainly freak me out," Collin said.

"Agreed. Then he came to my house and tried to strangle me."

"Not exactly the actions of an innocent man."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. When Arthur realised I'd set him up, he went bonkers."

"Ray," Collin said, his green eyes clouded with worry. "This does not sound good. Arthur could be a homicidal maniac, and now he's furious with you."

Doyle nodded. "Know it looks bad, really I do. But I also trust in my instincts. Always have, and they've never led me astray."

"What about Gavin?"

"They were briefly blinded by love?" Doyle smirked and shrugged. "Look, I know there's plenty of evidence pointing Arthur as the killer, but I have to believe there's another explanation."

Collin frowned and he looked sceptical. "Perhaps your subconscious simply cannot accept you could know a man who could commit murder."

"Maybe. Christ, I just feel terribly helpless, stuck in the middle of all this, and I don't even know what this is. I feel like I need to do something, take some kind of action. If Bodie would just acknowledge my abilities and take advantage of them, perhaps I'd be able to help."

Collin nodded a few times. "You need to bring him around, show him what you want, on your terms. Find a way to make him listen to you and take you seriously."

"Oh, sure, and while I'm at it I'll cure world hunger," Doyle said in frustration.

Reaching across the table, Collin lightly squeezed Doyle's hand. "Don't give up, love. You'll think of something."

***

With a small groan, Bodie eased himself down into his chair at CI5 headquarters, a copy of the dream log in his hand. His nose hurt like hell, his muscles ached from last night's tussle with Arthur, and the fingerprints the lab had got off the diary had careened him into a dead end.

To top it all off, he'd awakened that morning on Doyle's sofa with a killer erection and had refused to give in to the urge to toss himself off. To pass the time and take his mind off sex, Bodie had folded the blankets, and made himself some toast and a cup of coffee. By the time he'd cleaned up his mess, his body had begun to cooperate.

Murphy appeared beside Bodie's desk and slid into the extra chair. "Aww, mate, what's wrong? You look like you could use a hug." His partner smirked and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Bugger off." Bodie chuckled and gave his partner a playful shove. He picked up the dream log then tossed it back down on his desk. "Lots of prints on front and back covers. Problem is, from the time it was manufactured to the time it was purchased, too many people had their hands on it. Bottom line, the covers are a mess."

Murphy scratched at his chin with his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. "What about inside, on the pages?"

Bodie leant back in his chair and stretched out his legs. "Most prints were incomplete or too vague to read. There were one or two, though. Ran those through the database. No hits, but..."

Folding his hands over his lean belly, Murphy said, "Thatbut sounds promising."

"It is." Bodie grinned and leant closer to his partner. "One of the prints matched that one we found on the broken wine bottle. The other print had no matches."

"Well, we've placed the owner of the dream log at the scene of the alley murder. That's good work, that is." Murphy smiled.

Not really, Bodie thought. If Doyle hadn't told him about the broken bottle in Arthur's dream, he wouldn't have gone poking around that alley looking for one.

Since the implications of what that meant challenged every belief he'd ever had, Bodie let it go for now.

Murphy's gaze flicked over Bodie's face. "You okay? You took a nasty hit last night."

Bodie shrugged. "I'm fine. My revenge will come when we put this bastard away." Handing Murphy an extra copy of the dream log, he said, "This log's a mess, really hard to read. It's going to take some time to decipher." After checking his watch, Bodie pushed away from his desk and stood up. "See you tomorrow, mate."

"Where you heading off to?"

Looking around to make sure they were alone in the room, Bodie said, "Going to football tonight. I've just enough time to clean up, pick up me date, and get down to the ground."

Murphy sat straight up and his jaw dropped. "You got tickets to the match tonight? Those are bloody impossible to get. Who'd you have to sleep with to get them?"

Bodie smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "A gentleman never tells."

"Hate to break it to you, mate, but you're no gentleman." With a laugh, Murphy jumped out of his seat when Bodie took a swat at him. When he was out of reach he said, "Oh, come on, do tell."

Bodie lowered his voice. "Doyle." When he saw Murphy open his mouth to speak, Bodie quickly cut him off. "I didn't sleep with him. He called earlier to invite me."

"Think that's a good idea? There'll be hell to pay if Cowley finds out."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bodie glared at his partner. "Yeah, well, he's not going to, is he."

Murphy glared right back."You know me better than that, Bodie."

Bodie released a long breath. "Yeah. Sorry, mate."

"You think Doyle's on the level? That he really can see people's dreams."

"No." Bodie rubbed his jaw then shook his head. "Not really. But Doyle believes it, and... Oh, hell, I don't know what to think anymore. He's an intelligent man, but I don't get how he can believe that he 'sees' dreams."

Murphy leant a hip against his own desk. "What do you think?"

Bodie shrugged. "Guesswork? Intuition? The ability to read people well? Lies? Shit." He ran a hand over the top of his head. "I don't know. I just have a really hard time believing in all that hocus-pocus crap."

Snatching up his copy of the dream log, Bodie folded the papers and slid them into the inside pocket of his jacket. Not only was Doyle the key to the investigation, but he'd affected Bodie as well. Intrigued him in a way no man ever had. And as pushy and bossy as Doyle was sometimes, Bodie liked him, liked being with him, liked the sound of his husky voice, and the spark of mischief in those exotic green eyes.

***

Doyle opened his front door expecting to see Bodie standing there. Instead a tall, dark-haired man stood waiting on his front steps.

"May I help you?" Doyle asked.

"Mr Doyle? My name is Scott Williams. So sorry to bother you, but I need to talk to you."

"What about?" Doyle asked, curious.

"I have important information concerning one of your clients," Williams replied, his voice pitched low. "May I come in? I assure you it won't take long."

With a quick glance at his watch, Doyle noted that he still had enough time before Bodie was to pick him up.

"Okay. But you'll have to be quick about it."

"Certainly."

Closing the front door, he escorted Williams to his office. When they were both seated, Doyle said, "You have something to tell me about a client?"

"Yes. This is very... difficult for me."

Williams's dark hair was combed back slick against his skull, making it impossible not to notice the man's fine bone structure and intelligent blue eyes. He had that look about him, that money look. Doyle saw it easily, it was all there in the way the man held himself, chin slightly raised, eyes gazing at Doyle straight on, then flicking away to peruse the room as though taking some kind of inventory.

"Difficult?" Doyle asked. "In what way?"

Williams ran his tongue over his bottom lip. "It's an acquaintance of mine. Someone I'm rather fond of. He told me he's been coming to see you. He's been behaving rather strangely for the past few months and when I asked him about it..."

Doyle's stomach did a little flip. Even though he suspected who Williams was talking about, Doyle still had to ask, "Who is your friend?"

Williams gave him a very odd smile. "Arthur."

A million thoughts clashed inside Doyle's brain. He waited a moment while his heartbeat returned to normal then said, "In what way has he been behaving strangely?"

Williams lounged back into the cushions of the sofa, crossing his legs at the ankles. "I'd prefer not to go into great detail," he insisted. "Arthur and I had a lengthy discussion. He explained he'd run somewhat afoul of the law."

"It's true. Did he tell you the police want him for questioning?"

"Yes. That's why I'm here." Williams paused for a moment, appearing to gather his thoughts. He took a deep breath before slowly saying, "Arthur is not capable of murder. Believe me when I say he simply is not. He told me about the dreams, and how he was so troubled over them that he sought your help." He arched a slim eyebrow. "He should have come to me instead." Sitting a little straighter, Williams narrowed his eyes at Doyle. "Are you on the level, Mr Doyle? Can you really do what you claim?"

"Yes."

Pinning Doyle with a cold stare, Williams said, "You haven't helped him."

"I urged him to see a therapist, but he refused. There's only so much I can do." Doyle hated that it sounded like an excuse, but the fact was, unless Arthur came forward, there really wasn't anything Doyle could do.

Standing, Williams said, "I want you to tell the police they've got the wrong man, Mr Doyle."

Doyle pushed himself to his feet. "I think you should talk to the police about this. There's nothing-"

"I don't want to become involved."

"If Arthur talked to you, you are involved."

"Arthur is a very powerful man. He has much to lose if he becomes entangled in accusations of murder. There's been enough turmoil since his father died last year. Tell the police to leave him alone. I must be going." Williams left the office and walked to the front door, Doyle right behind him.

"Wait, Mr Williams." Doyle hoped to delay the man, knowing that Bodie should be arriving any second now and then the agent could have a chat with Williams. "Please, talk to the authorities. If Arthur is innocent, then he can clear his name. You do think he's innocent, don't you?"

Once Williams was outside on the steps he stopped, turned and addressed Doyle. "I assure you, Mr Doyle, the only thing Arthur is guilty of is writing down some nightmares. That is not a crime. If those dreams resemble actual murders, it's purely coincidental."

Walking down the short red brick path, Williams opened the wooden gate. Doyle followed him out onto the pavement. "Mr Williams, Arthur attacked me, he resisted arrest. He accosted two CI5 agents. If he has nothing to hide, he should turn himself in."

Scott Williams ignored Doyle and began walking away. Over his shoulder, he called, "Thank you for your time, Mr Doyle. Good-bye."

The fog had crawled in once more, pressing against the streets, cooling the air. To ward off the chill, Doyle slid his hands into his jeans front pockets and hunched over a little. The light t-shirt he wore wasn't nearly enough to stave off the bite of the breeze blowing up his street.

A few cars down from Doyle's house, just in front of a multi-coloured Volkswagen campervan, Williams opened the door and slid behind the wheel of a pristine, very expensive-looking sports car.

Doyle hurried to get closer. As Williams cranked the wheel and rolled quickly away, Doyle leaned around the VW, focused hard on the plate gracing the rear bumper of the gold Porsche 911, and committed what he saw to memory.

***

"You did get the registration number?" Bodie asked, pacing back and forth across the hardwood floor of Doyle's lounge. From the moment he'd walked into the house and Doyle had told him he'd met a man who claimed to know Arthur, Bodie was certain this was the break in the case he'd been waiting for.

"I did. But..."

Bodie stopped and turned to look at Doyle. "But?"

"Well, it was dark... and a wee bit foggy... and Williams did pull away rather quickly. I'm not certain I got all the numbers correct-"

"Just give me the bloody numbers, Doyle," Bodie snapped. "Don't need your psychic voodoo for that, do you?"

Silence.

A moment later, Doyle stood up, rattled off the number and left the room.

Using his RT, Bodie contacted Murphy and related all the information he had on Williams. After he signed off, he blew out a long breath, calming himself before going in search of Doyle. He had to check through a few rooms first before finally finding him at the back of the house in the kitchen. Doyle was sitting on a chair, holding a glass of orange juice in one hand while he used the fingers of the other to trace small circles on the table's scarred wooden top. His forehead was creased with a frown, and he looked angry and a little hurt.

Bodie's heart twisted with emotions.

This case was really getting to him. Two people were dead, perhaps more. And everything was so elusive; even things that should have been solid – such as a simple vehicle registration plate – seemed to slip through his fingers. It still irked him that Arthur had got clean away. But that was not Doyle's fault, it was his. He had no right to take his frustrations out on him.

Sitting down opposite Doyle, Bodie rested his arms on the table and folded his hands together. "Look, Ray, sorry I yelled. I know you did your best."

Doyle glanced up, eyes raking over Bodie before giving a slight nod. He then leant back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "I think Williams was lying... about who he was."

Bodie leaned forward a little. "Go on," he urged.

"Claimed to be a close friend of Arthur's, that he's innocent. He wanted me to tell the authorities to leave Arthur alone. I didn't have to touch Williams to know something was off."

"What do you think?" Bodie asked.

"I think..." Doyle paused, seeming to think a moment, then, "I think he does know Arthur. Might even know him quite well. But I don't think he has Arthur's best interest at heart. In fact..."

Bodie nodded when Doyle looked at him.

"It felt like Williams was trying to protect himself. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, it does. And it's very possible. Okay, listen, Ray," Bodie said, his tone soft. "I want you to write everything down that you remember."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

Getting to his feet, Doyle rummaged around in a kitchen drawer and produced a pad and pen. Five minutes later he was finished and sliding the pad across the table toward Bodie.

"Ta, mate. This is great." Bodie folded the paper and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket alongside his RT. "You ready to go?"

Doyle looked at him, his eyebrows rising. "Eh? Go where?"

"To the match, where else?"

After hesitating a moment, Doyle asked, "You still want to go?"

"Course... don't you?"

"Yeah, I do." Doyle grinned. He got to his feet and Bodie followed him out of the kitchen.

Once they were in Bodie's car and driving down the street, he gave a quick glance Doyle's way and said, "You do know Arsenal will prevail tonight and your sorry-arsed Chelsea team will head home in disgrace with their tails between their legs."

"Not bloody likely, mate," Doyle said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Care to place a small wager on that?" Bodie turned to him and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'd be a fool to bet with you." Doyle laughed. "Especially since it appears that a victory on your part may involve some sort of sexual escapades."

With a grin, Bodie said, "You'd be right. But if you're so sure Chelsea are going to win, then you have nothing to lose."

"I'm no fool. I only make wagers on sure things. There's just enough of an outside chance that your team could squeak by to make me into a chump for taking your bet."

Bodie tipped back his head and laughed. It didn't really matter who won tonight, because as soon as the match was over, one way or another he was going to have his wicked way with Doyle.

***

Part 5

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 3 of 8)

2010-09-17T00:53:07Z

Slowly, Doyle lifted his lids and stared into his rescuer's face. The man was sort of blurry, fading in and out a little, but there was no mistaking those glittering blue eyes.

Blinking up at Bodie, Doyle wasn't exactly sure what had happened. One moment he'd been shoved, had fallen onto the tarmac in front of the oncoming bus, the next he'd found himself being yanked out of harm's way and rolling across the pavement with a man landing on top of him.

After taking a calming breath, Doyle asked, "Where did you come from?"

Bodie answered seriously, "Well, when two people love each other very much-"

"No, you great lummox," Doyle growled around his laughter. "Got that speech from me mum when I was ten. Were you following me?"

"Sort of." Bodie got to his feet and held out his hand.

"Sort of?" Suddenly aware of the crowd surrounding them, staring, Doyle lifted his arm and slid his hand into Bodie's. As he was easily pulled to his feet, Doyle couldn't help but feel the strength in Bodie, in his muscular body. Once Doyle was upright, he stumbled slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. He felt Bodie's arm slip around his waist, and Doyle realised he liked the feeling – a lot.

"Okay, Ray?" Bodie asked, his eyes filled with concern.

"Just a tad dizzy."

"Come on. Let's sit down." Bodie ushered Doyle to the bus stop bench. Sitting down next to him, Bodie eyed Doyle worriedly. "Did you bump your head?"

"No. Only scraped me hands a bit."

"Let me see." Doyle flipped his hands over, palms up. Leaning forward, Bodie took Doyle's hands in his, inspecting them thoroughly. Bodie reached into the side pocket of his leather jacket, retrieved a handkerchief and proceeded to gently clean the dirt and blood from Doyle's palms. Once finished he eyed Doyle and asked, "Better?"

"Yeah. I'll live."

"Good." Bodie smirked, and gently patted Doyle on his shoulder.

After checking his hands one last time, Doyle turned to Bodie. "Did you see who pushed me?"

"Eh?" Bodie frowned.

"Did you see-"

Bodie's hand shot up, cutting Doyle off. "You're saying someone pushed you in front of that bus?"

Doyle nodded.

"Stay right here," Bodie said and stood up. "I need to question this crowd." Doyle felt Bodie squeeze his arm briefly, then he let Doyle go while he went to talk with some of the witnesses.

In the end, nobody had seen Doyle being pushed into the street, although those who had noticed anything at all did wonder why Doyle had suddenly leapt from the pavement.

With a groan, he got to his feet. An hour had passed since the incident, and every muscle in his body had begun to stiffen. His trousers were torn, knees were bruised and his hands were scraped raw. He was not looking forward to the twenty minute walk back to his house.

