Reunions, part two, by Sue Castle, rated NC17, see part one for disclaimer.

Kim checked with Control and discovered that Doyle had just left headquarters with Bodie, following up on a lead. Finding that out effectively put the kibosh on them all getting together that night, so they headed for a friendly pub Elena knew and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy their evening. Blair and his sister had a great deal in common, and spent most of the evening comparing and contrasting political and social structures of various societies they'd both studied, arguing cheerfully about everything from situational ethics to Canadian football versus American football. When they got to the sports, Jim put in his two cents, and when, after several rounds, they started getting philosophic, Naomi and Blair ganged up on Jim and Elena. It was a congenial, relaxing evening, and everyone felt his (or her) nerves finally begin to relax. As Naomi and Jim got into the merits of beer versus lager, and light versus dark, and chilled versus warm, Blair leaned close to Elena.

"Thanks, sis."

Bright dark eyes met his, and he saw understanding as well as humor lurking there. "Bit nervous about all this, were you?" she asked gently.

"Just a bit." He played with his glass, drawing circles within circles on the dark wood of the table top. "I didn't know ... when we found him, he was in pretty bad shape."

Her fingers touched his lightly. "He won't talk about it," she admitted. "But I'd like to know. For myself. What he went through. To understand."

"I know where you're coming from," he replied. "Jim's the same way. He is so not into talking about the pain, you know? But he's getting a little better, with me at least."

He was quiet for a moment, reliving the scene he'd found when they'd burst in and seen Doyle, naked and bleeding, crouched over Hofnan's dead body. "He was hurt. I don't know what all that guy did to him, but man, he was messed up. He'd been tied up and that maniac had cut him up with a knife, beaten him up a bit, too, from the looks of the bruises." He didn't mention the semen, not wanting to upset Elena any further. She had grown gradually paler as he'd talked. "He probably can't open up about it, you know? Partly the generation, partly the social acculturation, partly that need to protect. Being who and what he is, he'd find it very hard to open up to anyone who wasn't in the same circumstances, and sharing that kind of pain with someone he sees as being under his protection is so not his scene. Maybe Ray's got that kind of communication with Bodie, you think?"

She shook her head, smiling affectionately. "I'm still not used to Bodie actually being here. Dad would send me these letters, and he'd go on and on about his partner, what a great guy he was and how he'd pulled him out of the fire, or whatever. I had an inkling they were a little more than best friends. But I'm glad to see them back together. I always did think he should have stuck with Bodie." Peering intently at the foam clinging to the side of her glass, her thoughts on her father's recent romantic history, she announced, "He has the worst taste in women."

Her words fell into a small pool of silence, sounding unnaturally loud, and she cast a startled look around the table. "Present company excluded, of course!" she hastened to add, and Naomi started laughing.

"Good save!" Jim approved, and Elena gave up her attempt at tact and hid her face against Blair's shoulder.

Naomi took pity on her and glanced at her watch, smothering a yawn as she did so. "Oh, my, I think I left myself behind somewhere. And it's catching up to me now!" Smiling at the other four, three slumped over from too much food and too much beer and one just as crisp and watchful as she had been three hours earlier, she began to gather up her scarves and bag. "I'll tell you what, children. It has been an absolutely wonderful evening, but I admit I'm beginning to get a bit tired. I need to process for awhile, so I think I'll head for the hotel and settle in, meditate a little while, calm my center. I am so happy to have met you, Elena. You have a lot of your father in you, and you have a brilliant aura all your own. I look forward to getting to know you better, but right now it's time to crash and recharge."

"Thank you, Naomi," Elena smiled back at her. Glancing over at Blair, she asked, "Do you want to rest up as well, little brother?"

He mocked-glared back at her. "Enough of the little-stuff, sis, I'm almost a full inch taller than you. So there." She stuck her tongue out at him playfully and he couldn't help but laugh at her. "Nah, I'm fine. Jim?" He looked over at his very mellow partner. Ellison was feeling the effects of a very fine dark lager and was more relaxed than Blair had seen him in some time, but he didn't look tired. Far from it. For a moment, the mental image of just what he could do to his pliable partner filled his mind, and he opened his mouth to suggest that a sojourn to a nice, private hotel room might not be a bad idea, when Elena beat him to the punch.

"If you're not tired, perhaps we could get Naomi settled in, then head over to Dad's flat? He gave me the combination to get in, Kim can let the watchers over at headquarters know so they don't sound the alarm and send the cavalry in." Chen nodded and dug her R/T out, preparing to do just that. "And that way we can all have a little time together before I have to head back to school."

"What? You have to leave already?" Blair's cry of protest brought a shy grin from her.

"Yes, class in the morning, I'm afraid. But if it might make it easier, first time and all that, I'd love to introduce you to him properly. Naomi?" she invited, not wanting to exclude the other woman from the reunion.

Naomi looked at her thoughtfully. "I think you're right. I'm not in the right place to see Ray yet, too drained, my energy's not right for that tonight. There are going to be all sorts of cross currents with Bodie there, past and present intersecting, it could really throw the balance off. Better if Blair meets Ray without me. I'll come along tomorrow." She smiled sweetly at Elena. "Thank you for this evening, sweetie. It was a lot of fun!"

Blair recognized an exit line when he heard one, and shelved the lecherous ideas he'd been entertaining about Jim until another time. In the bustle of gathering everything up preparatory to leaving, he unconsciously moved a little closer to his lover, seeking the comfort of his physical presence, needing a little reassurance before going to face the stranger who was his father. Jim responded to the physiological changes he sensed once again, and instinctively reached out to touch his Blair, running his hand soothingly up and down his back between his shoulder blades. Elena saw the loving touch and smiled to herself. Looked like her brother had gotten lucky in choosing a mate as well as her dad. Maybe one of these days she'd have some luck. When she did, she hoped he was as supportive, and as drop dead gorgeous, as Jim Ellison.

Half an hour after taking his frustrations out on the idiot who had once again let the terrorists slip through his fingers, Doyle found himself being thoroughly pampered back at his flat. Bodie was in a surprisingly light mood, teasing him, feeding him, stripping him and seducing him. The first time they didn't even make it to the bedroom, Bodie tempting him to the point where he lost all control. Tugging the poloneck off over Bodie's head, throwing it into the corner and attacking the dark slacks, he didn't even get his lover's shoes off before he bent him over the arm of the couch and thrust into him.

Pants around his ankles, face into the cushions, holding on for dear life, Bodie was helpless to do anything but submit as his Doyle reamed him into the middle of next week. Both of them were insane for it, and it was over all too quickly, Ray folding over Bodie's back with a whispered apology for being so rough. Panting heavily, wincing a little as Doyle's weight drove genitals still sensitive from recent orgasm into the rough weave of the couch, Bodie tried to gather enough of his shattered wits to assure Doyle that it was perfectly all right, and to feel free to toss him on his face and ravish him whenever the urge struck. All he could manage was a very satisfied groan.

Doyle took that for forgiveness and pulled himself up away from his poor crushed Bodie's back, slipping from him and scattering butterfly kisses all along his backbone, from the nape of his neck to his buttocks. By the time he got to the firm mounds of muscle he was on his knees between Bodie's legs, crouching on the pants that still trapped his lover's feet. Taking advantage of Bodie's residual weakness, he took his time and tasted as much of the sweet silken skin as he could reach. He traced one hand along the muscular thighs, brushing the sensitive skin until it quivered under his touch. With the other hand, he gently spread the buttocks he's recently been pounding with his groin, and lapped at the fluid seeping from the reddened opening. The muffled groaning coming from the general vicinity of the couch cushions altered from satiation to anticipation at his actions. Encouraged, he probed more deeply, following the liquid to the source, soothing the tender skin with his lips and tongue.

He brought both hands up to spread the tensing thighs as far apart as he could reach, aided by Bodie's involuntary thrust back and upward into his hands. He slipped his right hand along the hot skin from anus to scrotum, massaging the bundled nerves in the perineum with his fingertips, causing a stronger thrusting motion from his partner. Sliding the hand further forward he began to roll Bodie's sac from side to side, playing with his testicles in the rough silk pouch. The groans mutated into strangled pleas. He ignored them.

As his hand roamed firmly from balls to shaft, quickly hardening under his ministrations, he continued his oral explorations. Gently keeping the cheeks spread with his left hand, he buried his face in the exposed cleft and proceeded to lap it clean, savoring the taste of his own semen and Bodie's sweat. Finally reaching his target, when all the surrounding skin was clean, wet, flinching under the rough stroke of his tongue, he concentrated his efforts on the bud in the center of the cleft. It was opening and closing rhythmically now, making his mouth water at the raw need Bodie was showing him. Circling it with the tip of his tongue, he was vaguely aware that the pleas were gaining strength and volume, urging him on. Needing no encouragement, aware of how far he could push the pleasure before it started to hurt, he thrust his tongue as far into the hot ring of muscle as he could, then drew it out and repeated the action. Again and again he tongue-fucked the small opening, searching into the slick passage behind it, and pumping Bodie's erection in counter rhythm to his tongue. Bodie was humping his hand blindly now, thrusting forward into the milking fingers then backward against the tormenting mouth.

Seeking to drive him further still, Doyle drew back and slid his left hand down. Positioning his fingers, he pressed his index finger firmly against Bodie's anus, then slipped it in, then out, replacing it with his tongue. Alternating invasions between his mouth and his finger, keeping up a continuous milking motion with his right hand on Bodie's cock, it wasn't long before the combined stimulation wrenched a second strong climax from his lover. Bodie screamed as he came, bucking hard between the tongue buried in his ass and the hands clenched around the head of his penis. When it finally subsided, he collapsed bonelessly over the arm of the couch, Doyle's hands still holding him securely.

Feeling the last of the spasms subside, Doyle withdrew, carefully drawing Bodie back into his arms. Guiding the supine body off the couch and carefully laying him on his back on the floor, he proceeded to lick the spilled semen first from his own hand, then from Bodie's groin and abdomen. Bodie moaned once, and whispered, "No joy there, my son," and Doyle grinned up at him.

"Mouth's still in working order, I see." He lowered his saliva-slick hand to his own rampant erection and pumped it a few times, shuddering at how hard he was. "Up to a little more than talking with it, blue eyes?"

