Discovered in the Fairylights - Fic: The Hive

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The Hive

Link To E-Reader File (.pdf): http://www.megaupload.com/?d=ARYMTKWP


Bodie had only been back in London for two months when the call came. He couldn't say that he was at all surprised to hear the familiar voice on the other end of the line. Had actually expected to hear from the man much sooner. Even had a rejection speech rehearsed for just this occasion. But listening to that voice again, hearing the urgency in its tone had Bodie tossing his speech out the window and agreeing to a meet at his own flat.

Precisely twenty-three minutes after the brief phone conversation, there was a brisk knock at his door. Tossing back the rest of his scotch, Bodie placed his glass on the coffee table and moved to answer it. Pulling open the door, he got his first look at his former boss in over two years.

"Sir," Bodie greeted, his tone flat.

George Cowley regarded Bodie with a piercing stare. A stare that, on many occasions, had been known to make less confident CI5 men tremble in their shoes.

"May I come in?" asked Cowley.

With a nod, Bodie stepped aside and gestured for the man to enter. Cowley had not changed much since the last time Bodie had seen him. His hair was a touch thinner and there were a few more wrinkles around the eyes and mouth. But he still possessed that air of confidence and those eyes still held the emotions of a man who'd witnessed too much suffering in one lifetime.

"Drink?" offered Bodie once they were in the lounge.

"Aye, perhaps I will," Cowley replied, taking a seat on the settee. "A small malt, if you have it."

After retrieving his own glass from where he'd left it, Bodie poured two glasses of Scotch at the small wooden cabinet he used for a bar.

Cowley accepted the drink Bodie passed him and took a sip. "You're a hard man to find, Bodie."

"Wasn't wanting to be found, sir," Bodie answered, sitting down on the chair opposite the sofa.

"Aye, I soon realised that when I started searching for you. I was surprised to find you here in London."

"Only been back a few months." Not in the mood for idle chit-chat, Bodie demanded, "What do you want?"

"Ah, right to the point, then." Leaning forwards, Cowley placed his now empty glass on the table. "I need you. There's a… situation."

"So you said on the blower. And like I said, I don't give a damn about your situation," Bodie replied, purposefully adding a belated, "sir."

Cowley's mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "Well, I see you haven't lost your respect for authority over the past years."

"No, but I am about to lose my temper, so you'd better get on with it."

"I need you to take on an assignment."

"In case you've forgotten, I left CI5 two years ago."

Cowley looked directly into Bodie's eyes. "Aye, lad. Not a day goes by that I don't remember."

Bodie looked away. He closed his eyes against the pain that suddenly seared through his chest at the remembered failed op and just how much he'd lost. His body trembled slightly when he was once again forced to face the horror of his two year old memories, still painfully fresh in his mind.

"I won't go back," Bodie growled. Rising to his feet, he glared at Cowley. "I lost too much working for you to ever go back." Turning away, he moved to stand by the window, looking out but not really seeing the street below.

"The Hive has resurfaced. They've started killing again."

Shocked, Bodie spun around. "No! That's impossible. I killed every one of those bastards. I torched their ruddy building. Made sure none of them got out alive."

In the space of a heartbeat, Bodie relived every single moment of that time. He felt the rage that had gripped him as he'd killed. Felt the grim satisfaction of knowing that the IRA splinter group known as The Hive, would never hurt anyone again. Felt the emptiness of knowing that no matter how many men he'd killed, he couldn't bring back the dead – couldn't bring back the one person who meant everything to him.

Revenge changed nothing.

"Four civilians are dead. The life of another is at stake," explained Cowley.

"And you want me to protect this person." Bodie shook his head in disbelief. "You must be joking."

"His name is Raymond Doyle." Cowley stood up and moved closer to Bodie. "You know The Hive, Bodie. You also know their tactics. And you, more than anyone, know what will happen to this young man if he isn't protected."

Bodie spat out a searing curse. Squeezing his hands into fists, he seethed with rage. For two long years he'd thought he'd taken out every last member of The Hive. Before he quit CI5 he had made sure that they could never hurt another person again.

He'd been wrong.

For two bloody years, he'd been wrong.

"Tell me where The Hive is now," Bodie demanded in a near growl. "I'll kill every last one of those bastards myself."

"At the moment we don't know their whereabouts. But we do know what, or rather who, they want –"

"Doyle," Bodie stated.

"Aye." Cowley nodded. "If you stay with him, you won't have to find The Hive. They'll find you."

A slow, vicious smile curved Bodie's lips. "Where do I find Doyle?"

***

With a small amount of trepidation, Professor Raymond Doyle stood outside Dean Graham Rutherford's office. He was quite sure of the reason for his being summoned. The dean wanted to impel him into accepting a grant that Doyle had already turned down.