As though reading his thoughts, Bodie said, "I'll drive you home."

Doyle smiled, hoping the gratitude showed in his eyes.

"Car's this way." Bodie took Doyle by the elbow, leading him down the street.

Once they were inside Bodie's Capri, Doyle glanced over at him and asked, "Why were you following me?"

"Didn't really mean to. Was just coming out of the grocer's when I happened to spot you at the road junction."

"You saw me on the corner, but didn't see who pushed me?"

"Sorry. There were too many people about." Bodie glanced over his right shoulder before pulling out into traffic. "Besides, how was I to know what was going to happen? I'm not the one who's psychic, am I."

Doyle glared at Bodie for a second then looked away. Over the years, he'd dealt with other law enforcement officers who'd treated his abilities with the same casual disrespect, so Doyle really wasn't surprised by Bodie's attitude. No, not surprised, but a little disappointed. Something deep inside Doyle wanted Bodie to be better than that.

"Look, Bodie. My psychic abilities are somewhat... restricted. I'm tactile and don't get much unless I touch a person or object. Perhaps you could try keeping an open mind."

"I've had experience with psychics before," Bodie said, throwing a glance Doyle's way. "Which is why I can say with some authority that it's a bunch of rubbish."

Turning away, Doyle gazed out the side passenger window, watching the scenery as it dashed by. Not entirely sure why he was about to share this information with Bodie, Doyle found himself saying, "I'll have you know that I did get something as I was being pushed, but it flashed so fast, there was no time for it to register in my mind."

"Got something?"

"An image, an impression. But then I felt the hand shoving me, and the next thing I knew I was out in the road."

Bodie slid Doyle a sceptical look. "Anything you say, sunshine."

Taking a deep breath, Doyle reined in his burgeoning anger. Not in the mood for another argument, he kept his mouth shut for the remainder of the drive.

Pulling up in front of Doyle's house, Bodie put the car in neutral and set the handbrake. However, instead of looking over at him, Bodie's eyes stayed focused on the distant horizon.

Without a word, Doyle got out of the car. Before he could shut the door, Bodie asked, "Sure you're okay?"

"You keep asking me that. I'm fine. Thanks for the lift." Slamming the door shut, Doyle moved away from the car. He had only taken a couple of steps when Bodie was calling his name. Turning around, he saw that Bodie was standing outside of the vehicle, open hands casually placed on the roof.

"What are you doing for the rest of the week? Nothing too strenuous, I hope."

"No," Doyle replied, wondering where Bodie was going with this. "I teach an adult class once a week. Don't think that'll put any kind of strain on me scraped hands and knees."

"Adult class? When?"

Doyle frowned. Why, all of sudden, was Bodie so interested in what he was going to be doing?

"Wednesday, at the local community centre. It's a Dream Interpretation class. All the information is up on the bulletin board at the centre, just in case you want to set your staid, inflexible, narrow-minded, sceptical standards aside and join us."

Bodie smirked. "Will keep that in mind. If you hear from Malone again, let me know."

Doyle released an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Bodie."

"Stay safe."

Shifting his gaze up, he met Bodie's across the top of the car's roof. "I will."

Bodie lifted a hand and pointed a finger at Doyle. "Don't do anything foolish."

"No, Bodie," Doyle replied, rolling his eyes.

With a nod, Bodie slid in behind the steering wheel, put the car in gear, and took off down the street. Doyle watched him go, and realised he felt both exhilarated and let down at the same time.

Okay, so Bodie was handsome and intriguing, and made for some hot, sexy fantasy fodder, but that was as far as it was ever going to go. They were just too different and stubborn to be able to build any type of a relationship.

***

Doyle sat at a small table in his local pub watching his best mate make his way through the crowd toward him.

"Place is crowded tonight," Collin said, handing Doyle his beer.

"Cheers, mate." Doyle lifted his glass and took a long, slow swallow of the bitter liquid.

Collin smiled, tilted his glass in salute and took a sip of his drink. "Bodie is very attractive, don't you think?"

"Is he?" Doyle feigned disinterest by looking into his beer.

"Ray-"

"Okay, fine." Releasing a sigh, he said, "Would be lying if I said I hadn't noticed." Doyle took another sip from his glass. "Has your sister set a date for the wedding?"

"It's in August, but you already know that. Don't change the subject. I think he likes you." Collin paused for a second. "He's the first man you've shown any interest in since Gavin."

"Eh?" Doyle abandoned his beer to stare at his friend. "What are you talking about? I haven't shown any interest in Bodie. I barely know him. It's been strictly official. Besides, he's incredibly arrogant and stubborn, not to mention he's a non-believer. Could never become involved with a man who doesn't understand..." He let the words trickle off when he saw Collin's wide grin and realised he was protesting way too much.

"It's quite all right to like him, Ray." Collin winked at him. "He'd be a very lucky man to win your heart."

For some ungodly reason, an image of Bodie pressed itself into Doyle's head, and even though he tried several times to push it into oblivion, it held on and stayed right where it was.

***

Bodie sat outside on the terrace at the little café he frequented. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head up and let the warmth of the sun loosen his tense muscles. He let his mind wander and, as it always seemed to do recently, it brought up images of Doyle.

His lids flickered open and his attention fell to the file beneath his hand. Running an index finger over it, he contemplated what he'd just read.

Robert had been thorough, and Bodie would pay a high price because of it. His brother had never been one to do something for nothing. He knew Robert would call in the favour when it was least convenient. Fair enough, he supposed. With the information that Bodie had gathered, along with what his brother had dug up, Bodie now knew everything there was to know about Raymond Doyle – more than Doyle probably knew himself.

But it wasn't enough.

Today was Wednesday...

After a quick check of his watch, Bodie got to his feet. Picking up the file, he tossed a couple of quid on the table and headed for his car.

The Community Centre car park was nearly full by the time he arrived. He wasn't sure what room Doyle's class was in, but he figured he could just follow all the vacant-eyed nutcases and they'd lead him right to Doyle.

Pushing open the main front door, he stepped into the hallway and spotted a group of six women chattering amongst themselves like a gaggle of brightly feathered geese.

Ah, he thought. This must be the place.

The women turned in unison and began making their way down the corridor to enter the last room on the right. He set off in their direction, and when he reached the open classroom door he peeked inside.

Bodie couldn't have said why his heart gave a lurch when he saw Doyle – or perhaps he could, and that was part of the problem. Ray Doyle was contentious, bad-tempered, stroppy, stubborn... and so incredibly hot it made Bodie's blood simmer. He knew he'd be wise to stay away from the man, but for the life of him, he couldn't. Now that he'd found out all about Doyle, Bodie wanted to know more.

Doyle stood in profile to him, engaged in conversation with an elderly woman wearing an oversized, brightly patterned dress. Taking a moment, Bodie allowed his gaze to take Doyle in, head to toe. From his glorious mass of unruly hair, to the dark red sweater and too tight jeans. The way he stood, hip resting against a table top, hand gesturing as he talked, Doyle was alluring, and tempting as hell.

Bodie knew the moment Doyle became aware of him. Doyle's speech stalled and the muscles in his body tensed. Finally, he turned in Bodie's direction as though he were preparing himself to face a firing squad.

Their gazes locked. Doyle's green eyes widened, then narrowed. And Bodie knew exactly what Doyle was thinking... What the hell do you want?

With a raise of his eyebrow, Bodie gave Doyle his best smile and a wink. Looking away, Doyle said something to the elderly woman, who nodded and returned to her seat.

"Do you have an admittance slip?" Doyle asked Bodie as he approached.

"I left it at home." Bodie did his best to look contrite.

"What are you doing here?" Doyle's voice was husky and just a tone away from being a growl. Bodie liked it.

"Research," Bodie replied and left it at that.

Around them the classroom mutters and murmurs quieted as all eyes turned to watch their teacher greet his new student. Bodie could tell by Doyle's expression that he had noticed as well – and didn't like it.

Plastering a smile on his face, Doyle said a little too loudly, "Of course you can monitor the session before deciding if you want to join the class. Please take a seat, Mr Bodie."

Bodie grinned and nodded. Sliding into one of the seats near the front, he decided this hadn't been a half-bad idea after all. Doyle was the teacher, he the student. That gave him free rein to stare at Doyle for two hours – chest, legs, hips, arse, and... well, the rest. Not to mention Doyle's rugged face, and curly hair that made Bodie want to run his fingers through it.

By the time the class was ready to start nearly all the seats in the room were filled. Glancing around, Bodie noted the women outnumbered the men two-to-one, and the young outnumbered the old. All of them eyed him and his leather jacket and black jeans like he was some sort of hit man. Since his weapon was secured in his shoulder holster, he couldn't shrug out of his jacket, so he kept it on.

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Bodie turned his full attention on the best-looking teacher he'd ever had. He watched as Doyle ran his gaze over the length of his body, then reached for the glass of water. After taking a gulp, Doyle cut a stern glance at Bodie before turning his attention to the rest of the class, apparently determined to ignore him. Bodie considered it a personal victory that Doyle felt he needed to try.

"Welcome," Doyle announced. "This is our fifth session. To get things started, does anyone have a dream they'd like to share?"

Several hands went up. Gesturing to a thirty-something woman with short red hair, Doyle said, "Go ahead, Mrs Felder."

Mrs Felder grinned, stood and went to the front of the class. "Well, a few nights ago I had the most bizarre dream. I was in a prison. I've had prison dreams before, a lot of times, but that's beside the point, I suppose." She gave a little laugh. "Anyway, I was in this prison and there was a big courtyard. I watched as guards wheeled in a flat-bedded cart sort of thing. On the cart there was a giant potato. I mean, it was the size of a lorry!"

Felder glanced at Doyle briefly before she continued, "The potato had been cut open and fluffed, like they do in restaurants. But it didn't have any toppings. Then this other prisoner – actually, it was Edward Woodward, the actor, if you can believe that..."

Everyone in the class laughed, and Mrs Felder grinned.

"So, Edward Woodward and I agreed it would be a good idea to climb inside the potato, so that when the guards wheeled it away, we could escape. We did just that, and got out of the prison, and then the dream ended. I can't imagine what in the world it means."

As the class nodded and scribbled notes, Doyle stepped forward and asked Mrs Felder to return to her seat.

To the class Doyle said, "For Mrs Felder to understand what her dream is trying to tell her, she needs to think about what's going on in her life right now. A prison escape and a giant potato, and even a famous actor. Those three things are going to mean something different to each of us. Those dream interpretation books you can buy generally don't help much because different symbols mean different things to different people."

Bodie watched as Doyle crossed the room and sat down on his desk chair to face the class. Leaning his elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers, and smiled at Mrs Felder.

"Having said that, a prison can usually be interpreted as confinement, either emotional or physical. And a potato certainly represents food to one degree or another. And Edward Woodward... Mrs Felder envisioned him, while you or I would have dreamed up a different person entirely, depending on what he symbolises to us."

Shifting gears a little, Doyle asked, "Was Mrs Felder's dream prophetic, release, wish, or problem-solving?"

The classroom bubbled with lively conversation and musings as the students debated with each other as to what kind of dream Felder had experienced.

"Mr Bodie?" Doyle looked him squarely in the eyes. "Which do you think it was?" All conversation came to a halt and the room grew quiet.

Bodie squirmed a little in his seat. "Wish?" he guessed.

"Very good." Doyle's eyes were alight with mischief. "And what was Mrs Felder wishing for?"

Bodie shifted around in his seat once again. "That she wants to go out to dinner with Edward Woodward?"

Behind him, several women tittered, a man laughed, and Mrs Felder giggled.

"I doubt that's it," Doyle said, amusement warming his voice. Bodie felt his body respond to Doyle in spite of himself. "That doesn't explain the prison aspect of the dream, Mr Bodie."

Returning his attention to the class, Doyle said, "Anybody else have-"

"Wait!" Mrs Felder rose from her seat. Her fingers clutched a tissue as tears slid down her plump cheeks. "I... I think I know. I want to tell you-"

"It's not necessary, love," Doyle interrupted, his voice calm and soothing. "I understand now, but you don't have to talk about this in class." His eyes were filled with compassion, and some kind of pain Bodie didn't understand.

Mrs Felder shook her head. "I want to... my husband," she stammered, voice thick with tears. "We don't have a good marriage. He's so controlling, you see. Harsh. Physically, if you know what I mean? I eat. It's what I do to escape, to be kind to myself. Even though I realise it, I can't seem to stop." She wiped her eyes. "I think the prison represents my marriage, the potato was the food I use to cope, to escape. It's probably obvious by just looking at me." She sobbed again. "And Edward Woodward... well, maybe he represents my an-anger." She was crying full-out now.

"Let's take a break, shall we," Doyle said quietly.

Quickly crossing the room, Doyle sat down next to Mrs Felder and took hold of her hand. "It's okay," Doyle murmured. "You're safe here."

The other students stood and began filing out of the room, throwing looks of sympathy in Mrs Felder's direction. Bodie went to the door, but didn't leave.

Knowing that Mrs Felder's husband was hitting her made Bodie's stomach tighten and his hands clench into fists at his sides. Bastard. There should be a special place in hell for men who abused women.

Doyle lifted his head and looked across the room at Bodie. Their eyes locked, and there was no mistaking the plea in his gaze. Pushing away from the doorframe, he made his way toward Doyle and Mrs Felder.

"This is Bodie," Doyle quietly introduced. "He's a friend, and he's..." Green eyes stared up at him asking for help to explain what, exactly, was Bodie's profession.

"In law enforcement." Bodie added, going with that title thinking it would be easier for the distraught woman to understand than giving details of him being a CI5 agent.

Mrs Felder raised her tear-stained face to him and brought the tissue to her nose, but said nothing.

"I can help you," Bodie continued, "but you must file charges against your husband."

Taking a small note pad and pencil from his pocket, Bodie jotted down a number then held out the piece of paper to her. "It's the number of a women's shelter," he said. "It's safe. Call them."

Mrs Felder gazed down at the paper, sniffed and took it. "Thank you. I'll think about it. I have children, and-"

"Then do it for them, if not for yourself. All right?" Bodie gave her a caring smile.

She nodded and turned to Doyle. "I'll think about it, really. I'm going to go now. I've never told anybody about this before. I can't believe I did. I'm so sorry."

"Mrs Felder," Doyle said, his voice gentle, "there's no reason for you to apologise. A person can only take so much for so long. You wanted it to come out. Your dream was telling you it was time. Please, take Bodie's advice, go to the shelter."

Mrs Felder nodded again, then went and gathered up her handbag and notebook. Silently, she walked to the door. Before moving into the hall she paused, turned to Doyle, and smiled before stepping away.

"She won't call, will she." Doyle's words were not a question.

"Probably not."

"Is there anything we can do?"

Bodie released a long sigh. "No."

"She's a nice woman."

Bodie nodded and muttered, "Yeah. They usually are."

As the students returned to the room, Bodie took his seat, and for the next ninety minutes he watched Doyle conduct class. Bodie had to admit, Doyle knew his stuff. Most of it was rubbish, of course, but that was beside the point.

Doyle's hands were expressive and he tended to move them as he spoke. Bodie studied Doyle's mouth, too, as it formed all sorts of words – smart words, kind words, engaging words. With each word he spoke, Doyle became more attractive to Bodie, and more desirable.

After class was finished, a few students lingered to ask questions. Bodie bided his time, waiting until everyone had gone and he was alone with Doyle.

"You're very good with your students. Thought you handled Mrs Felder's situation very well."

"Oh, ta, mate." Doyle smiled then his face became serious. "Hadn't realised until tonight how much she's hurting. Just wish there was more I could do."

Bodie lifted a shoulder. "Knows she can come to you, doesn't she. And, she knows there are people who care about her. Perhaps that'll give her the strength to leave the pillock," Bodie growled.