Bodie cracked one eye, saw the nearly purple cock Doyle was curled around, and licked his lips. "C'mere, you." Doyle straddled him with alacrity, one knee by either ear, and returned to his tonguing clean up job on Bodie's groin. At the first touch of that talented mouth on his erection, he buried his face in the now licked-clean warmth of Bodie's thighs and began to thrust. He tried to keep it gentle, but he was incredibly aroused by Bodie's previous reaction to his lovemaking, and it didn't take long before he was thrusting uncontrollably into the wet warmth of Bodie's mouth. His lover made no complaint, simply relaxed and wrapped his arms around Doyle's flanks to control the depth of the thrusts so he didn't choke. Soon, he was swallowing Ray's semen with the same enthusiasm Doyle had shown with his. Rolling limply to the side after the mind-blowing session of lovemaking finally wound to a stop, the two men stared at one another in mild amazement at living through it.

"Bed?" Bodie finally managed.

"Yeah," Doyle responded, drawling it out until the one word was several syllables long. It took them two tries to actually get off the floor, and they had to lean on one another to weave through the hall before collapsing in one another's arms atop the duvet. Making a mental note to clean up the mess before visitors came the next day, Doyle faded into sleep moments after Bodie.

Two hours later, Bodie woke first. He awoke Doyle with a sharp nip at the side of his neck, and grinned at the small yelp his lover gave as he was jolted awake, already half aroused. Green eyes looked incredulously from the whirlwind caressing him from nipples to knees, to the erection he thought it would take hours to regain.

"You're some kind of miracle potion, mate!" he got out before those roving lips latched onto his own mouth, silencing anything further he might want to say. By the time he could breathe again he could no longer think, and he happily gave himself up into Bodie's more than capable hands.

Kim cleared their entrance into Doyle's flat with Control, and Elena demonstrated her recently gained knowledge of CI5 locks and keypads. As she ushered them into the front room, Jim came to a dead halt. Blair, looking over his shoulder to answer some remark from his sister, ran into him, bounced off, and nearly landed on his behind in the hallway. Kim shut the door behind them and reset the locks as Elena helped Blair to his feet.

"Hey, what was that for, big guy? Decide to do your best impression of a wall all the sudden?" The Sentinel's stillness caught his attention, and his manner changed abruptly. Dropping immediately into Guide-mode, he asked quietly, "What is it, Jim? Do you hear something? Is there a danger here?"

Reacting to Blair's reaction, Kim tugged Elena behind her and drew her weapon. Elena caught her breath. Jim turned, a distracted look on his face.

"I don't think now is a good time for this, Chief," he announced quietly, a blush starting to color his cheekbones. Two sets of eyes met his incredulously. The third was scanning the flat for possible threats. At just that moment, they all heard the same noise.

"Booooo-die!" It was either a moan or a scream, or maybe both. As Blair and Elena leaned to look around Jim to see why Doyle was mourning his lover, Kim brought her weapon to bear on the shadowed hall from whence the cry had come. Jim's blush deepened, and his eyes closed with embarrassment. Before anyone could make a move, the cry was followed by a lush moan in a slightly deeper voice, then a short, sharp, "Oh! God! YES!"

Everyone froze in place. Elena and Blair echoed Jim's blush. Kim sighed, flipped the safety back on, and reholstered her handgun.

After what felt like an eon, Elena cleared her throat. "Well," she said a little too brightly, "Anyone else for a drink?" She headed for the small bar next to the couch, and stumbled over something. Leaning over, she picked up a crumpled pair of trousers. Silently, she stared from the pants dangling from her hand to the arm of the couch, an arrested look on her face. Her eyes lit up, and she hastily dropped the slacks over the arm, turning to the bottles lined up along the top of the bar. "I need one!" she announced, and reached for the nearest decanter, only her shaking shoulders betraying the laughter she was trying so hard to stifle.

"Me, too," Jim agreed, coming to stand next to her and pulling out the bottle of Glenfiddich.

Blair carefully avoided both their eyes and sank down on the far end of the couch from the trousers. "Me, three, please." He looked over at Kim, who shook her head and addressed Elena.

"I'll wait for you out in the car," she said with commendable composure. "I have some things I need to see to. Just beep me when you're ready to go to the station." Elena nodded her thanks, still not trusting her voice. As the door closed behind her and they heard the locks click into place from the other side, all three found seats for themselves, conspicuously avoiding the end of the couch where the pants lay. None of them could think of a thing to say, and they didn't dare look at one another for fear that once the laughter started they wouldn't be able to stop, so they sat in silence and drank their scotch.

An interminable amount of time later, a bedraggled, satiated and well-loved Ray Doyle half-staggered through his living room, on the way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Half awake, mind loved into oblivion, it was several seconds after the water began running that he realized He Was Not Alone. Abandoning the kettle to the sink, barely remembering to shut the tap off before slinking back into the living room, he stared with great confusion at his daughter and two vaguely familiar faces, all of whom were looking anywhere but at him. Clearing his throat, twice, he managed to form coherent words. Not many, but it was a good effort, under the circumstances.

"Hello? Elena? How'd you ..." he ran out of steam at that point and looked helplessly from his daughter to the strangers. The big one with the buzz cut was standing at what looked suspiciously like parade rest, staring hard at the far wall. The smaller one with the curls perched on the far end of the couch finally looked up and met his eyes. A mouth that looked very familiar was quivering, fighting hard not to break into a grin.

"Hi, Dad."

Green eyes widened to an impossible bug-eyed width, and the quivering mouth lost the battle. Faced with a replica of the Doyle grin he'd seen on himself and his relatives all his life, he couldn't deny the truth. This was his son, all right. Curls and all. He leaned weakly against the doorjamb.

"Blair?" he squeaked out. At the affirmative nod, he closed his eyes and let the blush rise from his chest to his hairline. Struggling for some sort of composure, he managed a strangled, "Been here long?"

"Not that long," the laughter-filled voice assured him. "Just a little while, man, keep your hair on. We're all friends here, right?" He forced his eyes open and pinned the boy with a glare, which bounced right off with no perceptible impact. Bright blue eyes he remembered all too well from Naomi gleamed at him. Reluctantly, he gave into the smile that was fighting its way onto his own lips.

"Family, lad." He gathered the edges of his silk robe around him in a futile attempt at some sort of decorum, then gave it up as a bad deal with a shrug. As he crossed the room toward his son, he stuck out his hand to shake. Blair bounced to his feet and, ignoring the outstretched hand, caught him up in a fierce hug. After the first startled moment, he returned the hug, first tentatively, then wholeheartedly, as he felt the acceptance and need for reassurance in the strong figure holding onto him. The kid had been just as nervous about this as he had. He leaned into the hug, allowing his son to take the lead. When Blair's grip loosened, he stepped back and looked into the bright eyes, right at level with his own. "I didn't get a chance to thank you," he said softly. Looking past his son to the big man standing so quietly by the wall, he added, "Both of you. You saved my life."

Blair stepped back a pace, and Ellison came up beside him. As the detective held out a big paw for the older man to shake, Blair gestured between them. "Ray, this is Jim, Jim, you know Ray, and one of these days we'll get to see you with your clothes on, Dad."

Elena's startled splutter of laughter chimed in with Doyle's own involuntary chuckle at the crack, and Jim rolled his eyes. As they were sorting themselves out, Bodie wandered in from the bedroom and leaned against the doorjamb leading into the hallway.

"I was going to ask about the cuppa," he drawled lazily, "but I see what the hold up is." Not evincing a shred of embarrassment, he meandered into the room, stopping to give Elena a sideways hug on the way. She grinned up at him and squeezed him back. "Hallo, Jim, Blair, I see you made it to England in one piece." Making a show of looking around, he settled on the couch, shifting his trousers out of the way and staring blandly at the group in the middle of the room. "Where's Naomi?"

At the innocent question, Doyle's blush started all over again, and he looked past Ellison with a panicked look on his face. Blair laughed out loud at his expression, and hastened to reassure him. "She's at the hotel, she was wiped from the trip over. She'll be by tomorrow," he added with an evil grin. Doyle shivered, and threw himself in the armchair, gesturing as he did so for Jim and Blair to get comfortable.

Blair plopped down on the couch next to Bodie, and Jim settled on the end next to Blair. Snaking a proprietary arm around his partner, Jim pulled Blair up against his side, and Bodie snorted.

"Got my own, now, don't I, Ellison. No need to go getting territorial." Doyle shook his head and grinned at his lover. Jim didn't relax his grip.

"Instinct," he replied to Bodie's teasing. Blair sighed, deeply, and turned to his father.

"How are you doing? I mean, with getting through the effects of the kidnapping?" Honest concern colored his voice. Doyle swallowed, hard, then met his eyes.

"Pretty well, I think. It helps, being able to do something about it. Tracking down the rest of them."

"Eliminating the threat," Jim put in, and Doyle nodded.

"Yeah." He looked over at Elena, concern evident in his eyes. "None of us are safe until they're all put away."

"They've proven in the past that it doesn't bother them at all to take out innocent targets," Bodie added. "We're getting closer, managed to snag one of them, so far."

"And reports indicate that one of the other two died in Greece a few months ago." Doyle took up the mini-briefing. "The newer members of the gang have splintered off. They had no loyalty to Hofnan, and with him dead, they've gone back to their own agenda."

"And it's centered in Germany, not here," Bodie continued. "So there's not much to fear from them."

"Then why the guards, still?" Elena queried.

"There's one left," Ray informed them solemnly. "One of the nastier ones, at that. Name of Julia Moltkje. Explosives expert, and not a bad sniper either. She won't quit."

No," Bodie agreed in a hard voice. "She was Hofnan's woman, so his death makes it extremely personal for her. Also, she was wounded in the shoot-out eight years ago, and last reports were she was crippled. Has to wear a leg brace of some sort. She's kept well underground, but no one has seen or heard a thing of her in the last month or so."

"You think she's heard about Hofnan and now she's coming after you?" Jim asked, all his protective instincts screaming at him. Bad time to bring Blair to England, he thought gloomily. Walking target. These guys like to take out innocents, and there was a harpy on the loose with a need for vengeance ... against Blair's own father. Very bad time to meet the in-laws. Doyle's voice broke into his internal monologue.