Three years ago he had become employed by the University of Cambridge as a full-time professor in the Studio Arts Department teaching Painting and Life Drawing. Then a year ago he'd been offered to teach an additional class in Cryptography, a particular hobby of his. Doyle had been more than thrilled to accept.

Raising his hand, he knocked on the large wooden door and waited for the dean's deep voice to bid him entrance.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Doyle asked upon entering the room.

"Professor Doyle. Please have a seat." The slightly robust man motioned to a chair situated in front of his large mahogany desk. Once Doyle was seated, the man continued, "Have you made a decision about the grant?"

Doyle stopped himself from releasing a long breath of frustration. "My answer hasn't changed since last week. I won't accept any grant funded by the military."

Dean Rutherford removed his glasses, folded his hands on top of the desk and leaned slightly forward. "You are the only one in the department who can do the work. Hell, as far as I know, you're the only one in the country who can do it."

"That's not true. There are at least four other people who know more about this particular type of cryptology than I do. And two of those people live here in London."

"Perhaps. But they weren't the ones who were offered the grant money, were they? When I spoke with the men who came to see me, it sounded like very exciting work."

"They want me to develop a mathematically based encryption system for military use."

The dean frowned at Doyle in confusion. "I see nothing wrong with that."

"If I do this for them, eventually it will be used offensively. When that happens, people will die. I cannot be responsible for that."

"You've a brilliant mind, Professor Doyle, so I'm sure I don't have to tell you that if you don't agree do this, someone else will." The dean paused a moment, staring directly at Doyle. "The university needs this particular grant."

"I realise that, but I won't have blood on my hands. I just won't do it. Even if it means I have to tender my resignation."

"You don't even know that anyone will get hurt. In fact, your work could possibly save lives."

"What if you're wrong?" Doyle rose to his feet. "No. I can't take that chance. Couldn't live with meself if my work caused the deaths of innocent people."

"I don't think you're taking this seriously enough." The dean stood as well and said heatedly, "This is your career we're talking about, Mr Doyle. Are you willing to walk away from it because of something that might happen?

Knowing he was sacrificing his job for his own moral beliefs, Doyle replied, "Sorry, sir. I won't be a part of killing. No matter how necessary some British general thinks it may be."

"Your entire future rests on this decision. Take the weekend to think it over one last time. Come and see me on Monday with your final answer."

Doyle didn't bother to tell the dean that he'd already done all the thinking he needed to do. He'd already made up his mind. He would, in no way, agree to do the work. He may be out of a job come Monday, but at least he'd be able to live with himself. That was something no amount of money could buy.

***

Doyle entered his tiny home, flipping on a few lights here and there. He shed his jacket, depositing it on the settee as he made his way through the lounge towards the kitchen. This evening he had stayed later in his office than intended, taking the time to shred every piece of paper that had to do with the military project. Now, he was famished and looking forward to a good meal. Deciding on a tuna casserole, he made quick work preparing it then slid the dish into the heated oven. Fancying a cuppa, he poured water into the kettle. Just as he was about to plug it in, the lights went out, plunging the house into darkness.

"Bloody hell." He sighed and pulled open the drawer that held his torch.

Even though the house he owned had its charm and character, it was also very old. The wiring tended to be a bit finicky at times. This would make the third time this week that he'd blown a fuse.

Switching on the torch, he walked to the cellar door, and carefully descended the bare wooden stairs. The damp, musky room caused Doyle to sneeze twice before he opened the metal door to the fuse box. Having left a new fuse on the workbench nearby, he made quick work of changing the old for the new.

Even with the new fuse in place, the lights refused to come on. He glared at the box while scratching the top of his head. As he contemplated what to do next, above his head the sound of breaking glass echoed through the house.

Doyle froze, listening intently.

A floorboard overhead made a quiet creak and he could hear the slow, methodical steps of at least two people walking around.

Christ, he was being robbed.

Quickly, he extinguished the light and slipped as quietly as he could away from the front of the stairs. The cellar was relatively empty; a few small cardboard boxes lay scattered about, making the only place to hide behind the staircase.

The footsteps came closer to the top of the stairs. Doyle held his breath as a beam of light flashed into the cellar, coming to rest on the spot where he had been standing only seconds before. He frowned slightly when a tiny red dot joined the pool of white and together they slowly slid over the dusty floor.

Staring at the red dot, Doyle sucked in a silent breath as realisation hit. That small red beam could be the sight from a weapon. Just yesterday, in the restroom at the university, he'd overheard two fellow professors discussing some new rifle the military was using that had a laser sight attached.