Doyle's gaze lifted to meet Bodie's eyes. "You seem to have strong feelings about domestic violence."

"Just don't like to see women being abused."

Doyle nodded, staring at Bodie for a minute before tossing a bunch of papers and a book into a briefcase and snapping the lid closed.

"Hungry?" Bodie blurted out without thinking. He hadn't intended to say it, but now that he had, he decided to run with it. "Want to get a bite to eat?"

Doyle blinked and looked taken aback for a moment. "I am a tad peckish."

"Excellent. What's your pleasure, Doyle?" Bodie grinned, vigorously rubbing his hands together enthusiastically. "Chinese? Italian?"

Doyle hesitated a moment, then eyed him with suspicion. "You want to go and eat, and talk about the Malone case? Or is this a... go out on a date sort of thing?"

Bodie flashed him a bright grin. "Exactly like a date. Came to your class, didn't I? Only fair you come out with me."

Averting his eyes, Doyle shook his head. "Don't think it's a good idea."

Bodie stepped right up in front of Doyle. "You think too much." He slid his hand around to the nape of Doyle's neck, and tugged the man toward him. Green eyes opened wide in shock, but before Doyle could pull away or protest, Bodie bent his head and kissed him.

***

Any protests Doyle may have been about to verbalise died a quick death the second Bodie's lips touched his own. He simply let his mind go blank and allowed himself to savour the feel of Bodie's warm, hard body pressed up against him. While Bodie's chest and abs felt like tempered steel, the man's mouth was soft, his lips coaxing, parting over Doyle's.

The kiss seemed to go on and on, their tongues sliding together in an intimate dance. All too soon, Bodie pulled back slowly, licked along Doyle's lower lip, suckling it, before breaking contact.

Doyle released a small groan of pleasure. "Well, that was... umm..."

"Fantastic?" Bodie grinned brightly, his blue eyes sparkling.

"I was going to say nice." Doyle returned the grin. "But fantastic will do."

"Bloody right it will." Leaning in, Bodie gave Doyle another searing kiss, then pulled away. "Alright, I'm famished. Where shall we go to eat?"

Doyle gave Bodie the name of one of his favourite places to eat. A little Italian restaurant named Casa Frascati, which served the best Linguini Marinara he'd ever tasted. "You'll love it," Doyle said with a smile.

"Sounds delectable. Let's go." Bodie wrapped a hand around Doyle's elbow and ushered him toward the door.

***

Even though Casa Frascati wasn't a very large place, the dining room still gave the impression of feeling airy and spacious, with its large front windows and elegant yet simply decorated tables. As soon as Doyle and Bodie were settled in their chairs, a young male waiter appeared and offered them menus.

"Saluto," the waiter greeted, his accent thick. "Welcome to Casa Frascati. It is nice to see you here again, Signore Doyle."

"Hello, Emilio." Doyle smiled. "Good to see you as well. I've brought a friend." He nodded at Bodie.

"Sì, I can see that." Emilio grinned and addressed Bodie, "Benvenuto, signore."

"Saluto, Emilio, e grazie. Qual è la specialità stasera?" Bodie asked.

Doyle stared, more impressed with Bodie than he would have imagined. Before he could say anything though, Emilio answered, "This evening, the Penne Pesto con Rucola is especially delizioso."

"Perfetto. Questo è ciò che dovrò," replied Bodie.

"Ottima scelta, signore," Emilio answered Bodie with a slight tilt of his head then turned to Doyle. "And for you, Signore Doyle? Your usual tonight, or would you prefer some time to choose from the menu?"

Doyle flipped his menu closed and smiled at the waiter. "My usual, please, Emilio."

"Sì, of course." Emilio gathered up the menus. "Would you like some wine?"

Doyle looked over at Bodie, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Love some," Bodie said. "Two glasses of your best red."

"Assolutamente. I will be right back with bread and your wine."

After Emilio left, Doyle eyed Bodie. "You speak Italian very well."

Bodie's lips quirked. "Grazie."

"Do you know any other languages?"

"Six," Bodie replied and relaxed back in his chair.

Doyle's eyebrows rose up to his forehead. "Eh?"

They were momentarily interrupted by Emilio as he placed a basket of bread on the table and poured wine into their glasses. Once the waiter left, Bodie continued, "I know six, including Italian. Have to. It's a requirement for every CI5 agent to know at least three languages, I chose to learn six."

"Which ones can you speak?"

Bodie counted them off on his fingers. "German, Russian, Arabic, French, Spanish, and Italian." He grinned, his eyes glittering as he took a sip of his wine.

"I'm impressed." Doyle locked gazes with Bodie and returned the smile. Once again he felt the sizzle of attraction flow between them. "I probably shouldn't say this, but you have an amazing smile, which I'm sure you're very well aware of, and use without compunction to your advantage."

Bodie's grin brightened. "Of course." He stared into Doyle's eyes for a long time before turning his attention to the plate of pasta that was being placed in front of him.

"Grazie," Bodie said.

"Will there be anything else?" Emilio asked.

Doyle shook his head. "No, we're fine for now. Thank you, Emilio."

"Sei benvenuto." Emilio bowed slightly, turned and walked away.

As they worked their way through the meal, a comfortable silence filled the narrow space across the linen-covered table. Covertly, Doyle watched Bodie's hands as he used his fork to pin down a runaway piece of penne.

Bodie had lovely hands, square and masculine. Doyle wanted those hands on him again. He remembered how the rough palms had warmed his skin when Doyle'd done Bodie's reading. And how those strong fingers had felt wrapped around his waist after Malone's attack.

Looking over at Bodie, Doyle asked, "What else would you like to know?"

Bodie raised his head and chuckled. "Haven't asked you anything yet."

"Oh, come on, Bodie. Surely you've done a background check on me. All coppers do it." Doyle took a bite of bread.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Doyle shook his head. "Don't give me that innocent look, I'm not buying it."

Bodie seemed a little peeved, but nodded. "Okay, fine. I checked you out a little."

"A little?" Doyle laughed. "I'll just bet."

Though Doyle kept his wry smile in place, his chest began to tighten uncomfortably, and his appetite suddenly vanished. He should have known better than to have dinner with Bodie. Taking a sip of his wine, Doyle wondered how much Bodie had found out about him. If Bodie knew everything, would he judge Doyle now? Would he find Doyle lacking? With a sick feeling in his stomach, Doyle realised that he cared what Bodie thought. How the hell could he have let that happen?

***

Slowly, Bodie pushed his empty plate away. He thought about how much he should tell Doyle. Doyle probably wouldn't be at all happy about some of the things his file had disclosed, but then again, how was Bodie going to learn more if he avoided the very topics he wanted to know more about?

Bodie could tell that Doyle was nervous. Had been since before Bodie'd admitted to doing a background check, but now Doyle's mouth had tightened and he kept his eyes down, studying his half-empty plate. Very unlike the confrontational, feisty attitude he'd displayed ever since they met. Bodie knew he'd have to tread carefully.

"Quite honestly, Doyle," Bodie ventured, "I think it only fair that I know something about you, given that you know so much about me."

Doyle levelled his green eyes on Bodie. "What are you talking about?"

"Shared my dream with you, didn't I. About my brother Robert. I'm sure there are things you supposedly 'saw' or guessed about that you're keeping to yourself. I figure it only right I know some of your secrets as well."

"That's ridiculous."

"All's fair to share, I swear, but beware, I, dare... uh, say."

Doyle blinked, then blinked again. "What the hell was that?"

"Poetry."

"Was not." Doyle smirked.

"Yeah, well, was on this case a while back, posing as a reclusive poet-" Doyle's laughter interrupted Bodie. "I'll have you know it wasn't easy."

Doyle laughed again. "Apparently not." Assessing Bodie closely, he said, "You're getting me off track here, Bodie. Let's get back to what you think you know about me, shall we?"

"All right," Bodie said. "You have no outstanding warrants. Your main source of income is painting, which you do from home. You began the dream interpretation sideline two years ago, to modest success." He took a sip of wine, then set the glass down. "You pay your bills on time. You live within your means. You have a current account, but not much in the way of savings. You inherited your house from your grandmother. Your father left you and your mum when you were ten. You never saw him again. Your mother died five years ago. You left your lover a year ago when you discovered he was being unfaithful. Since then, you have not been seriously involved with anyone."

There was more, but Bodie thought he should keep it to himself. Taking it any deeper might upset Doyle more than he already was – maybe even hurt him. And judging from the panicked look in his eyes, Doyle was wary of exactly how much Bodie knew.

Tossing his napkin on the table, Doyle said, "Well, aren't we thorough."

"Look, Ray, I-"

Doyle shook his head. "No, it's fine." Pushing himself away from the table, he quickly stood up.

Bodie shot to his feet and made a grab for Doyle's arm. Wrapping his fingers around Doyle's wrist, he said, "Give me a sec to pay the bill and I'll drive you home."

Doyle shook him off. "I will pay my own bill and see myself home, thank you very much." He walked away then turned to glare at Bodie. "I may have interpreted your dream, Bodie, but I did not violate your privacy. Checking me out like that was very, very low."

"I don't think I said anything-"

"It's what you didn't say." Doyle's voice rose. "The other things. You know about those, too, don't you?"

Bodie nodded. "I'm sorry for what you've been through. I had no idea."

"You don't know the half of it, Bodie. And it wasn't for you to find out. It was my choice who to share it with. A lover, perhaps. A man I've grown to trust, a man who cares about me, a man who has a right to know." Raising his hand, Doyle jabbed a finger at him. "It was not for a smug, smartarsed CI5 agent."

Around them, the other diners raised their heads in curious interest. Across the room, Emilio frowned and began moving toward their table.

"Fine. I admit it. I'm a bastard." Bodie took a step closer to Doyle only to have the man back away.

Emilio arrived and addressed Doyle, "Is there a problem, Signore Doyle?"

Without taking his eyes from Bodie, Doyle said, "Emilio, would you please call a taxi for me."

The waiter gave a quick nod. "Of course, Signore. Please, come with me."

As Doyle walked away, Bodie tossed some notes on the table. As far as first dates went, this one had gone dreadfully wrong. He wanted to follow Doyle home, make sure he got there safely, but Doyle would probably have him arrested for stalking him. Just when he decided to do it anyway, the RT in his pocket beeped. Walking to the front of the restaurant, he pushed his way through the entrance doors and stepped out onto the quiet pavement.

Leaning against the side of the building, Bodie slid the RT out of the inside pocket of his jacket and discreetly spoke into it. "3.7."

"Hate to disrupt your evening, mate," Murphy's solemn voice filled the silence, "but we've got another one."

"Location?"

Murphy gave him the address. "In the alley. Carotid was sliced. The bloke bled to death. Pretty messy."

"On my way."

Bodie shoved the radio into his pocket and went back inside. Walking through the door, he spotted Doyle sitting on a stool at the small bar. Ignoring the glare he got from Emilio, Bodie headed straight for Doyle.

"Hey," he said, and Doyle looked up, astonishment widening those green eyes. Reaching for Doyle's arm, Bodie pulled him to his feet. Quietly, he spoke into Doyle's ear. "I need you to come with me. I'm going to drop you at your car at the community centre." When he saw Doyle's mouth form a protest, Bodie shook his head. "No. Don't argue with me, Doyle."

Wrapping a hand around Doyle's upper arm, Bodie quickly escorted him away from the bar and through the front door. Out on the pavement, Doyle attempted to struggle out of Bodie's grasp. Bodie tightened his grip and tugged Doyle along even faster.

"Will you stop for a minute," Doyle hissed, digging his heels in and slowing down their forward momentum only a little. "Will you just stop for a minute and talk to me, Bodie!"

Bodie stopped abruptly, making Doyle curse as he ploughed into the back of him. Turning around he glared at Doyle. "Look, I'll talk to you once we're in the car. Okay?"

After eyeing Bodie for a second, Doyle gave a brief nod. "Fine."

They made the rest of the way to Bodie's car in silence. After unlocking the door for Doyle, Bodie moved around to the driver's side and slid in behind the wheel.

After putting the key into the ignition, he glanced at Doyle. "The day Malone attacked you, you told me he'd had a dream about killing a man in an alley."

"Yes," Doyle replied, his voice uncertain. "Why?"

Steering the car out into the light traffic, Bodie said, "Tell me about it again. And don't leave anything out."

***

Bodie surveyed the crime scene with a frown. From the look of things, the murder victim had lain for some time unnoticed amongst the debris choking the small alley behind the rundown, four storey block of flats.

That the man had been overlooked was no surprise. The weekly rubbish collection wasn't until tomorrow and the row of dustbins were filled to overflowing. When the elderly resident of Flat 3B had shuffled out to dispose of her rubbish, she'd noticed a stench emanating from behind the crammed bins and called the coppers.

Rubbish was one thing, Bodie thought grimly as he approached the old woman. But the odour of death was foul – overpowering and unmistakable, even by someone who'd never smelt it before.

"Mrs Cresswell," Bodie said, addressing the small, frail looking woman. "I'd just like to ask you a few questions. Okay?"

Her lips didn't quite curve all the way into a smile, but she nodded. "Yes, that's fine."

Bodie took her by the elbow and guided her a little further out of the alley, away from the crime scene and the stench of death.

"Your flat overlooks the alley, is that correct?" Bodie asked.

She nodded, curling her bony fingers around the throat of her flower print housecoat.

"If there was any commotion down there," Bodie pointed in the direction of the alley, "you might hear it?"

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "Sometimes." Averting her eyes, she focused her attention on the faded blue slippers she wore.

"Mrs Cresswell," Bodie said patiently, "there is nothing to be afraid of. I just need to know if you saw or heard noises in the alley recently. Voices, yelling, perhaps a fight?"

Pressing her lips together, she gave a quick nod. "I think it was drugs," she quietly replied.

"What did you hear?"

She swallowed, and glanced into the alley which was now lit up with beams of light and busy with activity. "There was some yelling, yes. And a man sounded like he was crying."

"When was this?"

"Four nights ago. I was watching the telly when outside the window there were noises. A man screaming, then footsteps running away. I got up, looked outside but it was very dark."

Bodie glanced up at the window belonging to Mrs Cresswell's flat. While the window was small, it did hold a good view of the entire alley all the way out to the street."

"Tell me what you saw," Bodie gently pushed.

"At first, I thought it was just a shadow on the pavement, but then it moved." She lifted her chin, indicating the spot a few feet away from them. "He stayed close to the wall and hurried out of the alley."

"He? It was a man then?"

"Could have been a man." She shrugged her frail shoulders, "or a woman. In the darkness, it was hard to tell. Went down the street that way." She pointed out toward the street, showing that the suspect had fled east on Melbury Avenue.

Using his small pad and a pencil, Bodie jotted down a phone number before handing the paper to Mrs Cresswell. "If you think of anything else, you call that number, okay?"

Taking the paper, she glanced at it. "I will."

"Thank you for your help, Mrs Cresswell." Bodie signalled to one of the uniformed coppers who were standing guard at the mouth of the alley. As the officer escorted the elderly woman back to her flat, Bodie sought out his partner. He found Murphy standing next to the body, his brown hair mussed like he'd been running his fingers through it in frustration.

"You all right, mate?"

"We need to catch this bloke," Murphy groused.

"You'll get no arguments from me, Murph." After giving Murphy's shoulder an understanding squeeze, Bodie stepped next to the covered body which had already been moved to a trolley by the medical team. Pulling back the sheet, he looked at the victim's face and studied the gaping wound on the dead man's neck. "Could be a broken bottle did this. Was one found?"

Murphy gave Bodie an incredulous look and glanced around the alley. "In all this rubbish? We'll be lucky if we find any evidence."

With a frustrated sigh, Bodie covered the body. Snagging the torch Murphy had in his hand, he began to meander around. In the area where the body had been discovered, and outlined with tape, Bodie crouched down and flipped on the torch, illuminating the ground around him. A sticky black stain pooled at the spot where the victim had fallen and bled to death.