"I don't think it, I know it," Doyle asserted. "I studied her, when we went undercover. She was devoted, not to the 'cause' per se, but to Hofnan himself. She'll be out for blood. Mine," he grimaced, "and anyone who's close to me." He glanced over at Elena. "So Kim stays, until the black widow is dead, right?"

She gave him a twisted smile in return. "Right," she sighed. Looking down at her watch, she made a slight exclamation. "Speaking of whom, I'd better get cracking or I'll miss the last train." She jumped up, whirled over and hugged each man in turn, giving Blair an extra squeeze. "Come down to Cambridge when you can, little brother. There are some books in the library there I think you just might be interested in seeing." Pressing the beeper at her belt twice, she kissed her father good-bye, and bade Bodie look after him. Ignoring Doyle's laughing protest that he was a big boy and quite capable of looking after himself, she told Jim the same thing about Blair. Father and son shared a helpless glance behind her back, and she swept out the door into Kim's care.

Bodie got up to set the locks after her and glanced at the others. "I'm for making some tea. Anyone for a cuppa?" At the general assent, he walked into the kitchen and began to fill the kettle. Over the sound of running water, Bodie heard his mate ask his newfound son to tell him about himself.

One way or another, it was going to be all right.

Depending on which clock one used, it was either very early in the morning or mid-afternoon by the time Jim and Blair made it back to their hotel. Riding the lift up to the third floor to their room, Jim risked a quick hug, which Blair immediately took advantage of to snuggle into his side. He gave up any attempt to be discreet and dropped a kiss on top of his lover's curls. Lifting his head, he met the slightly scandalized glance of a proper-looking matron. Giving her the most innocent look he could muster, echoing Blair's friendly smile, he led his half-asleep Guide through the door and into bed. Neither of them paid any attention to the stern eye that followed their progress until the door shut, or heard the disapproving (but exceedingly genteel) snort behind their backs.

Having successfully attained the target area -- the bedroom -- Jim set about keeping Blair awake long enough to get them both stripped and into bed. Not getting a lot of help from his partner, he finally got exasperated and decided to try shock tactics. Tugging the dress shirt off Blair's arms, he tossed it over his shoulder and vigorously attacked the smaller man's pants, tickling every inch of exposed skin he found along the way. Blair's pulse jumped, his muscles tensed, and he jerked upright to stare at the madman ripping his jeans off.

"Jim?" His voice wavered as the jeans followed his boots somewhere off to the side of the bed and those long fingers headed for the waistband of his boxers. "Babe? You okay, there, big guy? This hit you sort of sudden, didn't it, man?" His voice broke completely on the last word, as the boxers flew away and disappeared from view and he suddenly found himself flat on his back in the middle of the bed. Jim surveyed his conquest with some satisfaction. This was the way to have Sandburg. Naked, shivering, speechless and, yes, totally turned on. His grin widened as he took in the sight of an impressive erection, and he swooped down over Blair to kiss him thoroughly. By the time he finished mapping the terrain of his Guide's mouth, neither one of them had the breath to make any noise, although Blair was trying his best.

"Ji--uh, Jim?, mm, J-uhm...?" The man in question completely derailed the questioner's thinking process by the simple method of licking across his chest from one beaded nipple to the other. The attempted query died away into rambling mutters, and neither man paid the slightest attention, all concentration focused on the delicious friction of skin on skin.

Ellison had been simmering since they'd first walked into Doyle's apartment. The unmistakable, heavy musk in the air, coupled with the faint sounds of skin and material sliding against one another and the nearly silent moans and slaps of flesh had drawn a number of highly erotic pictures in his head. Knowing what Bodie and Doyle were doing had led inexorably to his never particularly well-controlled desire to do the same sort of thing to Blair, often, and with multiple variations. Trying to keep his mind on the conversation got tougher and tougher as the time passed. The scent of recent sex filling his head every time either Doyle or Bodie moved had stoked the banked arousal until he'd had to clench his fists and bite his lip. By the time they finally got to their room, he was nearly ready to explode. He was by nature a gentle man, and his protective feelings toward his smaller, more physically vulnerable lover ensured that he would never knowingly hurt him, but he also knew that Blair was strong enough to take (and enjoy) those few times when the need for him became feral. The instinct to take was as strong as the instinct to give, and he surrendered to both with his Guide.

His hands were everywhere, shaping, kneading, soothing, teasing. Particularly sensitive spots got special attention, the hollow at the base of Blair's throat, the nape of his neck. The inner curve of his elbow. The thin skin along his pelvic bone, and the ticklish spot just below his navel. Tiny tugs at the glittering nipple ring, an answering moan rewarding each tug. The rounded bump at the end of his collar bone. The hint of a cleft in his chin. The lower edge of his rib cage, and the tracery of veins on the inside of his wrist. By the time he finished with tasting and relearning every hot spot on Blair's body, the younger man was moaning continuously, thrusting up helplessly, legs spread, demanding to be taken.

Of course, by this time, the 'take' was beginning to overpower the 'give' from Ellison's perspective. Sinking his fingers between the thighs being parted so demandingly, he found his target and sank deeply, twisting as he thrust. Blair rewarded him with a strangled "Yes!!" that sounded remarkably familiar to Doyle's cry earlier in the evening. For some reason that thought ripped away the last of Jim's control, and he quickly withdrew his fingers to palm the back of Blair's thighs and shift them upward. Resting Blair's calves on his shoulders, he parted the sturdy buttocks with one hand and guided himself home with the other.

As he settled firmly into his lover, Jim felt his entire universe contract to the point of joining between their bodies. As sensory overload threatened to swamp him, he dialed everything down, then gradually opened his senses up one at a time as he began to pump in and out. Opening his eyes, he say Blair spread out underneath him, hair wild on the pillows as his head thrashed from side to side, eyes squeezed shut, his face glowing from exertion and passion, his mouth open to gasp for air. His Guide's strong hands clutched at his shoulders, and Blair thrust up to meet each of his downward strokes. Caught between them, aching and swollen, Blair's erection was a slash of heat against his abdomen. He could feel the blood pulsing there, as his lover strained closer and closer to orgasm. Relaxing his control, he allowed himself the pleasure of nearly zoning on the sounds of their lovemaking -- the harsh rasp of air in labored lungs, the wet slap of skin against skin -- and deeper still, the near whisper of Blair calling his name under his breath, over and over and over, and the thunder of their combined heartbeats, in perfect synchronization as they moved together.

As sight and sound and sensation crashed over him and he felt the beginning of Blair's climax start deep in the balls hitting the sensitized skin of his groin, he thrust as deeply as he could into his Blair and held on. One of his lover's hands slid from his shoulder to wrap around the neglected erection and pump, once, hard. The splash of Blair's semen against his skin branded him with fire, and the clench of the spasming muscle around the root of his cock tore his orgasm from him. He cried out, sharply, unaware, as he threw his head back and spurted into the hot channel holding him like a vise.

Some time later, he was aware that Blair was wriggling somewhat frantically under him. Finding enough of his brain functioning to make out what the younger man was whispering to him was a major achievement, and he was complimenting himself on that when he realized what Blair actually was whispering. "Ouch" and "squished" came through pretty clearly, and with a groan he managed to heave himself off his flattened love.

Rolling on to his back, unsure if he'd ever be able to move again, he ran one lazy hand through the mess on his abdomen and chest. Blair had certainly gotten his out of it all. It felt like there was a quart of semen spread all over him. A heavy head flopped onto his shoulder, and strong arms wrapped around his torso, trapping his hand. One long leg slid over his thighs, effectively trapping his legs. Looking down at the octopus currently wrapped around his body, he smiled affectionately and settled down to sleep. It had been a long, but good, day. And he had a hunch everything was going to work out just fine with his newfound in-laws.

There were a few formalities at the front desk of CI5 headquarters, but the instructions Murphy had left were very clear. Upon display of proper identification, James Ellison and Blair Sandburg were to be issued visitor's identification passes and escorted to the Controller's office.

"Ya know, Jim, it was a heck of a lot easier to get visitor id here than it was at Cascade PD. Fewer forms, and I didn't even have to, you know," he made a gesture descriptive of peeing in a bottle. "And best of all -- no fundamentalist right wing militia led by insane megalomaniacs taking the building hostage!" The duty officer at the desk gave him an exceedingly strange look, which he shrugged off as the norm. Jim just shook his head at him. Within moments, Alison showed up to identify them in person and lead them to Murphy's office. Behind them, the duty officer, a man with thirty years on the job, watched the younger man walk away and wondered why he should look so familiar. Sure it would come to him eventually, he turned to his papers and dismissed it from his mind.

Murphy met them at the door and waved them in. Bodie and Doyle were already there, reports and file folders scattered around them in controlled chaos. After greetings all around, Murphy settled into his chair and looked over at Jim and Blair.

"Doyle has reported to me what he remembers of the kidnapping and subsequent events. Bodie has already given me a report on Doyle's kidnapping and your tracking him down. What I don't understand is ... how?"

Looking into the piercing eyes of the CI5 controller, Jim found himself unable to answer. Without thought, he turned to Blair and said plaintively, "Chief?"

Two voices answered him in stereo, Blair to his right and Doyle to his left. Father and son stared at each other, then at Jim, in some confusion for a moment, before Doyle recollected precisely where he was at.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized quickly. "After the last four years of being addressed as 'Chief' it has become second nature to answer to it. But, why Chief for Blair?"

Jim shrugged and grinned. "Just a nickname. It seemed to fit."

Blair fixed Doyle with an unblinking stare. "This is amazing, man. Reciprocity. Genetic mirroring. How much is determined by environment and how much is hardwired in the womb? Can't have been upbringing. According to information from primary sources, Bodie, Naomi, Elena, we are so much alike it's frightening when you think about it -- love of motion, attitudes toward race and cultural difference, adrenaline junkies, bookworms. Yet in so many ways we are polar opposites." Before he could get a good head of steam up, Murphy interjected.