Newspapers littered the tarmac, some saturated with blood, some not. Bodie nudged the papers out of the way and shone the light on the broken glass underneath. Most of the pieces were too small to get any kind of prints from, but he kept rummaging around, finally revealing part of an intact piece of glass from the neck of a wine bottle.

"Hey, Murph," Bodie called over his shoulder. "Hand me an evidence bag."

"Got something?" Passing Bodie a bag, Murphy peered over Bodie's shoulder. "Oh, good catch, mate. Might get a print off that."

"Might be nothing, but I'm guessing the victim was cracked against the back of the head with a bottle."

"Like with a wine bottle."

Bodie nodded. "If the bottle broke on impact, the killer might have taken another swing with the broken piece, slicing open our victim's throat."

Murphy cocked his head. "So, our killer hits the old man with a bottle. It breaks. Victim is stunned, probably down on the tarmac at this point. Why did the killer take another swipe? Why kill him?"

Using his handkerchief, Bodie slid the glass into the plastic evidence bag and sealed it. "Find anything in his pockets?"

"Not a whole lot," Murphy answered. "Two quid and a lighter. So, unless the killer got scared and ran off before he could rob our victim, there must be another motive."

"Another motive," Bodie repeated softly as he stood and switched off the torch. "That's what worries me, Murph. Worries me a lot."

***

Doyle had just settled into his favourite chair in his lounge when the doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock on the mantel, he frowned, wondering who would be calling this late in the evening. With a tired sigh, he pushed himself out of his seat and went to open the front door.

"Good evening, Mr Doyle. My name is Murphy, I believe you know my partner, Mr Bodie."

Doyle stared up at the tall, good-looking man, then shot a quick glance at Bodie, who was standing a few steps behind, his gaze locked on Doyle, hands in his pockets.

"May we come in?" Murphy asked.

Thoroughly confused by Bodie's tense silence, Doyle opened the door wider to allow the men entry. As they entered the lounge, he indicated that the two men sit on the sofa while he took the chair.

"What's this about?" Doyle asked, his gaze shifting to Bodie. A tingle of unease slid up his spine from the chary look on the man's face.

"Mr Bodie is here tonight in an advisory capacity only. He will simply observe our conversation without contributing to it. He's excused himself from the case because of his personal affiliation with you."

"We don't have a personal affiliation," Doyle said, frowning at Bodie. "That dream you asked me about. What happened? Did you find..." He let his voice trail off, hoping one of the men would say it had all been a mistake, that no old man had been killed in an alley.

Murphy leant forward, placing his elbows on his knees. "We've just come from the scene of a murder. A murder which closely resembles, in detail, the, uh... dream you told Bodie about."

"Shit." Doyle hesitated, building up his courage before asking, "Who was it?"

"We don't know," Bodie said. "An old man, in an alley."

Their eyes remained locked for a moment until finally Doyle couldn't handle the intensity of Bodie's gaze and he looked away. "Like in the dream," Doyle said. "Malone's dream."

Doyle got to his feet and walked to the fireplace. Set on the mantel in a small frame was a picture his grandmother had taken of his family as it had been just over two and a half decades ago. His mother stood behind him, pushing him on a swing in the back garden, while his father looked on, smiling affectionately. They had been innocent times, for Doyle hadn't yet suffered the trauma that had opened the door to his psychic gift.

Gift. Sometimes. Sometimes not.

Bodie came up to stand behind him. When Bodie spoke, Doyle felt the waft of his warm breath on the back of his neck. Stupidly, he wanted to sink back into him, to feel those arms come around him, to hear Bodie tell him everything would be all right. But Doyle knew it wouldn't happen.

"An old man in an alley, Ray. A broken wine bottle was used to slice the artery in his neck."

Doyle turned to face him. Bodie looked at him, his blue eyes clouded with bewilderment.

"I'm sorry," Doyle whispered. Before he could say more, Bodie's strong fingers landed on his shoulders.

"How the hell did you know?" Bodie ground out between clenched teeth. "And don't give me any of that dream bullshit. I want to know who Malone is. Where he is. If you don't tell me right now, we're taking you in as an accessory."

Doyle's mouth flattened as he stared at Bodie. "Fine. Go ahead. Arrest me, if that will make you feel better. I've told you everything I know."

Bodie stood only inches from him, close enough for Doyle to slide his arms around Bodie's neck and pull him in for a kiss. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from Bodie's body, smell the spicy, musky scent of him, hear the breath leave his body as he spoke.

Close enough to knee the irritating prat right in the groin.

"I had nothing to do with that man's death," Doyle said, staring hard and deep into Bodie's eyes. "If I knew who David Malone was, I'd bloody well tell you."

Bodie looked at him for a long time, just looked. His expression never changed, but before Bodie could say anything, Murphy spoke up. "Sit down, Bodie. You're not part of this now, remember?"

Bodie's gaze dropped to Doyle's mouth and lingered there, then slowly lifted to his eyes. Without another word, Bodie let go of his shoulders and stepped away.

"I'll wait in the car," Bodie said as he passed the other agent.

After he'd gone, Murphy stood up. "We won't be taking you in right now. If you think of anything else, you don't call Bodie." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small business card and tossed it onto the coffee table. "You call that number," he pointed to the card, "and ask for me. Understand?"

Doyle nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll let myself out," Murphy said as he left the room.

When he heard the front door close, Doyle slowly moved to the window. He pulled aside the curtain in time to see Murphy slide into the car where Bodie was waiting. When the car door closed, the interior light dimmed to nothing, making it too dark to see the men any longer, but as the Capri rolled away, Doyle had the distinct impression Bodie's accusing eyes were on him.

Releasing the curtain, Doyle dropped down heavily onto the sofa. Resting his head in his hands, he released a long groan. In one of the small chambers of his heart, the door he'd only recently had the courage to open quietly swung closed.

***

Part 4

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 2 of 8)

2010-09-17T00:45:53Z

Bodie watched as Doyle's jaw tightened. Doyle glared at him, anger and confusion plain to see in the depth of his eyes. Taking a step closer, Bodie invaded Doyle's personal space... and instantly regretted it.

He caught the scent of Doyle's aftershave. Citrus, spicy, warmed by his skin. It reminded Bodie of things he absolutely should not be thinking about.

"Let's have it, mate," Bodie said. "Do we stand here all day, or do you want to confess."

Bodie expected Doyle to back up or, perhaps, blurt out something incriminating. Instead, Doyle put his hands on his hips and scowled.

"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Doyle snapped. "If I really were the killer, why would I draw attention to myself by telling you what I know?" Doyle's eyes flared like green fire. "Besides, I was having dinner with a friend the night of the murder."

"And what night was that?"

Doyle shifted his stance. "The tenth. We were-"

"Laura Sullivan was murdered on the eleventh."

"That was her name? The woman in the purple dress?"

"Did you know her?"

Doyle slowly shook his head. "No. You said she was killed on the eleventh? But the paper said-"

"The coroner set time of death between seven and ten o'clock on the night of the eleventh. Were you out having dinner that night too?"

"No." Doyle shrugged and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I was home."

"Alone?"

"Not that it's any of your business but, yes, bloody alone." Doyle glared.

Why that made him feel relieved, Bodie'd rather not think about at that moment.

"You didn't see anyone that night? Talk on the phone, perhaps?"

"No, didn't see or talk to anyone." Doyle walked over to the chair he'd sat in earlier and dropped into it. "You can't possibly think I had something to do with this."

"Doesn't matter whether I do or not. Only the evidence counts."

"I really do hope that David Malone didn't kill that woman. But it doesn't change what I felt, what I saw."

Bodie went to the round table, pulled out one of the chairs and gestured to it. "Sit here. I'm going to tell you a dream I had last night, and I want you to tell me what you see."

Standing, Doyle balled his fists at his sides. "You're going to test me? Again?"

"Yes." He waited for Doyle to take a seat. When he didn't, Bodie said, "What's it going to be? We going to do this séance here or at headquarters?"

"Séance?" Doyle's eyes flashed with anger and he shook his head. "I interpret dreams, not bloody communicate with the dead!"

"Whatever you call it, you're going to do it here, now – unless, of course, you'd prefer we do this in an interrogation room?"

***

Interrogation room. Doyle's stomach tightened and he felt a little queasy. What if they locked him up? How would he survive it? He'd be in a small, crowded space – trapped. He would suffocate. Bodie didn't understand, never would, even if Doyle told him.

Silently he moved to the table where Bodie was already sitting, waiting.

"You going to lie to me again?" Doyle asked as he slid into the chair opposite Bodie.

"You tell me, sunshine." Bodie turned his hand over and, without smiling, wiggled his fingers.

Doyle gazed down at Bodie's hand, then took a deep breath. Letting it out slowly, he began the relaxation techniques he always used before a session. It helped clear his mind of his own thoughts so the images he got from the client would be pure, not influenced by whatever was going on inside his own head.

Reaching out, he clasped Bodie's hand.

This time when Doyle touched Bodie the erotic images he'd seen before did not form. He felt something inside his mind stir, but he blocked it, keeping his focus on Bodie, not on them.

"Close your eyes," Doyle instructed. "When you're ready, tell me your dream."

Letting his lids drift closed, Doyle relaxed his shoulders and allowed the warmth of Bodie's hand to seep into his body. Bodie had good energy, strong, vital. Doyle worked to go deeper, and deeper.

Silence stretched between them. He heard the tick of the old clock on the fireplace mantel. High overhead, a plane droned by. Outside, a dog barked, children laughed.

"I dreamt I was on a ship," Bodie began. "Don't know where I was bound, but the ship was large. I got lost looking for my cabin. There were lots of people and I-"

"Stop," Doyle said. He opened his eyes to see Bodie watching him. "You're making it up."

Bodie's blue eyes widened innocently. "Am not."

Doyle struggled to pull his hand free from Bodie, but Bodie curled strong fingers around his and hung on.

"If you're going to test me," Doyle said as he tugged against the grip, "the least you can do is show me enough respect to be honest. Besides, how will you know I can do this if you don't tell me a real dream?"

Bodie's cheeks flushed a little, and Doyle figured it was probably a rare thing. Bodie didn't let go of him, though. And he found himself no longer resisting. They held hands across the small table like lovers at a pavement café.

Looking into Doyle's eyes, Bodie finally spoke. "I wasn't trying to be dishonest. It's just... I don't dream."

The look of dejection that flitted across Bodie's face made something inside Doyle's heart give a little twitch.

"You do have dreams, Bodie," Doyle assured him. "Everyone does, no exceptions. For some reason, you don't remember them. I can show you how to keep a diary, and advise some methods you can use to recall your dreams. Dreams are symbolic insights into our minds, our lives and emotions. You should pay more attention to them."

"If you say so."

"When was the last time you had a dream you recall vividly?"

Bodie let go of his hand, and ran fingers through his hair. "Was young. About fourteen."

Some sort of odd sympathy washed through Doyle at a grown man not having any dreams he could remember, enjoy, cherish.

"Take my hand," Doyle said quietly. "Tell me about that dream."

Bodie sent him a strange look. Reaching across the table, he took Doyle's hand. His mouth turned up into a smart-arse grin. "Won't work, you know."

"We'll see. Now close your eyes and begin."

Doyle waited until Bodie had closed his eyes, before doing the same. A moment later, Bodie began to speak.

"Was with my brother. Robert. He's two years older." Bodie paused, as though he were debating whether or not to continue. Then, "We had gone to the pictures. The cinema was very dark. I didn't like the film and wanted to leave, but Robert kept watching it, ignoring me."

Behind Doyle's closed lids, the images began to assemble themselves. They were dull at first, fuzzy, but as Bodie spoke, they became clearer, stronger, more vivid in detail.

"When the film was over," Bodie said, "we started walking up the carpeted aisle and somehow got separated. Even though the cinema was empty, suddenly it was huge, like inside a large warehouse, and I couldn't find Robert. Finally, I spotted him way over on another aisle going out the door. I tried to follow, but two men stepped in front of me."

Inside Doyle's head, the image took shape.

It's dark. The men are big and dressed in blue. They won't let you go with your brother.

"They said they were coppers," Bodie continued, his voice lower than before. "They handcuffed me, put me in the back seat of a car. One man sat on either side of me. Then we were driving by a house, the house we'd lived in when I was a young lad. But nobody was there. The curtains were drawn. I knew it was empty. I had this... longing to go inside. Was all I wanted, all I could think about. But one of the officers looked me in the eye, shook his head and said, 'You can never go there again'. As we passed, I turned so I could see the house through the back window of the car, and I knew he was right. I never could go there again..."

And you wanted to – desperately. You'd lost something very important there, something you've never found since. When you woke up from that dream, you were crying, and you vowed nothing or no one would ever make you cry again.

Doyle slowly raised his eyelids to find Bodie looking straight at him. The cockiness he'd seen in Bodie's eyes earlier had been replaced by a deep yearning. Bodie was that young boy again, and he was lost.

Suddenly Bodie blinked, set his jaw, and it was business as usual once again.

"Would you like something to drink?" Doyle offered. "Water? Tea or cof-"

"Just get on with it." Bodie cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. The fingers that had gripped his so tightly as the dream was related went lax. Doyle slid his hand from Bodie's grasp.

Instantly, his mind went dark, as though he'd been shut in a closet. A few seconds later, reality began to ease back. Bodie's dream faded and Doyle was suddenly out of the man's head and back in his own.

Taking a deep breath, Doyle stretched his arms and adjusted his thoughts. "I want to explain something first. There are four types of dreams. Prophetic. Release. Wish. Problem-solving. It would help if you told me what was going on in your life at the time of your dream." Doyle already knew, at least a little, but Bodie needed to say it.

Easing back in his chair, Bodie eyed him with scepticism. "You're the expert. You tell me."

Letting Bodie's attitude pass, Doyle said, "I saw you. Your hair a tad lighter than it is now. Robert's hair is blond."

Bodie's gaze sharpened. "Go on."

"I think the film you were watching was your life at that time. Your parents, perhaps. This wasn't a prophetic dream, nor was it problem-solving. I don't get the sense you dealt with something and then let it go. So that leaves a wish dream."

"What was I wishing for?"

Gently, Doyle said, "You know."

"Perhaps. But if you guess right-"

"I don't guess," Doyle said firmly. "I see. The house could have been you. Houses often represent the dreamer. Each room has a certain significance. But in this case, since it was a particular house, one in which you lived, I'd say you longed to go back to a time when your family was together. When you were a little lad and taken care of. Food always on the table. Trees to climb. Your brother to play with. As a teenager, when you dreamt this dream, you felt pressure to grow up quickly. However, you missed your family, wanted those sweet simpler times back again."

Bodie stared at Doyle, a look of astonishment gracing his beautiful face.

"How did you know about my parents' divorce? About Robert?"

"From your dream. Your brother went with one parent. You with the other. You knew those old days would never return again. Your subconscious was trying to deal with that, which is why it gave you the dream."

Bodie's brows lowered. "I don't believe you got that from holding my hand."

"Believe what you want, Bodie."

Doyle knew Bodie wasn't going to accept any of this now, not in his present mood. It happened that way sometimes.

Pushing himself to his feet, Doyle said, "I think I passed your test. If you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

Seeing the melancholy look in Bodie's eyes, Doyle had the sudden urge to hug the stubborn man. Wanted to hold him. Wanted to tell him it was okay, stroke his brow, ease his pain. But Bodie wasn't that little boy anymore. Besides, Doyle had a feeling that Bodie would never accept it, so instead Doyle showed him to the door.

"You have my number," Bodie said from the bottom of the front steps. "When you hear from Malone again, call me."

Doyle watched him walk away and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Bodie'd think about their session and eventually convince himself that Doyle had simply guessed at everything. Sceptics had a way of talking themselves out of whatever they chose not to believe. Even when the evidence rose up to smack them on the top of the head. Bodie's next conclusion would be that Doyle was a total fraud.

Closing the front door, he leant against it, wondering just why he cared what William Bodie thought of him. In all likelihood, Doyle would never see him again. That was good, both from an official and a personal point of view.

As he entered his office, his phone began to ring. Hurrying over to his desk he picked up the receiver.

"Hello," Doyle greeted.

"Mr Doyle, it's David Malone." At the sound of the man's voice, Doyle's heart began to race. "I need to see you right away."

***

Just a few streets away from Raymond Doyle's house, bright lights lit up the interior of the Black Lion, rousting any lingering shadows from the corners of the pub, but not from Bodie's mood. He needed time to let his insides settle down – his head, his gut, his nerves.

The meeting he'd had with Doyle had left him with more questions than answers. Bodie's instincts told him that Doyle wasn't involved in Laura Sullivan's murder. His instincts told him a lot of things about Ray Doyle.

The aroma of stew and freshly baked bread teased Bodie's nose and his stomach growled. At this time of day, the place was rather quiet. Only few patrons occupied the restaurant, some sipping tea, others reading the day's paper. An elderly couple sat a few tables away from Bodie, deeply engrossed in a discussion as to what country they should travel to for a holiday. They sat on the same side of the table, chairs scooted close together. The woman's grey head lay on her husband's shoulder as he lazily leafed through travel brochures. The man said something to her and she smiled lovingly and patted his arm.

Watching them, Bodie felt a pang of envy for the lifetime of shared experiences they had created together. Could that sort of thing happen for him? Or was it too much to wish for? Then again, a man made his own luck in this world.

A young waitress in a too-tight pink top sauntered up to Bodie's table and seemed disappointed when all he asked for was scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and tea.

Sorry, love. You're not my type.

No, she wasn't Bodie's type at all. Doyle on the other hand... now Doyle was very much Bodie's type.

Images of the stroppy bastard flashed across Bodie's mind and he felt his groin tighten in pleasure. The green eyes, that smile, those sensual lips, curly hair, lean body, even the deformed cheekbone all appealed to Bodie. He got turned on every time he laid eyes on Doyle. For a few short minutes he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to have Doyle in his bed, aroused, moaning in pleasure as Bodie ran his hands all over that gloriously naked body...

The sound of the waitress placing his food on the table brought Bodie out of his thoughts. It wouldn't do him any good to keep thinking of being together like that. What was the point? They didn't get along, didn't trust one another. And, hell, Doyle was a suspect in a murder investigation. It'd be in Bodie's best interest to stay as far away from Ray Doyle as possible.

***

It was early evening when Bodie arrived at his flat. He set the locks, removed his jacket and holster then went to fetch himself a beer. Walking into the lounge, a picture caught his eye. It was of him and his brother, young, perhaps eight and ten years of age. They were standing side-by-side, holding a favourite toy and grinning at the camera. Happy times.

A sudden urge to call Robert crept over Bodie, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to initiate what was certain to be a stressful interaction with his straight-laced, sour-faced older brother.

Even so, he had to contact him sooner or later. Working things out with Robert was a promise he had made to his mother before she died a year ago. Only problem was, his brother didn't seem inclined in the least to reciprocate.

Crossing the room to his desk, Bodie sat in the chair and picked up the phone. Before he dialled the number, he waited another minute. One had to be prepared before an encounter with Robert. He had the tact of a tornado – touching down for a moment, wreaking havoc, then flying off in another direction, a trail of broken bodies strewn about the ground.

Biting back a curse, Bodie waited for his brother to answer

"Yeah?" Robert said, by way of hello.

"Nice hearing your voice, too, big brother," Bodie drawled. "Why so bad tempered? Didn't interrupt anything, did I?

"If that had been the case, I wouldn't have answered the damn phone," Robert scoffed. "I'm a busy man, Will. What do you want?"

Ignoring the use of his first name, Bodie continued. "Nothing special," he lied. "I found myself longing for the sound of your voice, so-"

"Bullshit. You wouldn't give me the time of day unless you wanted something. Somebody die? You need money?"

Bodie let a wry smile curve his lips. "Would you give it to me if I did?"

Silence.

"Thought so." Bodie laughed. "Same old Robert. I think it's nice how well we know each other."

"At the cost of repeating myself," Robert said, "bullshit. I don't know you, you don't know me. Let's just keep it that way, shall we?"

Bodie felt his anger well up all over again. Robert could be a hard-nosed tetchy bastard.

"Bloody hell, Robert," Bodie growled. "Don't know what I did to make you angry this time. We made a promise to mum that we'd try to get along better, but I'm doing all the damn work while you just make boorish remarks. What the hell's your problem?"

There was silence on the other end of the line, then, "You done?"

Bodie bit back a curse and remained silent.

"Listen, Will, I've spent the last twenty years taking care of Mum. Doing two jobs to make sure there was food on the table and a roof over our heads, while you went off with Dad without a care in the world."

"Is that what you think? That I abandoned you just because Dad..."

Bodie let his voice trail off. Going there now would only cause more grief, open wounds he was trying to heal. It was obvious Robert's hatred for their father included Bodie – maybe it always would.

When Robert didn't respond, Bodie released a long breath. "Look, I called you for a reason."

Silence for another moment. "Make it quick," Robert said, his voice slightly less harsh than it had been.

"Remember the house in Chessington?" Bodie asked. "The one we grew up in? It was white brick and Mum painted the front door red. We had a puppy. Pouncer. We named him that because he jumped on everything."

Long seconds ticked by while Bodie waited for his brother to answer. "Yeah. I remember."

"Do you... ever think about that house?

For a heartbeat Robert said nothing, then murmured, "Not really." Robert cleared his throat. "Is this the reason you called? To chit-chat about old times? If it is, you're wasting your time and mine."

Right. Back to business, Bodie thought. Much safer territory.

"No. It's not." He leant back in his chair. "I have this unusual... case. Thought perhaps you might have a few insights."

"All right. Let's hear it."

Bodie explained about the body found in St. James's Park, the purple dress, the dream interpreter. "So," he said, finishing up. "Ever deal with anything like this in your days as a copper?"

He waited for Robert to accuse him of being a complete idiot for considering the possibility that Doyle had actually seen the murder through the mind of his client.

"Yeah," Robert said. "We had a few cases where we used a psychic."

It took Bodie a moment to realise what his brother had said, and another to form some kind of cogent response.

"Really? What happened?"

"We only approached psychics as a last resort, unless they came to us first. But I'd say they had close to an eighty percent success rate. I've never used one since I became a private investigator, though."

"You think Doyle could be genuine?"

Robert gave a sharp laugh. "What does your gut tell you?"

Just what did his gut tell him? That he was attracted to Ray Doyle. Definitely. But that didn't count. That the details Doyle had given him matched the murder. That Doyle's guesswork regarding Bodie's own boyhood dream had been too close for comfort. "I'm willing to suspend belief long enough to give him a shot, I suppose."

"Doyle could be the killer, or an accessory."

"I know that."

"But you don't think he is."

"No."

"I can run a background check on Doyle, if you want."

"Would appreciate it. Already done one meself but, using your connections, I'd like to see if you come up with something different."

Robert's private investigative firm had state-of-the-art everything, and the manpower to back it up.

"All right," Robert said. "I'll get back to you."

"Thanks. You have my number," Bodie replied before hanging up.

***

As soon as Doyle had rung off with David Malone, he'd called the number Bodie had given him. Bodie had not been available, so he'd left an urgent message with the woman who had answered the phone. She promised to get the message to Bodie right away, and Doyle hoped she had been successful, that Bodie would arrive soon.

At the sound of the doorbell, he hurried to the front of the house. Dread clenched his stomach into a tight knot at the same time as his fingers curled around the doorknob.

"Mr Malone," Doyle said through a strained smile as the door creaked on its hinges.

Malone stood on the front steps, facing Doyle, body tense, fists balled at his sides. Through brown eyes rimmed with red, Malone watched him. His mouth, a straight line across his haggard face, was nearly lost under the growth of beard stubble.

The man appeared anxious and dishevelled. Instead of the neat clothing Malone usually wore, he was in torn jeans and black sweatshirt, looking like he'd spent the night curled up in an alley. Lowering his head, Malone neither smiled nor acknowledged Doyle's existence as he brushed past Doyle to head straight for the office.

Doyle peered outside, searching the area, hoping against hope that he'd see Bodie, but the street was empty, silent.

Buy time, Doyle told himself. Do everything slowly. Buy enough time for Bodie to get here.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he walked toward his office. Slipping inside, Doyle began to close the door, then decided to leave it slightly ajar... just in case. Malone sat at the round table, hand outstretched, foot tapping in nervous jerks.

"Would you like something to drink?" Doyle offered. Malone looked up at him and shook his head. Taking the opposite seat, Doyle asked, "Are you all right? I couldn't help but notice you seem very anxious."

Malone's back hunched over, his shoulders drooping. He nodded, and wiped his jaw with his hand. His fingers trembled.

"Mr Malone, please tell me what's the matter."

"Dream," Malone said at last. "Bad. Uh, I, uh..." He swallowed, bit his lower lip. "Can we start, please?"

Doyle reached for the man's hand, however his attention was on the street outside, listening for any signs of Bodie. No luck. Only silence greeted his ears. He was on his own with this possible homicidal maniac.

He laid his hand palm up on the table, and Malone set his into it. The skin felt damp and Doyle felt the urge to yank his hand away.

"Close your eyes," Doyle instructed, doing the same. "Tell me your-"

"I killed someone," Malone rushed. "Again. I... it happened, I mean, the dream happened four nights ago."

Behind his closed lids, Doyle began to see shapes, vague outlines, blurry silhouettes, but no solid forms.

"Go on." Doyle's voice sounded amazingly calm even though he was nervous as hell.

"I wrote it down, in the dream log, like you said. The dream had faded a lot by the time I was awake enough to make notes, but the more I wrote, the more I remembered." Malone sucked in a raspy breath. "In the dream, I was walking along a city street. Don't know which one."

"All right, I see it," Doyle said quietly. Buildings formed in his head. Cars parked bumper-to-bumper. He felt Malone's hand clench into a ball and Doyle curled his fingers around it to try to ease the trembling.

"An old man appeared from around a corner," Malone said, "and I realised he'd come out of an alley. For some reason, I was afraid of him. He asked me for money, but I didn't have any. He went back into the alley and I followed him. It was dark. I couldn't see anything. Then I heard him screaming and when I looked down I had this bottle in my hand. I don't know how it got there." Malone paused, letting out a shaky breath. "I hit him!" he cried. "I hit him, and he fell to the ground without a sound. He lay there, staring up at me, knowing as he was dying what I'd done, that I'd taken his life. I stood there and realised he knew me, knew who I was. He called my name..." A sob escaped from Malone and he lowered his head.

The alley assembled itself in Doyle's head. Dark shapes, two men, one standing, one lying on his back on the ground, arms outstretched. A moan, then a bottle smashed to the pavement, shattering into a thousand pieces.

"What happened after that?" Doyle asked, his voice unsteady.

"I- I let the bottle fall from my hands. It broke, and I stared down at the pieces like they were a beautiful green mosaic, all glittering and fitting together in some crazy design." Malone jerked his trembling hand free of Doyle's.

"Mr Malone," Doyle said softly, "perhaps you need to seek the help of a therapist. I can see how your dreams have increasingly distressed you. While I can help interpret them, I can't go beyond-"

"It wasn't a dream!" Malone shouted, jumping up from his chair. "I mean, it was, but then there was the blood. So much blood!"

Doyle stood and stepped back from the table, shifting a little away from Malone and his wild eyes and shaking hands.

"I didn't see any blood," Doyle said.

"When I woke up," Malone choked, his voice thick with panic. "My hands were covered with blood. I don't know how it got there! Am I going crazy? I am, aren't I?" He wrapped his arms around himself and began to rock back and forth.

"Why don't you sit down," Doyle suggested. His heart was racing, pounding in his ears. Where the hell are you, Bodie? He made sure to keep the table between them while he thought of ways to calm Malone. "I can make you tea and we can talk-"

"You know about me, don't you?" Malone accused, glaring at Doyle. "You know what I did!"

"No." Doyle shook his head. "I know what you dreamt."

Suddenly, Malone lunged across the table at him, and Doyle reached behind him for anything he could grab. His fingers wrapped around a book, but before he could slam it into the side of Malone's head, the man's fingers were at his throat.

"Listen to me," Malone begged through clenched teeth. "Please, just listen..."

Doyle tried to call out for help, but his air flow was cut off. He began to struggle, to fight back. When that didn't work Doyle let his body go slack, dropping to the floor. Shifting his weight, he threw them both off balance enough that he broke free of Malone's hold.

As Doyle went down his head slammed into a shelf on the bookcase, sending a burst of light behind his closed lids. Amid the sparkling display, an image formed of Bodie arriving too late to save his life.

***

"I... 'm all right."

Someone was speaking, but Doyle couldn't make out who it was. With his eyes half closed, he tried to concentrate on the voice. Then he felt his lips move.

"I'll be okay," Doyle whispered, knowing now it was he who spoke.

Slowly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to see his own image reflected back at him in the mirror. Gradually he became aware of his fingers, which were curled around the edges of the bathroom sink. He blinked a few times then two people floated into focus behind him in the reverse bathroom. To his right, a lean, short man with worried hazel eyes held a cloth to the back of his head.

"Oh. Hallo, Collin," Doyle murmured to his good mate. "Don't worry... 'm fine."

To Doyle's left stood a tall, very good-looking man in a leather jacket. The man had his arm around Doyle's waist and seemed to be holding him up. He'd pulled Doyle into his side, and Doyle took a moment to gaze into the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen.

"Hallo." Doyle smiled sleepily.

Those blue eyes showed surprise for a moment, then the man gently said, "Hi there."

"I'm okay," Doyle said to him, and he got a smirk in return.

Mmmm. That mouth. Sensual curves and edges. Definitely kissable. Doyle smiled at him again. He reached for the man's face, about to ask him his name, yet when his fingers made contact with skin, a dark image pushed its way into his brain. Memories began snapping into place.

He remembered now. It was him.

"Bodie." Doyle acknowledged and pulled his hand away.

"Quite a bump on the noggin you got there, sunshine," Bodie said, brushing a knuckle across Doyle's cheek.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Collin asked, his voice shaky. "How many fingers am I holding up? What's your favourite colour? Who's your favourite actor?"

"Christ, Collin, I'm not a bleeding Russian spy!" Doyle's head throbbed and he lifted his right hand to rub at his temple. "Two fingers. Green." Aware of Bodie's hand wrapped around his side, he said, "You can let go of me now, Bodie."

"Okay. As soon as you tell me who your favourite actor is."

In the mirror, their eyes met for a moment, then Doyle glanced away. "Sir Laurence Olivier." Doyle glared. "Satisfied?"

"Quite," Bodie replied with a smirk.

"Did you catch him?" Doyle asked.

"Malone? No."

"Shit. Shame." He straightened up and looked around. "Why am I in the loo?"

Collin spoke up. "I came over to see if you wanted to get a bite to eat. When I arrived, the front door was open. I found you stumbling down the hall, muttering over and over that you were okay."

"Perhaps you thought you were going to be sick and tried to make it to the toilet," Bodie offered.

"Well, I'm fine now, so you can let go of me." Doyle scowled at Bodie.

Bodie tilted his head and attempted to catch Doyle's gaze in the mirror. "Did Malone assault you?"

Doyle shook his head, but had to grab the sink's edge when the room spun. "Not really. He grabbed my throat, I jerked away but banged my head on something. Don't remember anything after that."

Raising his hand, Bodie gently examined Doyle's throat. Bodie's fingers were slightly rough and warm, causing Doyle's skin to tingle where they touched him.

"Let's get you seated somewhere comfortable. I still need to get a complete statement-" The sound of a siren blasting up the street cut Bodie off. "Ambulance," he said when Doyle turned his head to look at him.