"That's fascinating, Blair. Not least because it was one of the most ingenious attempts I've seen yet to change the subject. Not that it worked." Blair licked his lips and looked innocent. Doyle smiled to himself and went back to his files. Jim took a deep breath and decided to come clean.

"What I have to say doesn't leave the room. Okay?" Blair looked at him with consternation. "It's okay, Chief." Doyle jerked, but managed to stifle the instinctive response. "Bodie knows, and he had to tell Murphy. That's how it works. But I don't work here, I won't be staying here, and what I tell him can't be used to hold me here."

Blair still seemed worried, but he burrowed back into his chair and nodded agreement. They had to tell them something, anyway, and he was fresh out of believable scenarios. Well, believable ones that these guys would buy, anyway.

"I have unusual sensory perception. I can see and smell things other people can't." He kept it as simple as possible, and Blair nodded his approval. Only tell them what they need to hear, don't offer anything past what you had to. A good rule to live by. "I was able to follow them initially because I could trace the tire tracks in the road grease."

Doyle and Bodie had given up on the files at this point and were staring at Jim with fascination. So was Murphy, but he was hiding it a little better.

"After we'd had some rest and I was able to concentrate again, I tracked them by scent." There was a short exclamation from the side of the room, but he ignored it and continued. "Doyle's scent was familiar to me, because it's very similar to Blair's. So I focused on that, and with Blair to guide me so I didn't focus so hard I lost touch with reality, I was able to track it to the house where they were holding him."

"What did I tell you?" Blair asked rhetorically. "It's in the genetic code. That's how I got the idea that we might be related, too, Ray."

Before either Doyle or Murphy could respond to this amazing tale, there was a loud commotion from the front hall. Instinctively drawing their guns, Alison, Doyle, Bodie and Murphy headed for the reception desk, with Jim, pushing Blair behind him, on their heels. Muttering to himself about the curse of being too damned short and never being able to see what the heck was going on, Blair followed his cadre of armed CI5 agents and one large Blessed Protector out into the hallway to see what all the shouting was about.

When they cleared the offices, he realized he didn't have to see it. He could hear it. Swallowing a sigh, he began to push his way through the large bodies in his way to get to the front and see what Naomi had gotten herself into this time.

"I am letting this go. I am LETTING this GO." There was almost a growl in the soft voice. "My son is here, I am going to see him, your attitude is not constructive in the least, and I AM LETTING THIS GO."

The guard who had previously processed their paperwork was clinging to his desk like the last defender holding the battlements before the invading hordes. The single slender woman in the flame red dress and floating umber scarf didn't look that threatening, but looks could be deceiving. The harried look on the guard's face was matched by the distinct whine in his voice.

"NO! The last time a red headed woman got past me and into the halls of CI5 was fifteen years ago, and it damn near cost me my job, lady. It's not going to happen again!" Picking Doyle out from the crowd that was beginning to gather, he pointed an accusatory finger at the agent. "She was one of yours then, too!"

Naomi turned to follow the finger, and her face lit up.

"Ray!" Completely ignoring the several weapons that were trained on her by various hard faced agents who were used to danger wearing a pretty face, she swept over to Doyle and enveloped him in a hug. For once quite speechless, Doyle's face matched Naomi's dress. Not giving him a chance to respond, as was her wont, she burbled on. "You look absolutely wonderful, sweetie! But what did you do to your hair? It's lost all its curl. But the color looks stunning on you -- I love the temples! So distinguished. So did you get the chance to talk to Blair? Isn't he a wonder?"

From somewhere to the back of the crowd, accompanied by small grunts of expelled air as a sharp elbow hit rib cages to clear a pathway, came a muffled, "Yes, Mom, we met!"

By this time, Naomi had finished hugging Doyle to within an inch of his life, and turned to subject Bodie to her visual inspection. "You must be Bodie. You just look like a Bodie." Ignoring Ray's muttered, "What the hell does a bodie look like?" she placed one hand under Bodie's chin and tipped his face up to the light. "Oh, my stars! What incredible blue eyes you have!" Tossing the comment over her shoulder she assured Doyle, "He's absolutely delicious, darling, your taste is excellent as always!" Doyle blushed again and rolled his eyes, but Bodie just grinned and accepted the accolade as his due. "You take very good care of him, don't you?" It sounded more like a command than a question, and Bodie nodded enthusiastically.

Bending forward, his comment for Naomi's ears only, he whispered, "His neck's still his weak spot." She gurgled with laughter at the remark, and threw Doyle a wicked smile.

"We must find some time for a private conversation later," she told Bodie, and Doyle groaned aloud.

"No, you must not!" he nearly howled.

Before the scene could completely disintegrate, Murphy decided to reassert his authority and add some order to the milling herd. "All right, everyone," he called out in a distinctive 'command voice'. "Floor show's over. If you don't have anything better to do than to hang about in the halls then I'm certain I can find something for you to do."

The agents scattered like a flock of geese, guns hastily stuffed into holsters, eyes everywhere except on their controller for fear they'd catch his attention and end up in the file room doing dusty duty. Satisfied with the effect of his words, he turned his stern eye on Naomi.

She was not impressed ... not with the sternness, anyway. An arrested look came over her mobile features, and her eyes widened. No one heard Jim's murmured, "Uh-oh!" as she seemed to glide away from Bodie to settle in front of Murphy.

"And who is this divine man?" she breathed, all glowing eyes and inviting smile. "Aren't you just beautiful. I haven't seen walking classical beauty like this since I don't know when. And your aura is as clear as the sky in the Colorado high country at dawn. Let me see your eyes." One long-fingered hand curved around his chin, handily closing the jaw that had dropped open and preventing him from either speaking or escaping. "Ooooooh, yes," she crooned. "You're quite Gaelic, aren't you. It just shines from you. I'm getting the most amazingly calming vibes from you. Are you always this centered?"

From the pole-axed look on Murphy's face, he wasn't going to answer any time soon, so Blair stepped in to fill the breach. "He's Ray and Bodie's boss, Naomi. Kind of like Simon, you know?"

Eyes still locked with Murphy's, she shook her head in a decisive negative. "Nothing like Simon, sweetie, nothing at all like Simon." Murphy blinked, trying to clear his head. It didn't work. She moved a step closer. He watched her, mesmerized as a rabbit in front of a python.

Blair sighed. "I meant the job, Mom. Anyway, he's the head of CI5 and his name's Colin Murphy-"

"Colin!" She seemed delighted by the name. From the gradually warming but still mesmerized look on the Controller's face, he rather liked the way she said it, too. Still without saying a word to her, he carefully curved his hand around her upper arm and turned them both, leading her in the direction of his office. As they disappeared down the hallway, they heard her murmuring softly to him about old souls and circles. By the time the door shut securely behind them, Murphy had managed to force out a semi-articulate "um-hm" but Naomi was in full spate.

In the silence left by her departure, the guard slumped into his chair. "Red headed women. The bane of my life is red headed women."

Blair, Jim, Bodie and Doyle exchanged glances. Without saying a word, they turned as one and headed in the opposite direction from Murphy's office. Once in the sunlight on the walkway outside headquarters, they stopped and looked around. Doyle looked over at Blair.

"He's dead meat."

Blair nodded. "Totally toast, man."

Bodie looked at Jim, who nodded agreement. It was the last straw for Bodie, and he started cracking up completely. Swinging around to face Doyle, he grinned, "I see your taste has always been a bit on the wild side, Ray-mate!" Before Doyle could respond, the air was split by the single crack of a high-powered rifle. Reacting instinctively, Jim pulled Blair down under him on the cement. Ray crouched and pulled his gun.

Bodie fell.

The news had filtered to her in the usual ways of the underground. A whisper here, a snatch of hurried conversation there. Albert had gone to the United States looking for funding. There were always idealists there with money, who were willing to send pots of it to far away lands if they were painted a rosy enough picture by a smooth talker. And her Albert had always been a smooth talker.

Once.

Now he was dead.

And it was that little bastard Doyle's fault.

They had hunted Doyle and his mercenary lover as long as they could, before the rats went to ground and the hunting became too risky. Too many of their cell were dead, and the remnants might as well have been radioactive from the way the other freedom fighters treated them.

That's how she'd always thought of herself, as a freedom fighter. She had grown up with the advantages of a middle class home, with middle class parents and middle class aspirations in a stifling middle class atmosphere. She'd known that something was wrong, she just hadn't known what it was. Labeled a troublemaker from an early age, always reaching for something that was just out of her grasp, it had taken a young man with fire in his mind to show her what she had been missing.

Others called Albert Hofnan a terrorist. She knew better. He was her fire. He led her as she had wanted and needed to be led the whole of her life. Even when the authoritarian fascists had broken their cell and killed so many of her fellow freedom fighters, he had escaped, as she had. Forced to hide, to rebuild, slowly, painfully, in the shadows where they both felt most comfortable, it had been a difficult time. But the fire remained. Only now it was more personally directed. No longer targeting the edifices of social order that were so representative of the stagnant, decayed world they sought to change, but personal, centered around two men who had destroyed a dream.

There had been new comrades, drawn by the fire, or by the reputation, past deeds glorified by small minds. But they had not understood the need that drove the fire now, and they had drifted away. Until, eventually, all that remained were the four original members who had survived the initial destruction. She, Albert, Frederick and Thomas. Now Frederick was dead and Thomas was held prisoner, to be tried and judged by those who had no concept of true justice and no right to hold judgment on them. And Albert ...

It had been difficult slipping into Britain. Other freedom fighters in a local cell of the IRA had helped her, in repayment for assistance they had been rendered in past conflicts. But once in, she was on her own. Truly alone as she had not been alone for twenty years. Thanks to one man.

She hated Ray Doyle with all of the fire that had been quenched when he had murdered her Albert.

Knowing that her time was limited, she wasted none of it. Before returning she had researched this 'Alan Cade' pseudonym he had been hiding behind. There was a daughter. He could be hurt through the child. But the child was shadowed by a yellow guard with eyes that didn't rest. Even with the changes she had made in her appearance, some things could not be changed. The brace that ran from her knee to the ball of her foot, keeping her twisted leg straight so that she could walk, could not be disguised completely. The scar along her chin that pulled the corner of her mouth slightly to the side could be covered with makeup, but the mouth itself could not be significantly altered. So she dared not let the guard see her, for fear that the primary target would be missed when she sacrificed herself trying for the secondary target.

But the child had been useful after all. She had led her to the bastard himself. The guard had been outside the flat, and she'd not been able to reconnoiter the area well enough to make an attempt where the wariness would be most relaxed -- in his home. So she had followed him, trusting the fire to guide her as it had for so many years. She had patience coupled with her hatred, and such a strong need to see Raymond Doyle dead that she felt invincible. It was fate, that she should take the life of the one who had taken her fire from her.

Nearly five hours after finding a comfortable spot atop a roof across from the nondescript doorway that Doyle had entered so early that morning, she got her chance.

Four men exited the building. A tall man and a short one with long hair, young, she didn't know them. They were unimportant. The mercenary, looking healthy and strong, sending a rush of hatred through her that he should be so vital when her Albert was dead. Then the murderer himself, laughing, his face lit up, no cares in the world. Sighting along the barrel, she brought his face into focus and was caught by the love in his expression. Following his line of sight, she realized it was the mercenary he was looking at with such light in his eyes. Smiling with a feral joy that she could hurt him as he had hurt her, determined to extinguish that light, she took careful aim and fired.

Doyle brought his gun up as he saw Bodie crumple into the pavement. For a moment the entire world went still, and everything froze. Then with a crash of noise and confusion, time began again. Waving Jim and Blair away, he carefully turned his mate over, blanching at the blood flowing freely from the exit wound in his chest.

"Ray? What-" Before Blair could finish the question, Doyle cut in.

"I've got him," he barked, ripping off his jacket and fashioning a crude pressure bandage with it, stuffing it against the chest wound. "Follow the sniper!"

Jim took off immediately, eyes scanning the area, giving the impression that he was sniffing the air. Blair shot one last concerned glance at his father's lover, then followed his Sentinel at a trot. People were coming down the steps now, and Doyle bellowed for someone to call an ambulance. A soothing voice replied that one had been called immediately upon hearing the shot, that the whole thing had been seen from one of the upper floor windows.

Desperately pressing the jacket against Bodie, watching helplessly as it rapidly soaked through with blood, Ray began to mutter a mixture of prayers and exhortations to his mate, threatening to kill him if he died on him.

The ambulance was there in less than three minutes.

From his position on the sidewalk, covering Blair, Jim had looked up in the direction from which the bullet had come. Using his Sentinel sight, he zeroed in on a pale face surrounded by lank, short brown hair. As she was hastily disappearing over the edge of the roof, he saw something else -- in her hands, she carried the black length of a sniper rifle with the cylindrical bulk of a long range sight.

Seeing that Doyle had started emergency medical procedures on Bodie, he waited just long enough for Blair to catch up, then went on the hunt. He could smell the lingering stench of cordite over the fresh copper smell of Bodie's blood and the lingering weight of exhaust fumes in the street. Taking off at a steady jog, his Guide right behind him, he began to track the cordite. It was fading quickly.

As they left the busier streets and penetrated into the tree-filled park area, avoiding the office workers enjoying lunch in St. James's Park and tracking further through the trees into Green Park, the smell faded completely. But something else had been tickling at his mind. With his senses in full hunt alert, it took only a moment to register, and when it did he switched his tracking focus from smell to hearing. The sniper had an uneven gait, and there was the faintest rhythmic squeak accompanying her running footsteps. When the squeak stopped, so would Ellison, waiting, concentrating, touching Blair's arm or wrist at regular intervals to keep himself from zoning out. Sandburg kept silent and kept pace, as deeply into the hunt as his Sentinel was. When the squeaking began again, so would the tracking.

It grew louder, although still too faint to be picked out from the ambient noise by anything less acute than Sentinel hearing. Finally, the distance was closed enough for a rush, and Jim crouched low, gently pushing Blair behind a nearby tree. Moving forward with silent feet, well learned in his time both in the army and in the jungle, he closed the gap between himself and his prey. The squeaking had stopped completely, and he concentrated on heartbeats, filtering out his own and his Guide's, trying to single out the sniper. As he came up for a final pounce, he was shocked into stillness by the cold snub of a gun barrel behind his ear.

"You know you are a dead man?" There was no life to her voice at all, simply cool composure. Ellison swallowed heavily. Before he could reply, could try to talk her out of pulling the trigger, there was a sharp snap behind them and to their left.

Everything seemed to happen at once.

The terrorist responded to the unexpected sound by jerking slightly, and glancing wildly behind her. Blair added to the distraction of the broken branch by shouting, loudly, "Yo! You with the gun in your hand! Look this way!" It was the best he could come up with on short notice. The sight of his Jim with a loaded gun that close to his skull, in the hands of a madwoman, tended to short circuit his creative energies. Ellison reacted to Moltkje's distraction by twisting smoothly away and to the side, so when she pulled the trigger by reflex the bullet buried itself harmlessly in a nearby tree. Before she could recover, he yanked the gun out of her hand, shoved her hand behind her back and up between her shoulder blades, and frog-marched her out of the park. As they passed a shaking Blair, he gave his partner a blinding smile.

"Great timing, Chief! Thanks for the back-up!"

Blair managed a somewhat sick smile in return, gathered what remained of his composure, and followed Jim and their prisoner out of the park.

Doyle hated hospitals. Whether it was as an inmate or a visitor, the helpless feeling was the same, and he loathed feeling helpless. The doctors were quick, efficient, and surprisingly kind, but that was still his Bodie in surgery back there. Staring moodily at the doors blocking his access to his mate, he didn't react immediately when the nurse called his name.

"Mr. Doyle?"

By the second repetition it dawned on him that he was Mr. Doyle. It had been years since anyone had called him that on a regular basis, and he was finding it a little hard to adjust to not being 'Cade' anymore. Giving the young woman an expression that might pass for a smile in bad light and to a sympathetic audience, he nodded briefly when she told him that he had a phone call at the nurses' station. Abandoning his post by the critical care unit doors, he strode to the station and picked up the receiver, nodding his thanks to the nurse.

"Doyle."

"Ray, this is Jax. How's Bodie doing?" The warm voice of his old friend and fellow agent was a welcome sound. He'd seen a few of the senior agents in the halls in the last few days, but had been too busy to get together with any of them.

"He's in surgery now. It was a clean one, though, bullet went right through. He was conscious on the way in, in the ambulance, so I think he's gonna be all right." He'd damned well better be all right, was left unsaid, but clearly heard.

"He's a strong one, mate. He'll pull through." Doyle made a noncommittal noise, and Jax continued. "Good going on the part of that Yank you had visiting. He tracked down the sniper and brought her in."

"Her?" Doyle queried sharply. If it was Julia Moltkje ...

"Last of the bad bunch," Jax affirmed, without going into details on an open line. Doyle heaved a sigh of relief.

"Ta, mate, I appreciate the news," he thanked Jax sincerely.

"Thought you'd like to know. Give my best to Bodie when he wakes up. Mac and I'll be by later with the grapes."

"I'll let you know when he's awake enough to appreciate them, Jax. And I'll even bring the chocolates." An appreciative chuckle met his weak attempt at a joke, and Doyle's smile was somewhat more genuine than it had been earlier. The young nurse responded automatically to the smile with a bright one of her own, and Ray wandered back down the corridor to take up his position outside the doors and wait.

He didn't know how long it was before he felt a presence by his side. Looking up, he saw flame red cotton swirling gently around a tall, slender figure. For once, Naomi was silent. Searching her eyes, he saw affection and concern. Still without a word, she reached out to enfold him in a hug, and he found himself holding on to her like a drowning man clinging to a spar. She held him close, petting his back, running her hand soothingly over his hair, and rocking him slightly. They stood there for some time, holding on to one another, until the doctor finally found them, and gave them the good news.

"He came through very well. The blood loss was minimized by quick action on the scene and the timely arrival of the medics, and the wound itself was very clean. Glanced off the rib cage, angled up, missed the heart and lung and came out the front. Your Mr. Bodie is a very lucky man. A nice, strong, healthy one, too. With no complications, he should be up and about in a week or so." The doctor was all brisk concern. "He's stabilized. They've got him in post-op now, they should have him in a room in awhile, but you'll not be able to see him until he's settled. Why don't you get some dinner and come back afterward? By that time he'll be all set up, and should be coming 'round from under the anesthesia."

Doyle nodded his thanks, and Naomi took his hand as the doctor hurried off. "I'm getting very good vibes about this, Ray. It was meant to be, the two of you, and this is just a karmic hiccup." She tugged him away from the doors, toward the elevators. "You must be hungry. Or if you're not, you should be. Are you still vegetarian? I'm vegan myself. Let's go see what they have to offer that we can actually eat."

Doyle stared bemusedly at her all the way down to the dining room, suddenly very tired. He was getting too old for this kind of excitement.

And when Bodie came round, he would tell him so.

Jim caused a bit of a sensation as he marched his prisoner toward CI5 headquarters. Blair managed to pull off a certain innocent insouciance, trailing behind carrying the sniper's rifle slung over his shoulder, deliberately not meeting any of the astonished glances heading his way. True, over the years he and Jim had been together, he had gotten a little blasé about finding himself in strange situations, but that was on his home turf. London was a different story altogether.

They made it to headquarters with no one actually stopping them, although a few people had stopped to stare at them. Marching in single file up the steps and through the door, they managed to render the desk guard speechless for the second time that day.

Within moments, the well-oiled machinery that was CI5 sprang into action. The prisoner was removed, along with her armament, Moltkje being taken to an interrogation room and the guns vanishing into the evidence hold.

Murphy came up to them for a moment before disappearing to question the terrorist. "This is Jax," he gestured to a slender black man in his forties with the same lethally competent look that all CI5 agents seemed to have. Jim and Blair nodded greetings. "He's agent in charge of the Hofnan investigation. Please brief him on the capture." He paused long enough to beam at Jim. "Good work!"

"If it hadn't been for Sandburg. I'd be dead," Jim responded. Murphy and Jax exchanged startled looks, then stared at the student, who shrugged, palms up, denying any great heroics.