"Don't need a bloody ambulance," Doyle grumbled.

Bodie shot a quick glance at Collin and asked, "Is he always this thick-headed and quarrelsome?"

Collin cocked his head as he seemed to consider the question. His gaze slid to Doyle, then to Bodie, then back to Doyle again. A gleam suddenly sparked to life in his eyes. "Oh yeah," he purred. "But something tells me he may have met his match."

***

Arthur Wadsworth hurried into his bedroom. It wasn't until the door was closed and locked behind him that he released a long, shaky breath.

Safe now. Safe at last.

Somehow he'd managed to make it to his room without encountering his younger brother, the housekeeper, or any of the maids. The drive from London to his estate in Totteridge had been a nightmare, but he'd stayed focused, obeyed all traffic laws and did his best not to attract attention. He'd turned onto the drive leading up to his house and parked in the four-car garage next to his brother's black Mercedes, praying that he'd make it through the house without running into anyone.

With his back against his bedroom door, Arthur raised his shaky hands out in front of him. No blood. A sob of relief built up in his throat, but he didn't allow it to escape.

God, had he hurt Doyle? After Doyle had fallen and whacked his head, Arthur had wanted to stop to see if Doyle was all right, but panic had set in and he'd run away instead.

Rubbing a hand down his face, Arthur wondered how badly Doyle was hurt. What if Doyle were dead? It would all be Arthur's fault. His fault for scaring Doyle. His fault for leaving the man like he'd done.

He hadn't meant to harm Doyle. Truly he hadn't. However, his fingers remembered the warmth of Doyle's skin, the tense muscles of Doyle's neck as he'd begun to close his grip around the soft throat and windpipe. He hadn't wanted to choke him, but the way Doyle had looked at him, it was as though Doyle knew.

Bloody hell! Of course Doyle knew! He'd been the one to tell Doyle, hadn't he? But that was when he'd thought they were only some damn stupid dreams.

Arthur slammed his fists into his head, clutching and tugging violently at his hair until the pain penetrated his skull. He let out a sharp sob. Damn it! If only he could remember!

Tears streaked down his cheeks and he let his head fall back against the door with a dull thud. His eyes burned, the muscles in his arms and legs were trembling and felt weak. Perhaps Doyle was right. Perhaps he should see a doctor, a psychiatrist, check himself in somewhere. Perhaps then he'd be able to figure out what was happening to him. Why he was losing it. Why he'd turned into some sort of horrible monster. If they locked him away, people would be safe again.

Ever since his father's death a year ago, the burden of the Wadsworth wealth and holdings rested on Arthur's shoulders. Four companies, and their subsidiaries, thousands of employees, money and lives were in his hands. He had to be successful for them. To keep it all going just the way his father would have wanted. To keep the dream alive and thriving.

He couldn't let it fail. Couldn't let his father down.

Over the years, his father had tried to convince Arthur to join the business. However, unlike his charismatic younger brother, Terence, who seemed to crave being in the corporate world, Arthur hadn't wanted any part of it. He'd much rather spend money, play around with his friends, travel, or bed as many women as he could.

The family business just hadn't needed him.

Yet, after his father had died, Arthur had needed it.

At first, that little epiphany had stunned and terrified him. It surprised him that once he started sinking his teeth into the job, he found it oddly satisfying.

Although he knew Terence was probably far more capable of taking over the reins, Arthur had decided to learn all he could and do the job his father had entrusted to him. For the past eleven months he'd worked long, hard days, putting his all into the business and taking nothing for himself. Perhaps he'd overdone it. Perhaps it had all become too much. Perhaps it was simply killing him.

Or turning him into a killer.

Wearily, Arthur moved to the bed, letting his body drop onto the mattress face down. It had been three months since the dreams – the nightmares – began. Burning their impression into his brain and leaving him exhausted. Yet as tired as he was, he couldn't sleep.

Rolling over, he glanced at the notebook sitting on the bedside table. His dream log. Sitting abruptly, he snatched it up and flipped it open. His eyes drifted over his own handwriting on the pages. Innocent, mostly illegible words, scribbled when he'd only been half-awake. He'd jotted down phrases to help him recall the dreams so he could tell Doyle. And in return, Doyle could help him solve the bloody riddles his mind had conjured up.

Tossing aside the journal in revulsion, Arthur rubbed at his eyes. Good Lord, he needed rest. Perhaps he should find Terence and ask him if he had anything he could take. Hell, his brother's medicine cabinet looked like a mini-chemist. Surely there must be something in there that would knock him out. Then, perhaps, he would sleep the way he used to, before his father died – before his world shifted and the nightmares came, leaving his hands, his face and clothes covered with blood.

***

"I don't care what you say, Bodie." Doyle stared at Bodie, jaw set, hands planted firmly on his hips. "I will not press charges."

Bodie glared right back at him, hands on his own hips, his stance wide, rigid.

Doyle had to give the man credit – Bodie's body language and stare were intimidating and intense, or would have been if Bodie'd tried it on anyone else but Doyle.

"I was wrong about Malone," Doyle explained. "I don't want to make the situation worse by pressing charges."

Doyle braced himself, waiting for Bodie to explode, but it never came. Instead all he got was a smile. A very beautiful, heart stopping smile. Bodie's magnetism wrapped around Doyle and, against his will, it drew him in.

"Whether you press charges or not," Bodie said, giving Doyle a long look, "I'm going to dust."

"Terrific," Doyle drawled. "When you're finished, do you mind going into the bedroom next? Could use a good clean in there."

"I mean, you daft bastard, dust for fingerprints." Bodie smirked, blue eyes dancing with laughter. After a moment, he asked seriously, "Malone touch anything in here – besides your neck, I mean?"

Doyle's fingers drifted up to his throat, remembering Malone's hands as they tightened until he could barely breathe. While the encounter had given him a bit of a fright at the time, since then he'd been thinking about it and had come to a few conclusions.

Closing his eyes briefly, Doyle thought of Malone and caught a flash of an image, an emotion, and then something else...

Doyle glanced over at Bodie and met his gaze. "Mr Malone didn't come here to hurt me. He was confused, desperate even, but murder was not on his mind. I'm sure of it, Bodie."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bodie replied, "You can't know what he intended."

"Yes, I can." Sensing that Bodie was about to disagree, Doyle hurriedly added, "I saw his dream, remember."

Bodie released a long breath through his nose and Doyle swore he could hear the man's frustration rushing out in that breathy sound. "Okay, sunshine, enlighten me. What was Malone's dream about this time?"

"Said that a few nights ago he dreamt of killing a homeless man in an alley. That he was holding a broken bottle, and blood was dripping from his hand." Doyle paused for a second, remembering Malone's appearance. "His clothing was a mess, and he was highly agitated. I got the impression it had been a while since he'd slept."

Bodie walked to the front window, pulling the curtain aside and gazing out into the street. "Dreaming of murder isn't a crime. Assault is." He removed his hand, letting the curtain fall back and turned to Doyle. "If I find-"

"I don't care what you find," Doyle growled, his own frustration leaking out. "Malone didn't intend to harm me. I believe his actions shocked him as much as they did me. If I hadn't pulled away from him, I wouldn't have knocked my head."

In what was becoming a familiar gesture, Bodie crossed his arms over his chest again and scowled at Doyle. "That's one of daftest things I've ever heard. Malone had his fingers wrapped around your throat. He acted with aggression, also known as assault. You have absolutely no way of knowing what his intentions-"

"Yes, I do!" Doyle snapped. "When he grabbed me, for just a moment I saw inside his mind. He doesn't understand what's happening to him. He's terrified-"

"Inside his mind?" Bodie barked, his eyes narrowing. "You saw inside his mind? Terrific! Didn't happen to catch his real name and address while you were poking around in there, did you?"

"Christ! I'm not an idiot, Bodie!" Doyle felt hot fury surge through his body. "If I thought I was in danger, I'd bloody well press charges. But I'm not." Unable to stand still, Doyle began to pace. "Okay, I admit I was frightened, but then... when I grabbed Malone, I got an image... the dreams he told me about... something's not right. Don't understand it yet, but I'm not afraid of him. Not anymore." He stopped and looked at Bodie. "He needs help."

Bodie raised his hands in obvious irritation. "Fine," he sighed. "Do what you want. Can't make you press charges, anyway. But, if you recall, you came to me to discuss whether or not this man killed Laura Sullivan. Now Malone's attacked you. He may or may not have something to do with Sullivan's death, but he is violent and he is hiding something. I want to talk to him."

Ignoring Bodie's outburst, Doyle asked, "How long will it take to dust for the prints?" He looked at his watch. "I have a client coming in two hours."

"About an hour, then I'll be out of your hair." Bodie paused for a second, then added quietly that Doyle almost didn't hear him, "Hopefully for good."

***

With the daily newspaper tucked under his arm, Doyle exited the small coffee shop. People were out and about in droves today, bustling up and down the wide pavement, taking advantage of the beautiful day. Leaning back against the brick wall, he briefly closed his eyes, tilted his face upwards and took pleasure in the feel of the warm sun on his face. Stepping away from the building, he headed down the street. He wasn't in any hurry to get home, so he took his time gazing in shop windows as he walked along.

His mind began to drift and before long thoughts of Bodie filled his head. Bodie's face, boyishly handsome, the gleaming blue of his eyes that were at once humorous and serious, that sensuous mouth, the pleasant sound of his voice. It had been a long time since Doyle'd found himself daydreaming about a man. And he found it to be a rather enjoyable feeling, even though the man, at times, could be exasperating.

The light at the street corner changed to red and Doyle stopped at the kerb, watching the cars begin to move in front of him. A bus was lumbering along, making its way toward the road junction. As it drew closer, Doyle's senses heightened, and he became aware of the crowd around him, shifting, subtly moving him forward, nearer to the kerb.

Suddenly, Doyle felt a hand press against his back between his shoulder blades. An image instantly burst inside his brain. Before he had a chance to analyse it, he felt himself being shoved hard. He landed on his hands and knees in the middle of the street, directly in the path of the oncoming bus.

***

Part 3

Pros Big Bang Fic - Psychic Dreams (Part 1 of 8)

2010-09-17T00:30:28Z

Title: Psychic Dreams
Author name: ankaree
Artist name: sc_fossil
Genre: Slash
Characters/Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Word count: 56,189
Warnings: NC-17

Summary: William Bodie has dealt with a lot of odd things while working with CI5, but when self-proclaimed psychic, Raymond Doyle, provides explicit details of a murder Bodie's investigating, he begins to suspect that Doyle is somehow more involved than he's willing to admit. Could he be telling the truth about his psychic abilities... or could he be the murderer Bodie is hunting?

Notes: Thank you to both my beta's, sc_fossil and londonronnie. This story would never have been possible without all their hard work and support *kisses*. And a special thank you to sc_fossil for making my cover art and for the awesome vid!

link to e-reader files: E-reader Files (right click to download files)
link to vid: Download
link to vid: Streaming

Doyle's eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright in bed. His heart pounded in his ears; perspiration beaded across his forehead. As he attempted to bring his harsh breathing under control, he reached for the glass of water he always kept on the bedside table. Only after taking two big swallows of the cool liquid did he allow himself to remember the dream that had startled him awake.

Sitting opposite Doyle at a small round table was a man he had never seen before. Doyle reached out, took the man's hand, turned it over and settled it gently into his own palm. Awareness rippled through Doyle and he struggled to centre his emotions, allowing this stranger in on one level, on another keeping him out.

Blue eyes smiled at him, connected, a hint of desire.

"Close your eyes," Doyle said, with a smile of his own.

The man watched Doyle for a second before his lids drifted shut.

"Good. Now, take a deep breath. Relax. When you're ready, tell me your dream."

He was one of Doyle's new clients and, judging from the man's hesitation, uneasy about putting words to personal, private, intimate thoughts. Doyle tried to get a sense of how important this was to the man. How badly the bloke needed to know. However, the energy flowing from him seemed to be turned in another direction, which made Doyle come up with nothing.

With the stranger's eyes now closed Doyle took the opportunity to study his face. Strong, handsome features. Dark hair. Dark eye lashes. Early thirties.

When the man began to speak, Doyle let his own lids drift down. The voice was deep, appealing, sexy. Doyle found himself liking the sound very much. As he focused on the man's words, images began to materialise inside his head.

A sense of uneasiness suddenly skittered across his skin, sending prickles down his neck and spine. Where only a moment ago Doyle had felt comfortable and calm, he now felt vulnerable and exposed.

The stranger's voice changed, deepened, roughened. More pictures formed behind Doyle's closed lids, but they were as fractured and erratic as the man's words. Doyle could feel his heartbeat begin to quicken. He tried to remain calm, to listen, to see, but his nerves were beginning to fray. The instant he lost hold of the strange images, a huge relief washed over him.

When Doyle opened his eyes to study the stranger, he gasped in shock and yanked his hand away as though he'd been burnt. The man's knuckles hit the table with a dull thud, fingers curled grotesquely. Slowly, eyes opened to stare directly at Doyle.

Swallowing hard, Doyle stared back, a shiver of cold dread rushing through his body.

Gone were the stranger's handsome features and beautiful blue eyes. Now eyes black and empty as night were fixed on him. The man continued to speak, thin lips forming words that made no sense to Doyle.

Terrified, Doyle pushed his chair away from the table. He jumped to his feet. Before he could turn and run, the man lunged at him. Doyle was shoved to the floor and pinned down. Fingers wrapped around his throat, squeezed. Another hand ripped open the front of his shirt then moved lower to undo the button on his trousers and yank down his zip.

A scream of denial raced across his mind. He clawed at the man's fingers, fighting for breath, fighting to get away. The grip on his throat tightened, those horrible black eyes telling him exactly what the man intended to do to him…

Using a corner of the bed sheet, Doyle wiped away sweat from his upper lip and the back of his neck. After taking about ten deep, calming breaths, he finally felt the tension start to ease from his shoulders. His heartbeat slowed to its normal rhythm. And, in his head, the terrible images began to fade.

Glancing at his bedside clock, he took in the time. Seven ten in the morning. Snatching up his daily planner, Doyle flipped to today's date and checked the schedule. He had a new client coming in at eight-thirty. William Bodie. On the phone the man had sounded a little uncertain. He'd told Doyle that he'd never consulted a psychic dream interpreter before, which could explain the reason for Mr Bodie's hesitation.

Usually, before seeing someone new, Doyle got a feeling of apprehensiveness. It was no different now, but he had little choice about taking on new clients. If he wanted to continue to live in his old Victorian home, he needed to expand his client base.

Being an artist and selling an occasional painting didn't come close to providing the income that was necessary to maintain his home. Repairs were constant, rates outrageous. He needed every penny he made to stay ahead of his creditors.

Most people who sought out Doyle's services did so because they understood how psychic dream interpretation worked. However, on occasion, some clients reacted badly to his revelations, the reasons being either they didn't get what they wanted from a reading, or they got too much.

Cedric Rutherford had been a perfect example of an unsatisfied client. After his reading yesterday his round cheeks had been flushed, his high forehead damp with perspiration.

"I assure you, Mr Rutherford," Doyle had said, releasing the man's hand. "Everything you say, everything that happens in a session, is held in strictest confidence. However, if you want an honest answer, you really must open up and-"

"You're a fake!" Rutherford had yelled, slamming a fist down on the table. "And a liar. I have never cheated on my wife!"

"I am not accusing you of infidelity," Doyle had replied in his most placating voice. "Your personal life is no concern of mine. I make no judgements. I am simply trying to interpret your dream as accurately as I can. It's the reason you came to me, is it not?"

With one pudgy finger, Rutherford had pushed his spectacles back up his nose. Glancing at Doyle nervously, he slowly said, "It is."