"Just distracted her a little, man. She was way too intent on keeping that gun on you, Jim. Worked out well in the end though, and that's what matters. Bad guys, or gals, or whatever, are put away, good guys are all in one piece." He stared hard at Murphy. "They are all in one piece, aren't they? I mean, Bodie's gonna be okay, isn't he?" There was a plea for reassurance buried under the confident words. Murphy stared back at him solemnly.

"I don't know yet, Blair. He was still in surgery when I checked." He reached out and thumped the younger man gently on the shoulder. "As soon as we know more, we'll let you know." He glanced over in the direction of the interrogation rooms. "Please excuse me. I have duties I must attend to." Another quick nod and he was on his way.

Jax stared at the two Americans in a friendly manner. "Tell you what," he invited, gesturing for them to follow him into the cubbyhole that served as his office. "You brief me on the capture and as soon as I have something I can tell Ray, I'll call the hospital. Set his mind at rest and get an update on Bodie's condition. Sound good?"

"Very", Jim replied, and Blair nodded distractedly as he sprawled in one of the two chairs stuffed into the little room. Jim looked at his partner, concern evident in crystal eyes. "You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah, I guess, I dunno." He stared at the floor for a long moment, then raised darkened eyes to stare up at Jim. "What is it with us, man? It is so not normal to be running into crazed chicks with rifles and maniacs with bombs and psychos behind every rock, but that seems to be so us. Some kind of bad karma left over from a previous life or something?"

"I don't know, Sandburg." Jim settled against the wall next to Blair's chair. "Maybe you were right in what you were saying earlier, and it's in the genes."

A wry smile twisted the younger man's mouth. "Could be, big guy. Could be." The smile disappeared and he looked over at Jax, then back up at Jim. "I'm worried about Bodie. And about my dad. Did you see the look on his face when he was bent over Bodie trying like crazy to stop the bleeding?"

"Yeah, Blair." Jim reached down and ran his forefinger through a loose curl, tugging on it gently. "I saw."

The younger man sat up, deliberately shaking off the depression that had settled over him, briefly leaning into Jim's hand before turning to Jax in a business-like manner. "So. What did you need to know?"

The briefing was concise, to the point, and left out several major elements of fact, all of them pertaining to Jim's sentinel abilities. Covering by saying he'd sighted her at the scene of the shooting and gotten on her trail while she was still in visual range, he was able to tell the rest of the story without getting in to how he could hear her leg brace. Giving full credit to Blair for his timely intervention, Jim wound up the briefing and waited for Jax to finish typing on his keyboard. After ensuring that Sandburg had nothing left to add to the report, Jax punched the 'print' button and reached for his phone.

"Let's see how Bodie's doing."

The news was reassuring. After checking the report and signing off on it, Jim and Blair asked after Murphy. Hearing that he was in with the prisoner and was expected to be interrogating her for some time, they headed to the hospital to see how Doyle was doing. Blair stopped at the reception desk on his way out the door. The guard looked at him with trepidation.

"Yes?" What now, was plainly clear in his expression. It had been a tough day.

"I was just wondering, you remember Naomi Sandburg, she was here this morning-"

"The red head!" the guard interjected, looking even unhappier.

"Yeah, well," Blair fought back a laugh. His mother did have a tendency to make a strong impression, one way or another. "Did she happen to tell you where she was going when she left?"

"The hospital. Poor Doyle," the guard continued morosely. "Hey, kid, tell me -- you know what lavender meadowsweat is? She was saying something about how I should get me some as she was walking out. What was she talking about?" He fixed Blair with a suspicious glare.

Blair swallowed hard to keep from laughing out loud. Not able to control the bright grin, he explained, "Lavender and meadowsweet are herbs that promote peace and harmony, man. She was just saying you need to calm down a little, take it easy."

As he and Jim continued out the door, muttered imprecations about red headed women and the impossibility of staying calm around them followed them into the street.

The hospital was surprisingly quiet, and they found their way to Bodie's room with no trouble. Naomi was sitting against the wall outside the room in the lotus position, head tipped slightly back, eyes closed. Staff walked around her, giving her a wide berth and an incredulous look or two, but no one bothered her. As Jim and Blair came to a stop next to her, she opened her eyes and smiled sweetly up at them.

"Ray's in there," she said quietly. "Bodie just woke up a little while ago. He's going to be fine. His life force is incredibly strong, and it's woven so tightly with Ray's that they're almost one energy field. A lot of darkness in them, but it's infused with light in places you'd least expect it. They've been through a lot, but I think the worst is over. Those two are soul mates." She thought for a moment, staring at her son and his lover, a light deep in her eyes. "Like the two of you are. I never would have thought it would be so, when I first met you, Jim. But you two belong together." She cocked her head, listening to something only she could hear. "Go into your father, sweetie. Lend him some of your strength. This whole thing has shaken him more than he will admit." With that, she closed her eyes again and sank back into her meditation. Blair gave her an affectionate smile, caught hold of Jim's sleeve, and tugged him into the room.

Once inside, he stopped as though he had run into a brick wall. The intensity he had expected -- the anger, he had not.

"What's going on, guys?" he asked as he stepped hesitantly to Bodie's bedside. Ray's face looked like a thundercloud, and Bodie looked, well, sulky was the only word that really fit the outthrust lip and the closed expression. Jim stayed back by the wall, keeping to the sidelines, ready to step in if Blair should need him. It looked like there was going to be an explosion.

There wasn't much of a wait. Doyle fired the first volley. "I'm going back to Eastland. For all the crap that you have to put up with at least it's safer than here."

"That's bullshit, Doyle," Bodie shot back, voice slightly hoarse from the anesthesia but still forceful. "Julia's in custody, the last of the Hofnan gang's dead or in lock-up. Murph's offered us a damned good deal, and what's the worst that could happen in training, eh? Some wet-behind-the-ears brat might get a lucky punch in, that's it. And since when have you been so bloody concerned about being safe?"

"Since everyone I care about has been walking about with a frigging bull's eye pasted on their back, Bodie, that's since when! Hofnan was the worst of it, yeah, but he wasn't the only old enemy we've got. Bastards'll be coming out of the woodwork for all we know, and then where will we be? Not that you give a shit, been putting your arse in the line of fire every day for the past eight years, haven't you. What is it with you, you got a death wish or something?"

"No, damnit, Ray, I bloody well do not! But I'm good at it, and if I don't take that trainer job then I will go back to it. What the hell else am I going to do? Follow you to the back of bloody beyond and live in bucolic bliss in Norwich? And do what, pray tell? Teach English?" Bodie's voice nearly broke in outrage by the end of his little speech. Doyle, next to him, was staring at him with something close to dislike in his face, eyes bright with a combination of disgust and distress.

"I'm doing something worthwhile there, Bodie! I know it don't seem like much to you, considering your opinion of coppers, but it is worth something, and I can't just pack it in. Not that easily. It means something, damnit! I don't know how we'll work it out, but we can if we try. Doesn't seem like you're all that willing to try!"

"Why should I?" Bodie roared back. "You're not listening! What's the try for, anyway? A good fuck? That's about all there is to it, at this point, if you won't even listen to a bloody thing I say!"

By this point Blair had backed up until he was leaning his back against Jim's chest, trying his best to become invisible. This was not what he had expected. At Bodie's words, Doyle had blanched white, staring at him in pained disbelief. Blair had to strain to hear his next words, and even Jim had to dial his hearing back up, having turned it down earlier so the shouting wouldn't hurt his ears.

"Is that all it was, then, Bodie? Eight years apart, two weeks back together, the shine's off already. Got it off, then, and nothing left beyond that?" The stark pain in the husky rasp was echoed by the pain in Bodie's deeply shadowed eyes, but neither man seemed capable of backing down. As Doyle turned and started to walk away, Bodie raised one hand as if to reach for him. Doyle didn't see it. Blair did. That was all the younger man could take.

Coming away from Jim, sweeping an arm back to shove his partner into the doorway to block Doyle's escape, he planted himself in front of his father and stopped him by the simple expedient of a full body hug. Doyle began to react instinctively, and knock his arms away, then looked past the curls falling into his face to the set face of the big detective standing between himself and the door. A crystal clear memory of that same big body standing in the doorway in Seattle, representing rescue and relief, stopped him in his tracks.

A voice was hissing fiercely in his ear. Taking a deep breath, forcing his attention past the pounding of his pulse in his ears, he concentrated on the words. "Think, man. Just think about it for a minute. You got a second chance. You know how few people get a second chance in this world? It is so rare. Don't you go throwing it away. You beat the odds, Ray, you got your chance, and you're going to walk away from that? Don't you dare. Don't you walk away from him, now, 'cause if you do you won't get the chance to walk back. You can only say no so many times."

Doyle dropped his head onto his son's shoulder and returned the hug. As the anger began to die down, the reaction set in, and he started to shake. The younger man led him over to the single chair next to the bed, and settled him on the hard cushion. Leaning in for one last word, he whispered, "Don't blow it just 'cause you're scared right now, Ray."

Bodie reached out from the bed and caught the hand Doyle extended blindly in his direction. Blair backed away, watching their intent faces as Bodie and Doyle stared at one another. Making a quick decision and throwing a prayer up to whatever Deities watched over difficult lovers, he gathered Jim up and they slipped out the door.

When he could speak again, Doyle said the only thing he could think of. "Sorry, luv."

He had a lot more he needed to say, apologize for his rotten temper, admit that he covered his concern with anger, and he'd exploded because he had been too well reminded how easy it was to lose his lover once again. But there would be time for that. Somewhere private, when Bodie had his strength back again, and they had a little distance from recent events. For now, rest and recuperation, for both of them, were the orders of the day.

Bodie tugged gently on their entwined fingers. Not particularly caring what anyone thought of it, and not giving a tinker's damn if anyone walked in and saw them, Doyle reached over and caught Bodie's mouth in a long, tender kiss. For now, it would be enough. They'd thrash through the rest of it when they got home.

The cab ride back to the hotel was strained. Naomi was blissfully certain that everything was going to go just perfectly for Ray and Bodie. Blair didn't tell her about the scene in Bodie's hospital room, partly because he didn't want to upset her and partly because he didn't understand just what had transpired. Jim waited, and watched, concerned about his Blair's mental and emotional turmoil. When they arrived in the lobby, Naomi hugged them both and smiled serenely at them.