Doyle had been through this same sort of thing before with a few other clients. He knew the odds were good that Mr Rutherford really was cheating on his wife. Thinking his secret safe, it had shocked the man that Doyle had picked up on it. And now he was running scared.

Smiling, Doyle had tried to put him at ease. "Allow me to explain it better. Your dream indicates to me that perhaps you are experiencing some... unresolved issues in your life. That perhaps you are feeling guilty. Your subconscious is trying to cope-"

"That's enough!" Rutherford had bellowed. "I never cheated on my wife!" He had shoved himself away from the table, stood, and pointed a finger at Doyle. "You are a fraud, Mr Doyle. You should be ashamed of yourself, taking people's money and telling them lies." With that, Cedric Rutherford had turned and stormed out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Luckily for Doyle, clients such as Rutherford were quite rare. And he hoped that Mr Bodie would be open-minded and understanding. That they could have a successful session.

Pushing the sheets aside, Doyle rose and headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, washed and dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, he headed down to the kitchen. As he prepared tea, images from his nightmare began to form in his head once again. For someone who interpreted dreams, Doyle was lousy at deciphering his own.

The nightmare had brought with it a feeling of importance he had never felt before. It had been terrifying. More than that, it had been solid, real in some way. An indicator dream, perhaps.

But an indication of what?

Sitting at the table, sipping his morning tea, an uneasiness settled into the pit of his stomach. Doyle couldn't help but feel that the dream was a warning that his life was about to change. Whether it was for the good or bad, he had no idea.

***

Bodie stood across the street from the suspect's house, checking out possible points of entry and exit. Definitely one door in front, probably another around back, perhaps a side door as well, but it was hard to be certain from his position.

The somewhat run-down Victorian house belonged to Raymond Doyle, who conducted business from his office on the ground floor.

But just what kind of business did Mr Doyle conduct? That was the question and the reason that Bodie was here.

The person who had lodged the complaint, a Mr Cedric Ruthford, was a jumped-up friend of Cowley's who demanded something be done. Cowley in turn had summoned Bodie, giving him the information and strict orders to get to the bottom of it.

According to Rutherford, Doyle cheated his clients, took money under false pretences, tendered bad advice, and even offered more personal services on the side – for a hefty fee, of course.

Even though there had only been the one complaint, Cedric Rutherford was a well-respected businessman, who was not only a friend of Cowley, but also had friends in the upper echelons of the local constabulary. As a result, the accusations of fraud and solicitation could not go ignored.

During the time that Bodie had been standing inconspicuously under the large shady tree, no one had gone in or left the house. He checked his watch. It was nearly time for his appointment with one Raymond Doyle, dream interpreter.

"Dream interpreter, my arse," Bodie mumbled under his breath.

Straightening his jacket, he crossed the street. He took the steps leading to the front door two at a time and pressed the doorbell.

A moment later the door opened, and Bodie's heart screeched to a halt. His mouth went dry. His brain shut down. And his testosterone levels shot though the roof. The man who stood before him was bloody gorgeous, in an exotic, tatty kind of way that very much appealed to Bodie.

Doyle's green eyes widened as he looked Bodie up and down, almost a little too frantically it seemed to him.

"Mr Bodie?" Doyle asked. His words were spoken as though he hoped Bodie was someone else.

"Yes," Bodie replied with a smile, wondering why the hell Doyle was gaping at him like he'd just seen the Grim Reaper. "We have an appointment at eight-thirty."

Swallowing, Doyle stared at him for a moment longer before saying, "Yes, we do. I'm Ray Doyle. Come in. Please." Stepping aside, he swung the door open, gesturing for Bodie to enter. "Sorry, didn't mean to stare. You look like someone I met once... sort of... recently. Probably just coincidence."

"What is?"

Doyle smiled and shook his head. "Nothing."

Walking past Bodie, Doyle led the way through the double oak doors into his office. Warm sunshine filtered through the curtains, giving the room a cosy intimacy. In the far corner sat an antique desk, its surface covered with various ledgers and stacks of papers. Soft green paint on the walls, sheer curtains on the windows, a fireplace and an elegant crystal chandelier all lent the room an Old World Charm.

Shutting the doors behind them, Doyle indicated that Bodie should take a seat at the small round table in front of the fireplace.

While Bodie made himself comfortable, Doyle moved around to take the seat opposite him. Leaning slightly forward, Doyle clasped his hands in front of him on the table. "When we spoke on the phone, you said you'd never consulted a dream interpreter before."

"That's right."

Absently, Doyle brushed a lock of curly hair away from his eyes. The gesture immediately brought Bodie's attention to the man's face. To the striking green, cat-like eyes, the high cheekbones, the full, sensual mouth. Without thinking, Bodie licked his lips.

"How did you hear about my services, Mr Bodie?" Doyle asked.

His services. Right. Here we go.

"I have a mate who's a client. You came highly recommended."

"One of my regulars?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"Would you be comfortable sharing his name?"

Bodie pretended to give it some thought. "I'd prefer to keep his name out of it."

His answer seemed to disturb Doyle, but he didn't press the issue. Doyle cleared his throat before asking, "Have you been having difficulty sleeping?"

"You might say that."

"Bad dreams?"

"Yes."

Doyle nodded. "Many clients have thanked me for the relief I've given them. They've felt comfortable enough with me, even the first-timers, to strip away all their inhibitions, get down to raw honesty. It's very freeing to unburden yourself in this way, get right to the bottom of things."

"Yeah, that's what my friend said."

Doyle perked up. "I'm pleased to hear your friend was satisfied enough to recommend me to you."

Relaxing in his chair a little, Bodie asked, "How does this work, exactly?"

"Works best when I'm in physical contact with you. If we touch during a session, the results are much more satisfying for us both."

I just bet it is.

"Would you have any problem with me touching you, Mr Bodie?"

"Not at all." Bodie smiled.

Doyle slid one hand across the table, palm up. With the other hand, Doyle reached for Bodie's, turned it over and rested it in his own. Bodie's knuckles nestled into Doyle's palm, his fingers relaxed into a slight curl. Doyle stared at their hands for a moment then seemed to grow more agitated.

Doyle flicked a quick look into Bodie's eyes, before glancing away. "All right, we're connected," Doyle said, running his tongue over his lips. "Please close your eyes, tell me your dream. As you speak, I'll be able to see images. Then we can talk about what your dream means."

The palm in which the top of Bodie's hand rested was warm and damp, telling him that Doyle was definitely nervous as hell.

So, now he was supposed to relate a dream to Doyle? Bodie didn't dream very often. At least, he didn't remember them. Since this whole thing was utter bull-shit anyway, Doyle would never know the difference if he made something up. Besides, any minute now Doyle was going to stop this charade and offer him sex for money.

And then the game would be over.

***

William Bodie was tall, broad shouldered, muscular. He appeared to be the same age as Doyle, perhaps a year or two younger. And he was handsome. Very handsome. And he exuded a hint of sly mischievousness with an air of scintillating mystery and raw danger.

When Doyle looked into his eyes, he felt something heavy grow and twist in his stomach. Bodie's eyes were blue, his hair short and dark, exactly like the man in Doyle's nightmare.

He'd never had a prophetic dream in his life, and now here was the man he'd dreamt of only a few hours ago. The man who had been trying to strangle him. When Doyle had first seen him standing at his front door, he'd wanted to slam it shut – and run.

Doyle had many questions rushing through his mind. Such as had he picked up on what Bodie looked like when he'd heard the man's voice on the phone? Was the dream he had a good omen, or, as it had played out, a bad one? Did Bodie mean him harm? If he closed his eyes, would Bodie morph into a horrible creature and try to choke him to death?

Dreams of being killed didn't mean someone was actually going to murder you. They generally symbolised an end of some kind. An abrupt halt to a dilemma you were facing in your waking life. But the nightmare had made Doyle feel out-of-sorts. Now, sitting across the table from the very man whose fingers had been around his throat was very unnerving.

No, that wasn't quite true. It had not been this man, but the darker, more evil figure Bodie had become who had tried to kill him.

Perhaps it would help if he pressed Bodie to reveal the name of the client who'd referred him. He could then contact the client, ask about Mr Bodie and whether or not the man was telling the truth about himself.

To add to his confusion, the moment Doyle had touched Bodie, images had begun to bombard his senses, totally throwing him off-balance. He'd seen Bodie, them, together... very together. Intimately together. Pleasure wound through Doyle; excitement teased his skin.

"Shall we do it now?" Bodie asked, his voice low, suggestive.

Startled out of his thoughts, Doyle searched Bodie's eyes. "Do? It?" It took a second before he remembered why Bodie was here. "Oh! Right! Your dream." Squaring his shoulders, he took a cleansing breath. "Let's close our eyes, and we can begin."

As soon as they did, strong images began to assault his senses. People, their faces blurred. Noises. Voices. The deafening explosion of gunfire. A scream. Laughter. A moan.

Bodie cleared his throat. "I dreamt I was with a man. Someone I'd never met before. He was very attractive and I wanted to sleep with him. But he kept evading me. He wore a green shirt and kept telling me how much he liked green. Finally, I figured out it meant he wanted money." Bodie stopped for a moment, cleared his throat again. "So, I paid him and we had sex."

Doyle frowned. Slowly, he pulled his hand from underneath Bodie's. Opening his eyes, he said, "Mr Bodie. I'm sure you are uncomfortable with revealing your innermost thoughts to a stranger, however if you aren't completely honest with me, I won't be able to help you."

Bodie opened his eyes. Blue, smouldering, warm. The kind of eyes Doyle could get lost in first thing in the morning, or the last thing at night. Just looking at Bodie made him want to find a bed and let Bodie have his way with him.

But Bodie had lied.

"Told you my dream. Can't you interpret it?" Intelligent eyes challenged Doyle.

"No, I can't. The dream you related to me was not the dream I saw. Wasn't even close."

Bodie shrugged. "What, exactly, did you see?" he asked, tone flat.

"Quite frankly, a mess." Doyle crossed his arms over his chest. For a few moments they sat there, eyeing each other.

"I think it means I'm willing to pay a bloke I don't know to have sex with me."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Well..." Bodie's sensuous mouth turned into a smirk. "Men think about sex, on average, every time they blink. The dream most likely means I want to have sex."

Doyle felt his skin heat, but he was still able to maintain eye contact. "Then why don't you go and have it, mate. You look to be the kind of bloke who doesn't have any trouble getting someone into his bed."

"Came to you so you could interpret my dreams, didn't I. I'm sure it must have a deeper meaning."

"Some dreams are exactly what they appear to be." Bodie blinked and Doyle lifted a brow. "Was it good for you?"

When Bodie leant across the table, Doyle automatically eased back in his chair.

"All right," Bodie admitted. "Perhaps there is no deeper meaning. Can live with that just fine." He paused for a second, shifted a little closer and asked, "What other services do you offer?"

Confused, Doyle scowled. "Other services?"

Bodie's lips curled into a suggestive grin. "I understand you provide your clients with a variety of services."

Doyle relaxed a little. Bodie must obviously mean his artwork. Often, he did custom paintings for people who wanted portraits done. "Yes, of course. Would you be interested?"

"Most definitely," Bodie said smoothly.

Doyle lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. "I'm sure I could accommodate you."

"I'm sure you could." Bodie flicked his gaze over Doyle. "How much do you charge?"

"Depends on how detailed you want it... how long it takes."

Bodie pursed his lips and looked modest. "Well, I've never had any complaints before. And taking your time would be just fine with me. The longer, the better."

Doyle tilted his head. "I'm known for being quick."

"Are you, now? And what if I wanted it slow and more than once?"

"That's fine. But if you want more than one, will have to charge you for extra paint."

Bodie's brows shot up. "Paint?" He seemed to think for a moment. "Kinky. But wouldn't the sheets get a tad messy?"

"Pardon?" Confusion fogged Doyle's brain. "Why would I use sheets when painting your portrait?"

"Painting?" Bodie's eyes widened in shock. "Is that the service you provide?"

"Yes. I'm an artist." Tension tightened Doyle's stomach. "What did you think I was talking about?"

Pushing away from the table, Bodie stood and began to back away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of notes. "How much do I owe you?"

"Mr Bodie, I-"

"I have another appointment. I'm late. Will forty quid cover it?" Bodie slapped the notes down on the table.

Doyle stared at the money. "That's fine. Do you want to schedule another appointment?"

"No." Bodie turned and slid the office door open. "I'll see myself out."

When Doyle heard the front door close, he put his hands to his temples. What had all that been about? Giving his head a little shake, he reached for the money. As soon as his fingers made contact, images began to fill his brain.

Them again, together. Naked. His neck arched back. Bodie's hands all over him. Pleasure. Then darkness. Loss. Doyle's heart ached. Pain. A man he knew. Another he didn't. Death.

Doyle gasped and his eyes flew open. Bloody hell. Whoever William Bodie was, he was bad news. For some reason, Bodie had lied to him and, quite honestly, he'd had it up to there with men who lied.

Anger warmed his cheeks. Shoving the money into his desk drawer, Doyle slammed it shut and released a long breath. So much for Mr Bodie. With any luck, he would never have to see the man again.

***

Bodie was sipping his tea when the restroom door opened and Betty poked her head in.

"Hello, love," he greeted her with a smirk.

"Bodie. Someone's come to the front door who insists on speaking with you. Made quite a ruckus and wouldn't leave when asked. Anson's put him in Interrogation Room Three."

Bodie stood, and drank down the last of the liquid from his mug before heading into the corridor. "Got a name?" he asked Betty.

"Says his name is Ray Doyle."

Bodie stopped mid-step. "Sure about that?"

"Of course. You know him?"

"We've met," Bodie stated. He turned and followed Betty toward Room Three. "I'll take it from here." She nodded and continued on her way.

Pausing at the small window in the door, Bodie peered inside. It was Doyle all right and he did not look pleased. He was pacing back and forth, hands balled into fists at his thighs, anger clear on his face.

Releasing a sigh, Bodie opened the door and stepped inside. "Mr Doyle." At the mention of his name, Doyle whirled around and glared at him. "Please have a seat."

"Like bloody hell I will!" Doyle crossed his arms over his chest in a defiant gesture. "Think I'm a berk, do you?"

Bodie held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "I can explain everything-"

"No wonder nothing made sense. You lied to me! You made up that dream, didn't you. Were testing me to see if I was competent. We could have discussed it, you know. I would have told you-"

"Doyle," Bodie interrupted. "We had a complaint. Was my job to check it out."

"A complaint?" Doyle snarled. "From one of my clients?"

Flipping back the edges of his jacket, Bodie rested his hands on his hips. "I understand why you'd be upset, but as I said, there was a complaint-"

"If one of my customers isn't happy, why didn't he just tell me?"

Bodie moved forward and pulled out a chair. "Have a seat." Doyle slid a glance at him, then brushed past him to sit down. Bodie caught the scent of Doyle's shampoo, spicy, evocative. He fought not to reach out and feel for himself if those curly strands of hair were as silky as they appeared to be.

"Good news is, you've been cleared," Bodie said, taking a seat across from Doyle. "The complaint has been closed."

Doyle lifted his gaze. "Who made it?"

"I'm not at liberty-"

"It was Rutherford, wasn't it?" When Bodie didn't answer, Doyle nodded his head. "Thought so."

"Sorry it was necessary to deceive you, but we had to determine whether the complaint was valid or not."

Doyle nibbled absently at his bottom lip. Bodie watched for a moment before forcing his eyes away.

"So," Doyle said, cocking his head and assessing him. "You're not a regular copper. Why did Rutherford complain to CI5 instead of just going to the local police?"

"Has friends in high places, he does."

Doyle leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "I see."

"I have a question for you, Mr Doyle. How did you know where to find me?"

"Have you already forgotten what I do? Who I am? Saw it in a dream. This building and address, the name CI5, you, William Bodie – agent 3.7. Didn't take much to put the pieces together."

Bodie gaped at him for a second. "You expect me to believe that?"

"I do. Especially since I'm not the one who's a liar."

"You were a possible criminal. Did what I had to in order to learn the truth."

"A criminal?" Doyle gasped, shocked. "Exactly what did Mr Rutherford tell you? What did he accuse me of?"

Bodie looked Doyle in the eye. "A charge was made of fraud and solicitation."

"Solicita...? What!"

For a second Bodie thought Doyle might jump up and make a run for the door, instead he stayed seated, face flushed with anger.

"He accused me of being a whore?" To Bodie's surprise, Doyle burst out laughing. "Just because I found out he-" Doyle stopped himself, and looked away.

"You can file harassment charges against him if you wish. But I warn you, it would be hard to prove."

Doyle shook his head and smiled. "No need. What goes around comes around. He'll get his in the end."

"Not contemplating retaliation against Mr Rutherford, are you?"

"No need. Karma will take care of the likes of him."

"As long as Karma isn't a hit man."

Doyle chuckled. "Not my cup-of-tea, mate."

"Good." Bodie took a deep breath and straightened in his chair. "Let's move on to the other reason why you're here."

"What?"

"Know you didn't come here just to bite my head off. Come on, spit it out."

"How did you...?" Doyle trailed off, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Have you forgotten what I do, Mr Doyle? Didn't become one of CI5's finest on just my outrageously good looks." Bodie grinned brightly.

Doyle glanced first at Bodie then down at his hands. He seemed to think for a minute before giving his head a quick shake. "Never mind. Was a stupid idea." Doyle moved to get up, but before he could stand, Bodie reached across the table, fingers curling around Doyle's wrist. The skin was soft, warm. Doyle tugged on his hand. Bodie tugged back.

"Are you restraining me?"

"No. I'm encouraging you to remain seated and tell me why you're here."

Doyle eyed Bodie. "I want a different agent."

"Why?"

"I don't like you. And since you lied to me, I don't trust you."

Bodie blew out a short breath. "Look, mate. Let's put all that aside, shall we? Something has obviously happened. Let me help you."

Doyle's expression grew serious and he shifted in his chair. He reached into his jacket pocket, hesitated, then pulled out a newspaper clipping. Placing the paper on the table, Doyle slid it over to Bodie. It was dated two days ago.

"Body of slain woman found in St. James's Park," Bodie said aloud, reading the headline. His eyes sought Doyle's. "You have information regarding a murder?"

Doyle paused, almost as though he were assessing Bodie, judging whether or not to trust him with the information. Finally, his shoulders relaxed a fraction and he gave a quick nod.

"I think I know who killed her."

***

Doyle watched as Bodie shifted forward, leant his elbows on the table and entwined his fingers.

"Are you saying you witnessed this crime?" Bodie asked

Doyle shook his head. "No."

"The killer confess to you?"

"No."

"Did you see who dumped the body in the park?"

"No."

Pursing his lips, Bodie watched him for a moment. "Help me out here, Doyle. The twenty-questions thing is fun, but I'm really lousy at it."

Before he could change his mind, Doyle said, "I have a client." From the look on Bodie's face, Doyle knew the agent wasn't going to believe him; sceptics never did. It didn't take a psychic to see this wasn't going to go well. Still, he'd come this far.

"You have a client," Bodie repeated. "Go on."

"Came to me several weeks ago. Described a dream where he killed a woman in St. James's Park. I think he's the one who may have done it." He flicked a finger in the direction of the newspaper clipping. "When he described the dream, I saw the murder."

Setting his hands flat on the table, Bodie drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "That's your evidence? You think your client is possibly guilty of murder because of a dream he had? Do you have any other reason to believe this man committed a murder?"

"No."

There was a minute of silence before Bodie said, "Thank you for letting me know-"

"I knew you wouldn't believe me." Shit! Why had he put himself in a position, yet again, to be doubted and dismissed? You'd think by now he would have learnt his lesson!

Over the last few years, Doyle had tried to use his psychic abilities to help the authorities, but the police rarely let him. Since his particular gift was tactile, if he didn't have something to touch, he couldn't get a clear image. As a result, his best efforts often failed and he came off looking incompetent, like a loony.

Coming here had been a huge mistake. Despite his sexy voice, good looks and soft blue eyes, Bodie was no better than the rest.

"Fine." Doyle sighed.

Bodie eased back his chair and rose. With a look of profound displeasure on his face, he said, "You've just wasted my time, Mr Doyle. I hope you're happy."

"No, Bodie, I'm not, you closed-minded arse!" Doyle snarled. "I came here because I felt I had knowledge that might help."

"Did your client tell you he'd killed this woman?"

"No," Doyle replied, irritated.

"Dreaming of committing a murder is not a crime. What evidence can you provide? Evidence," Bodie added, "that would stand up in a court of law."

"None. But I know what I saw. Judging from that newspaper article, the similarities to the actual murder and my client's dream are stunning."

"Stunning?" Bodie grinned.

Now Bodie was laughing at him. For a second Doyle was almost willing to let this pass because Bodie had the most incredible smile...

Heat radiated between them as they glowered at each other. Then Bodie's grin began to slowly fade. Doyle knew the exact moment Bodie became aware of him, not as some wacky psychic, but as a sensual being, as a man. Something changed in Bodie's eyes. His stance shifted. His gaze drifted down Doyle's body and back up again. His breathing altered slightly.

The spell was broken when Bodie quietly said, "I need solid evidence or an eyewitness, without them there's nothing I can do." Reaching inside his pocket, Bodie pulled out a white business card, a single phone number the only thing printed on the surface. "If anything more solid presents itself, call this number. Whoever answers, ask to speak to me."

As Doyle took the card, his fingers brushed Bodie's. In that split second he saw them once again. Together. Naked. In a passionate embrace. However, this time Doyle felt him, too. Bodie's hands roaming over his chest and back. He could hear soft music playing and all around them the smell of lilac.

He must have made some kind of noise, because Bodie frowned and asked, "Are you all right?"

Slipping the card into the back pocket of his jeans, Doyle headed for the door. With his hand on the knob, he bit out, "The article said the woman had been strangled, her body left under The Blue Bridge on the north side."

"Yes."

"Can tell you what the article doesn't say, the colour of the outfit she was wearing."

There was a momentary silence as Bodie glanced through the article. "No, it doesn't mention the type or style of clothing."

Doyle nodded, turned the handle and opened the door. "It was a dress. Purple. With small yellow flowers. Good day, Mr Bodie."

***

Doyle was just sitting down at his kitchen table to read the morning paper when the doorbell rang. Rising from his chair, he tugged his robe closed and moved down the hallway to the front door. Pulling it open, he stood with one hand on the doorknob assessing his early morning visitor.

"Bodie." Doyle scowled. "You do know it's seven o'clock on a Sunday morning. Couldn't this have waited until after I had my coffee?"

"You drink coffee?" Bodie gave him the once-over. "Somehow I pegged you as the herbal tea type. Bland, like ground up elm bark or dried pomegranate seeds."

Tilting his head slightly, Doyle snared Bodie's gaze. "I can assure you nothing about me is bland."

Bodie's attitude suddenly turned all business-like. "Would like to ask you a few questions. About a purple dress with yellow flowers. May I come in?"

"What else can I tell you that you don't already know?"

"I want to know how you know about that dress."

Bodie was just as handsome as the first time Doyle had seen him. Standing on his front steps, legs braced, hands in his pockets, Bodie looked cool and hot and rough. A little charming, a lot dangerous. Not for the first time, Doyle found himself wanting to drag Bodie up to his bedroom, remove all his clothing to reveal that gorgeous body and...

Bodie's lips curved slowly into a smile, and Doyle's thoughts came to a crashing halt.

"Obviously we got off on the wrong foot," Bodie said. "I apologise. Can we start again?" The perfect smile slid from charming to mesmerising.

Without words, because Doyle's brain suddenly couldn't form any, he swung the door fully open and stepped aside.

"Make yourself comfortable," Doyle said, pointing toward his office. "I need to get dressed. Be back in a minute."

Ten minutes later, hands, face, and teeth clean, hair brushed into submission, and wearing jeans and a red t-shirt, Doyle walked into his office.

Instead of seeing Bodie sitting at the table like Doyle'd expected, the man had instead taken a seat on the settee in front of the bay window. To ensure he wouldn't accidentally touch Bodie, Doyle sat down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table.

Once Doyle had settled himself, Bodie leant forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and flipped through a note pad. "What's the name of the client who had the dream?" Bodie asked.

"David Malone."

"You certain that's his real name?"

Leaning back in his chair, Doyle replied, "It's the name he gave me."

Bodie's eyes narrowed as he wrote down the name. "Did this David Malone fill out any paperwork? Show ID?"

"No."

"Address?"

"Don't know it."

Bodie pursed his lips. "Phone number?"

Doyle shook his head. "He calls me."

With a flick of his wrist, Bodie tossed his notepad onto the coffee table.

"All right." Bodie sighed and rubbed at his temples. "Let's try something else, shall we. How many times have you seen him?"

"Six."

"Wow, a real answer. Now we're getting somewhere."

Doyle set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.

Tapping his pen on his knee, Bodie said, "Six visits. Over what period of time?"

"First visit was a little over three months ago." Doyle paused and waited until Bodie looked at him. "Tell me something, Bodie. Why are you asking me these questions when it's obvious you think you're wasting your time?"

"Because a woman was strangled in St. James's Park. She was dumped near The Blue Bridge. Because she was wearing a purple dress with small yellow flowers."

Doyle's heart tripped inside his chest. "I told you," he said quietly.

"That you did, Mr Doyle. Now tell me, why did Malone say he wanted his dreams interpreted?"

Doyle thought back to the day David Malone had told him about this particular dream. At the time, Malone's words hadn't had much impact. Dreams were symbolic. To dream of killing someone didn't mean you really wanted to kill that person. It usually meant the dreamer wanted to do away with certain waking behaviours or bad memories.

"He said he'd started having dreams. Violent dreams. Felt he was being sent some kind of message but didn't understand what it was." Levelling his gaze on Bodie, Doyle continued, "People come to me because they need to understand. Dreams can be confusing. If you misinterpret them, you can panic or think something is wrong with you, when actually it's simply your psyche trying to work things out. That's why I do this, to help..." He let his words trail off without further explanation.

Bodie seemed thoughtful for a moment, then asked, "What did you tell him?"

"I held his hand while he related the dream." Doyle's voice lowered. "I saw it clearly. He described it, and I saw it unfold. I didn't think it was a prophetic dream. Seemed more like a release dream, where he was letting go of some long-held belief or anger or sorrow. I told him to keep a dream log next to his bed."

"A what?"

"When you wake up in the middle of the night after a dream, or first thing in the morning, you write down as much of your dreams as you can remember. Details are important. Colours, numbers, smells, sounds. Mr Malone agreed to keep a diary. Next time he visited, he brought it with him."

Bodie seemed to perk up at this news. "Did you read it? Did he leave it here?"

Doyle smiled and Bodie's eyes flicked to his mouth for a second.

"He read parts of it to me," Doyle said. "Parts that pertained to the dreams he wanted to discuss. When he left, he took the book with him. Never actually got my hands on it."

Standing up, Bodie walked to the bay window. Light from the early morning sun caressed his dark hair and, though it was short, it looked soft to the touch. Doyle imagined what it would be like to have his arms around Bodie's neck, his fingers entwined in Bodie's hair, their lips pressed together.

Unaware of the direction Doyle's thoughts had taken, Bodie asked, "What kind of man is David Malone? Describe him."

Doyle allowed his attention to linger on Bodie for a moment longer. His gaze drifted across Bodie's broad shoulders, lean hips, long legs. Under those clothes, he'd bet anything that Bodie's body was perfect, well muscled, strong.

Doyle didn't fool himself for a minute. He knew part of his attraction was based on the fact that he hadn't had a steady lover since he'd walked away from Gavin Hughes twelve months ago. The presence of an interesting man was sending his desires into a dither.

"Mid-thirties," Doyle said, forcing his attention back to the matter at hand. "A little shorter than me. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Attractive. Oh, and I believe him to be rich."

"What makes you think so?"

Doyle shrugged. "He dresses casually, but the clothes are expensive. Drives an Aston Martin."

"What colour? Year?"

"Silver. Don't know the year."

Rubbing his jaw, Bodie seemed to turn inward, then he looked over at Doyle. "Was there only one dream where he killed someone?"

"No. There were two others. But I didn't see anything in the newspaper about them."

Bodie walked toward Doyle and stood next to his chair. He could feel the heat from Bodie's body and worried it would be enough to once again create the images in his head of the two of them together. Bracing his mind against it, he shifted as far away from Bodie as he could.

"Does he have a regular appointment? Or does he just call you?"

"Calls me. But I never know when. He tends to pop in every couple of weeks."

"How long since the last visit?"

"Ten days. I expect he should call again this week." Sliding Bodie a wary look, Doyle asked, "Why do you want to know, since you don't believe in what I do?"

Bodie glanced around the room, apparently considering his question. Lifting one arm, he let it drop to his side in a gesture of obvious frustration.

"Don't know what to believe. I know a woman is dead. Know certain details of her murder match things you claim you picked up psychically from a man who told you about a dream he had." Bodie looked down at Doyle. "Just take a moment and think how that sounds to a logical person. If Malone did commit a murder and felt the need to tell somebody about it, pretending it happened in a dream would let him get it off his conscience without being accused."

"You still don't understand, do you. I saw it. He dreamt it just the way-"

"Perhaps he used you, Doyle. Perhaps you're a kind, compassionate man and Malone knew it and used you."

Pushing himself to his feet, Doyle walked to the other side of the room, away from Bodie. He had to separate himself from Bodie's powerful presence. The man was too... alluring. Bodie disrupted his thoughts, invaded his senses. God forbid Bodie should touch him again.

"It was a dream, not reality." Doyle insisted. "Dreams and real events show up differently. I see them differently inside my head." He tapped a finger against his temple.

"I'm sorry, Doyle, but I don't believe in dream interpretation. If Malone came to you and related details of a murder, I have to assume he is somehow involved."

"I know what I saw, what I experienced. Just because you're a close-minded oaf doesn't mean I'm wrong. Truth is, you don't want to believe I can see other people's dreams. David Malone didn't say a thing about a purple flowered dress – I saw it when I touched him!" Doyle growled in frustration.

The air crackled between them and Doyle fought to control his breathing. Damn, he hadn't been this mad since he'd walked in on Gavin that wretched day.

Bodie nodded a few times. "Give me something else. Another detail. Something that wasn't in the newspaper, something only the killer would know."

In frustration, Doyle turned away and squeezed his eyes shut. Calming his frayed nerves, he forced himself to remember the session with Malone – his words, and the images they'd conjured inside his head.

I'd noticed her earlier, but she hadn't so much as looked my way. Everyone had gone. I crept up behind her. She was admiring the roses along the edge of the path near the bridge. It was just past dark and she'd wandered out of the light to get a closer look and smell a blossom. I did it then. Grabbing her from behind, my arm around her neck, choking her. She fought. But I was stronger. It hadn't taken much after that to squeeze the life out of her. When I was sure she was dead, I let her fall to the ground. She looked just like a rag doll some careless child had tossed aside. Then I shoved her under the bushes until only her feet were visible. Unable to resist, I crouched down and...

"Her shoe," Doyle said quietly. "Malone took her shoe. A memento. A trophy. Killers do that sort of thing, don't they?"

He turned, seeking Bodie's eyes, wanting the acknowledgment, the recognition that he really had seen, really did know. Bodie was staring at him, but it wasn't with the look of appreciation and apology he deserved.

"It occurs to me," Bodie slowly said, "there is one other distinct possibility here."

Doyle assessed Bodie's words, while some emotion he couldn't define oozed into his stomach.

"And what would that be, Mr Bodie?"

Bodie locked eyes with him. "Let me put it to you this way. Do you want to confess now, or do we need to go to headquarters?"

***

Part 2