"I may be going to visit some friends in Avebury for a few days, sweetie. Are you going to stay in London or take Elena up on her invitation?"

Blair glanced up at Jim, who signaled that it was his decision. Still upset by the angry confrontation he'd witnessed, and needing time and space, he replied, "We'll be going down to Cambridge, I think, Mom. We've got a week, and there is some research I'd like to do while I'm there."

She cupped his face with her hands and bussed him. "Take some time to play, while you're at it, sweetie. All work and no play, you know how that goes." She gave Jim a mock-stern look. "Take his nose out of his books at regular intervals, please." He smiled back at her and nodded. Turning back to her son, she gave him a serious look. "Trust me on this one, please, Blair? It really is going to work out. I can feel it." She waited until he gave her a grudging nod of agreement, then patted his cheek and fluttered toward the elevator. Blair watched her go, and sighed.

"I don't know how she can be so sure, Jim. I mean, did you see those two go at each other? It was so not what you'd expect from two people who are supposed to love each other."

Jim put his arm around Blair's shoulders and steered him toward the elevators in Naomi's wake. "Yeah, Chief, you have a point. But I think your Mom does, too."

Blair gazed up at him inquisitively. "What do you mean, big guy?"

"She said there was a lot of darkness between them," Jim continued, pressing the button for their floor then pulling Blair back up against him. The smaller man went willingly enough, settling himself into Jim's embrace. They had the car to themselves, and were comfortable about speaking freely. "They're both opinionated, strong men who aren't used to explaining themselves. Maybe, in the past, they were in close enough synch that they could get away with it. But they've been apart for awhile, they've changed and they're not able to read each other the way they used to."

The chime rang as the doors opened on their floor, and they made their way into their room. Relaxing on the side of the bed, absently undressing, Jim continued his theorizing.

"Maybe they expect to still be able to read each other, and when they can't it leads to misunderstandings and arguments. Doesn't mean the feelings aren't still there, they just have to learn each other again, so they can stop hurting each other."

"Makes sense, Jim," Blair admitted, pulling off his own clothes and settling back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. It had been a long, hard, demanding day, emotionally and physically. He was glad to get horizontal. "I just hope they figure out what they're doing to each other, and why they're doing it, before they rip each other to shreds."

Jim settled down beside him and pulled him into a loose embrace, carding his fingers through Blair's curls and massaging his scalp gently. Blair gave a noise that closely approximated a purr, and Jim smiled down into his contented face. "I hope so, too, Chief, but nobody can figure it out for them. They have to do it for themselves."

"I guess," Blair replied, snuggling into Jim's chest and closing his eyes, relishing the feeling of being cherished that was spreading through his body, originating with the fingertips against his skull and reinforced by the warm skin touching him from his temple to his feet. "Just hope it's sometime this century, man."

Jim rumbled his agreement, and cuddled his partner some more. Feeling the need to distract the younger man from his bleak thoughts, he initiated some very light foreplay, just a touch here, and a caress there. Blair melted over him in complete relaxation after several minutes of this, and Jim realized that unless he wanted to try to make love to an unconscious Blair, he'd probably have to be a little less subtle.

Blair was just slipping into sleep when he felt the first firm touch of Jim's fingers between his thighs. Naturally acquiescent to his lover's touch, he obligingly parted his legs for easier access. By the time that touch began to slide in a determined pattern from the base of his cock to his opening, he suddenly decided that he wasn't as worn out as he'd thought he was. Reacting to the teeth nibbling at the side of his throat and the hands that were turning his backbone into jelly, he began a tactile exploration of his own. Smooth skin over hard muscle flowed under his palms, and he gave himself up to the pure sensual pleasure of mapping his Jim's body with his hands. Small, encouraging noises let to a variety of pressures, ranging from kneading to stroking, and before long he couldn't tell where his body ended and Jim's began. They were one person in two skins, and they moved continuously, driving the fever higher and higher.

Hooking one leg over his larger partner's thighs, he managed to turn them over until he was on top. Lowering his head, he swept his curls in circular patterns over Jim's chest, moving slowly toward his groin, knowing that his Sentinel could feel each individual hair like a finger caressing his skin. Jim was a quiet lover, but the unsteady writhing of his entire body under Blair's caress made his approval crystal clear. When he got to Jim's pelvis and the erection there, Blair carefully rubbed his chin along the straining flesh, knowing the slight stubble from his evening beard coming in would be exquisite torture for Jim. Alternating sliding the roughened skin along the shaft with soothing tongue baths, he soon had Jim thrusting helplessly up to him. Closing one hand around the base of the shaft, holding the swollen sac carefully with the other, he took a deep breath and did his best to swallow Jim whole.

The sudden suction all along the length of his erection tore his control from him, and with a protesting grunt, Jim exploded. Blair swallowed as fast as he could, but wasn't able to keep up with the flow, and the excess ejaculate dripped down across his chin. Milking the last of Jim's orgasm from him, careful not to over-stimulate the tender flesh, he snaked his way up Jim's torso and kissed him. Jim brought his arms around Blair, holding him tightly, or at least as tightly as he could with muscles that felt like melted butter. Blair leaned back slightly and moaned his pleasure as Jim lapped the spillage up, licking his face clean with all the delicacy and thorough attention of a cat at a bowl of cream. His own erection bumped into Jim's thigh, and hazy cerulean eyes opened to stare blearily up at him.

"In me?" It was the best Jim could manage. His tongue was also mush, along with the majority of his brain cells. Blair grinned cheekily at him and fumbled, one handed, through the open traveler's kit on the side table, not breaking contact with his satiated love. Shaving cream, deodorant, Jim's watch, Blair's necklace all hit the floor before his fingers clamped around the familiar shape of the tube of lubricant. Thankfully, it was a flip top, because he was losing fine motor control rapidly.

Warming the slick stuff in his palm, he reached up to kiss Jim thoroughly before nudging the bigger man onto his side. Pushing the strong thighs apart with his knee, he reached down and prepared the way, slicking lubricant all over Jim's crease, his own erection, onto Jim's thighs, and the sheets. He'd gotten a little carried away in his enthusiasm when he'd squeezed the tube. Putting petty concerns aside, all his attention centered on the gorgeous ass under his hands, Blair eased himself into the tight channel. It felt like coming home.

The content lasted only a heartbeat, before Jim started pushing back against him and he found himself compelled to move. Close to bursting already from the long build-up, Jim's extended foreplay and the sheer erotic pleasure of having Jim shatter under his hands and mouth, Blair didn't last long. Jim, sated from his own orgasm, concentrated on his partner's pleasure, massaging Blair with his internal muscles, squeezing and relaxing until Blair lost all semblance of rhythm and began to thrust uncontrollably into him. One last hard muscular contraction proved to be one too many, and Blair screamed as he came, burying his face in Jim's warm back and nearly blacking out from the intensity of the orgasm.

With a shaky breath, he slipped from his lover's body and fell back against the pillows, too drained to even move. Jim turned, carefully, and shifted them both so he wouldn't have to sleep in the wet spot -- again. Making a mental note to talk to Blair about proper application of lubrication without turning the whole bed into a grease pit, Jim gathered his exhausted love against him, tucked Blair's head under his chin, and fell asleep.

Across town, a disgruntled guard glared at an oblivious Naomi. She sat patiently, meditating quietly, waiting for Murphy to finish his interrogation of Julia Moltkje. The discouraging tone as the guard told her it could be hours yet didn't cause a ripple in her cheerful mien. Smiling at him, she said simply, "Hours will pass whether I'm here or elsewhere. Please let me know when he's available." Then she had folded herself up on the bench and closed her eyes. That had been over two hours earlier. If it hadn't been for the slight rise and fall of her admittedly stunning bosom, he could have sworn she'd died in that position.

Voices sounding down the hall roused him from his unwilling fascination with the bosom in question. Clearing his throat and putting on his best 'I am alert and watchful, always' expression, he was even more put out by the friendly look Mr. Murphy turned on the irritating woman.

She opened her eyes as the voices drew near, and returned his smile with interest. Taking his outstretched hand and escorting her through the door, he told the guard on the way that he was heading home for the evening. Watching the two, as Mr. Murphy settled both of them into the back seat of his car and nodded for the driver to pull away, the guard scratched his head and grumbled to himself. "Red headed women. Whatcha gonna do."

In the semi-private back of the armored car that was the normal mode of transport for government officials in danger of being targeted by criminals, Colin Murphy stared at the sparkling woman beside him. It had been a good day, all told -- Bodie was going to be all right, the last of the Hofnan gang was captured, and interrogation led him to believe that the threat from that quarter was finally neutralized after too many years of hard work and frustration. And somehow, in the middle of all that, this ... this .... he wasn't quite sure how to describe her. Sprite felt right, but didn't have the connotation of quiet dignity that was evident under the bubbling exterior. Deciding that Naomi was simply not going to fit in any convenient category, he allowed himself to relax and enjoy her company.

"If you're tired, my driver can give you a lift back to your hotel, but I'd like the chance to get to know you better. Would you like to come up to my flat for a nightcap?" he asked quietly.

She considered him, head tilted to one side, an irrepressible smile on her generous mouth. "I didn't wait in the hallway because it was a promising confluence of universal harmonics, Colin," she replied, just as quietly. "I've never been one to overlook an opportunity to explore a new and interesting relationship. You interest me. A lot."

Smiling in response to her frankness, preceded as it had been by something New Age he didn't begin to understand, he took that for a yes. When the car pulled up to the entrance to his building, he dismissed his driver and opened the door for Naomi. As the last of the locks clicked in and the flat was secure, he turned to find her standing close enough to touch.

So he did.

Thoroughly.

For the rest of the night.

And for many nights after that.

Bodie beat the doctor's estimates by a good two days, finding himself (gratefully) released after five days incarceration in the clutches of the ghouls. Or at least that was how he described it to Doyle, carefully hiding his relief that his erstwhile partner had shown up that evening to take him home. It had been a strange week of tiptoeing around subjects, backing up mid-conversation and carefully spelling things out. Neither man was used to taking such care with the other, and the strain was beginning to tell.

The ride back to the flat was odd. On the surface, the banter was normal, but the undercurrents were disturbingly strange. Doyle carried Bodie's kit upstairs, a reversal of their usual roles, but Bodie wasn't about to argue. He still felt a little shaky, and with Ray being as skittish as he had been lately he wasn't going to risk a blow-up over something as trivial as who carried the luggage.

When he was securely in the flat, locks set, settled into the corner of the couch with a cuppa in his hand and his shoes off, feet tucked happily in Doyle's lap, he cleared his throat.

"Ray-mate?" He hated his own hesitancy. "We have to talk."

Doyle just reached over the ankles crossed comfortably on his thighs and picked up his own cup. Taking a slug, Bodie was startled to notice that even the usual noisy slurping was subdued. One strong hand settled on his ankles, long fingers absently massaging the tendons there, as Doyle stared into his cup.

"Yeah," he sighed, not sounding the least bit happy about it. "We do." A quick glance through thick lashes showed Bodie a pair of sad, worried green eyes. "Don't quite know where to start," he admitted in a low tone.

"You know me, I'm not that high on the talking it out bit," Bodie began. "But what about we start with the important stuff first." He took a deep breath and steeled himself to ask the question he had been afraid to voice since the row in his hospital room "You still want to make a go of it? Here, with me, I mean?" He tried to keep the question objective, completely unaware of the mute misery written all over his face.

Doyle took a deep breath of his own, his heart going out to his mate. "Christ, yes, Bodie. Love you, really, I do. It's just --" he wasn't quite sure how to say it without causing any more pain than he already had. "It's not the 'you' that's the problem, not really. It's the 'here' that trips me up."

Bodie brightened at the reprieve. "You do want me, then." It wasn't quite what he meant to say, but it was at the heart of his feelings of uncertainty.

"Always," Doyle shot back immediately. "But it's not just about sex."

Bodie started to tease him, but stopped at the serious look on his partner's face. Teasing could wait. This was too important to muck up. "What do you see it as being about, then?"

"We don't read each other any more, Bodie-mate. Not like we used to." Sadness tinged the rough voice. It was a hard thing to admit. "And talking has never been our strong suit."

"We'll just have to work on it, then, Ray. Look at it this way," he started to lean forward to emphasize his words, and though better of it when the stitches pulled across his chest. "We know what we want -- each other. We just have to concentrate on not forgetting that in all the day to day crap that gets in the way." It was relatively straightforward from where Bodie was sitting. Doyle stared at him.

"There are a few details, Bodie, that we need to figure out, aren't there." It was not a question. "Like what you and I are going to do with the rest of our lives and how the bloody hell we're going to be able to do it together."

"We'll find a way," Bodie responded confidently. When Doyle started to splutter an argument, he held up a hand to stop him. "We have to, if we're going to. If we really want to make it work, and we both do, then we'll find away."

"It's not that easy!" Ray protested.

"Not saying it will be, sunshine," Bodie returned stoically. "Nothing ever is, not for us. Never has been. Prob'ly never will be. But no one else is gonna do it for us, so we have to do it for ourselves. Like always." Carefully placing his cup on the side table, he eased his feet out from under Doyle's hands. "That feels wonderful, mate, but I'm for bed."

Doyle hastily put his own cup down and gave Bodie a steadying hand up off the couch. "Not getting any younger, and it's getting harder to take the punches and roll back up," he remarked.

Bodie shot him a rueful look. "Don't I know it." A yawn ambushed him, and Doyle grinned at his jaw-breaking stretch.

"Let's get you to bed, love. We can talk some more in the morning."

Nodding sleepy agreement, Bodie gave no resistance and little assistance as Doyle stripped him off and tucked him under the duvet. In minutes, he was sound asleep.

Doyle sat silently on the side of the bed, watching the lines of fatigue in the pale face smooth out as Bodie relaxed into sleep. There were a lot of things to left talk about, but he had quite a bit of thinking to do before any talking would resolve anything. Wandering out into the living room, he gathered up their tea things and took them into the kitchen to wash up later. Pouring himself a fresh cup, he wandered back into the bedroom and took up a vigil in the overstuffed armchair, watching his Bodie sleep. Watching, and thinking, and sorting things through. If Bodie was awake he would accuse him of brooding, but that wasn't the case. Not this time. He was at a crossroads, and he had to get clear in his mind just what was waiting for him down either fork in the road.

Kicking his shoes off and curling his feet up under him, he allowed himself the luxury of a long, searching, loving examination of his best friend and partner. Bodie had been both to him for so long. Then they had been parted, and he ruthlessly grilled himself about the changes in his attitude during that separation.

Had loving Bodie become a habit, found more in form than in feeling? He took the concept out and examined it from all sides. True, the physical aspect was as intense as it had ever been, perhaps surprisingly so considering the fact that they were at an age when the urges shouldn't have been as mind-destroying as they had been fifteen years ago. But they were. On that evidence alone, it was clear that loving Bodie was less a habit than an obsession. So the physical intensity, the pure need for one another, to lose themselves in one another, was as strong as before they had parted. But as he'd told Bodie, it was more than just the sex.

They couldn't rely on that near-telepathic communication that they had, at one time, shared. It wasn't completely gone -- he could still read Bodie better than anyone else, and the same was true where he was concerned -- Bodie read him like a book. They wouldn't have been able to pussyfoot around each other so well the last week if it hadn't still been there, at least enough to be able to read and avoid the danger signs. But there had to be more to it than just placating one another. They had each changed in the time apart, and he wasn't sure how to bring those changes into line with a shared relationship. He just knew that somehow he would have to, or he would lose Bodie again. And he wasn't sure he would survive that a second time, especially if it was his own rotten temper and inability to communicate that caused it. The strength of his desire to avoid another parting reassured him that loving Bodie wasn't an emotional habit, either, but the thriving heart of his emotional existence.

All right, he thought determinedly, what's in the way? Their jobs, was the first thing that popped into his head. So he took that out, next, and examined it just as closely.

Bodie was perfectly happy to take the position Murph had offered, training the recruits and retraining the old hands at everything from tactics to recon to personal minding duties. It was interesting, for Bodie, and he was a natural trainer, finding it easy to relay his experience to others. His own interests lay in other areas. His four years as Chief Constable had given him a taste for operational autonomy that had been growing throughout his years as an A Squad agent.

Perhaps even more dear to his heart, the reforms he had been working so hard on were where he felt the future lay. The need to educate, the need to reform the system, the need to clean up what could be cleaned up and create something better burned strongly in him. He couldn't see routing that out, or ignoring it, and not eventually coming to resent the lost opportunities. He had a healthy enough self knowledge to know that he would not only resent them, he'd take it out on Bodie. And Bodie would only take that so long before there would be an explosion, and he'd either end up thumped or out on his ear. Or both.

So, he had to resolve that need, not ignore it. Continuing to be ruthlessly honest with himself, he began to reflect on particular incidents over the past few years. True, he had tried for the past four years to implement a radical new way of dealing with drug abuse, to educate the users instead of punishing them, and to target the dealers and importers of the poison. He had even been in Seattle to discuss just that, with others who might be able to implement similar programs on their own turf.

Had his program been a success?

Well, no. Not really. Because it was never given the chance to prove itself. The Police Authority Board, the prominent citizens, even his own superiors on the Force hated the idea. Every step forward brought two backward. He forced himself to remember each and every time he'd been hissed down or lost funding or had to explain himself yet again to the skeptical or downright hostile representative of the home office. Even on the airplane to Seattle, he'd thought that the only reason he was invited to speak on his alternative program was for PR, not because it might actually make a difference. He'd been pounding his head against a brick wall for years, and all he'd gotten from it were a rotten headache and an even worse reputation.

He remembered a vacation, the first he'd had in two years, and the urge to chuck it all he'd felt so strongly when he found out that the local media were throwing muck by the bucketsful at him in the papers. At the time, he'd been convinced by a man he respected that there were too few liberals in positions of power, that he had to keep trying, keep his hand in, keep his shoulder to the wheel. But it hadn't helped. In the two years since that time he'd seen every one of his more radical proposals get their funding cut time and again. He found himself more often than not on the side of the protesters instead of the police, forced to defend actions he privately castigated his officers for, forced to plead for closed minded people to think, just once, of the future.

It just wasn't happening. And he was getting bloody tired of ramming his head into that brick wall.

Shifting from the job to that feeling, he poked at it, prodded it, turned it over and peered closely at it. Was he just tired, then? Did he just need a break, to take some time to get to know his Bodie all over again, find some energy to expend on his own concerns for a little while? Then, recharged, be ready to re-enter the fray? Maybe. Perhaps. He wasn't sure. The only thing he did know for certain was that, one way or another, he needed to have Bodie in his life.

Which led to another logical question. Say he did rest up, got the fire back, was ready to beard the dragons in their dens once more. What of Bodie? He'd had a point, in the middle of that flaming row. What was there for Bodie in Eastland? A mental image of a grieving father and a teen suicide sprang immediately to mind. He was already in for a review when he did go back, and considering the number of people on the Board who were looking for any excuse they could find to get rid of him, his chances for reinstatement on the basis of review were probably not good. If he was reinstated, he would have to be on his best behavior, because he would be watched constantly by those who wanted him gone. While they couldn't actually fire him for being involved in a homosexual relationship, it would certainly factor into their review, and would be one more black mark against him in the 'societal standards' column.

He could just visit Bodie in London, he presumed, but there were two reasons against that. First, and foremost, he was not going to hide his relationship any longer. He'd lived without love and light in his life too damned long to lie about it and act like he was somehow ashamed of it. He wasn't, and he wasn't about to hurt Bodie by pretending that he was. The second major drawback to a London-based affair was in scheduling. He couldn't go for days without seeing Bodie, and once he was back on the treadmill that constituted being the Chief, it would be insane trying to find time to get away. The one time he had carried on a love affair, with a public relations woman he had sincerely liked, they'd practically had to have their secretaries coordinate their schedules -- and she had been living in Norwich!

No, a long distance relationship was not an option. He needed a daily fix of Bodie. Seeing him when he happened to have a free four hours shoehorned into his schedule was not going to work.

So. He didn't like the conclusion he reached, but he didn't see any way