Doyle's heart hammered in his chest. These men weren't some kids out to nick a television or radio for a few quid. Whoever was in his house was armed with a serious weapon. But why? His mind screamed. Why would men with a gun like that be here?

The white light abruptly swung his way, landing on the floor near his feet. Doyle stood stock-still, knowing if he moved he'd give away his hiding place. The wood of the top step creaked and he watched wide-eyed as a booted foot stepped onto the stairway. Blood pounded loudly in his ears and he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep the gasp from escaping. When the beam of light moved away from him, he slowly and quietly shuffled backwards until his back hit the damp, stone wall behind him. He tightly clutched the torch, knowing it was his only weapon. Also knowing that it would be a poor match against men armed with guns.

Suddenly, there was a sound of a sharp pop, followed by a muffled thump coming from the lounge directly above him. The foot on the stair pivoted, as if the man had turned around to look behind him. Both the white beam of light and the red dot disappeared, casting the cellar into total darkness once again. Doyle heard another pop before the body crashed loudly down the steps, landing with a dull thud on the cellar floor, unmoving.

It only took a heartbeat for Doyle to realise the man was dead. Most of the face was covered with a dark knit mask, but from where Doyle stood, he could see the man's open eyes, glazed and unblinking. The rifle the man had been wielding lay next to his left hand, the red laser light shining a beam across the room to land on the opposite wall. The man's broken torch rested close to his oddly angled left leg. With the gun in easy reach, Doyle made a move to grab for it when the creak of the floorboard had him sliding back into the shadows once again. He glanced up, and to his dismay, saw a new pair of boots land stealthily on the top step.

The newcomer began down the steps, sticking close to the wall so the wood made as little noise as possible. The man's movements were cautious, but had a practiced grace that made Doyle believe that whoever this was had done such things many times before. Doyle watched him kneel before the dead man and press two fingers against the throat. He noticed that even though the man checked for a pulse, his eyes never lowered, they carefully scanned the room and the second Doyle was spotted, the man's body went still.

Their eyes met and a cold sweat began to trickle down Doyle's spine. Clutching the torch even tighter, he brought it up over his right shoulder preparing to swing it like a baseball bat.

"Professor Doyle?" the man asked in a low whisper. "Name's Bodie. I'm not here to harm you. I'm here to get you out." Bodie stood and extended a leather gloved hand. His entire body was encased in black and he wore the same type of face mask as the dead man. The assault rifle he held rested against his thigh with the confidence of someone who was used to handling weapons.

Doyle wanted to believe this man wasn't lying. As he looked into Bodie's eyes, something deep inside Doyle, an innate instinct, told him that Bodie was indeed here to help. He took a tentative step forwards, towards the extended hand, when a quiet thump came from above. Doyle jumped slightly, his heart kicking back into high gear again.

Bodie didn't even flinch. He raised a gloved finger to his lips to indicate silence then knelt to switch off the red light of the laser beam. Once again the cellar was cast into darkness. Doyle fought off the urge to flip on the light to his torch, but knew that if he did it would give away their position to whomever was wandering around upstairs.

Cautiously, Doyle slipped closer to Bodie. "What –" Any other words he had planned to say were muffled by a hand covering his mouth. Bodie pushed Doyle back and used his body to flatten Doyle against the stone wall.

Bending his head down, Bodie's lips brushed against Doyle's ear as he whispered, "Be quiet and I'll get us both out of here alive."

Doyle had no idea what any of this was about, or why these men were in his house trying to harm him. One thing he did know for certain was that no matter how much he wanted to flee from this situation, there was no way he was going to move until Bodie told him he could. He gave Bodie a slight nod to let him know that he understood.

Seeming satisfied, Bodie lessened the pressure of his fingers on Doyle's mouth. Doyle sucked in a deep breath. The movement brought them even closer together and he could feel the heat of Bodie's body seep through his own shirt. Doyle's nose was level with the side of Bodie's neck and he was able to smell the combination of the leather glove, cordite, and warm, male skin. In this deadly situation, he found himself liking the scent – actually found it oddly comforting.

Another loose floorboard sounded, giving away the position of the intruder above. The person was in Doyle's bedroom and he could tell by the slow creak and groan of the floor that the intruder was searching for something – or someone.

Bodie shifted slightly, and the hand that had been hovering over Doyle's mouth came to rest on his shoulder. Once again, he felt the brush of lips against his ear as Bodie spoke in a low, gruff voice. "Stay put. I'll be back for you in a minute."

"But –" Bodie's hand sealed off Doyle's mouth again, stopping any other words from escaping.

"I know what I'm doing. I'll come and get you when it's safe."

Before Doyle knew it, Bodie was gone, disappearing up the stairs and into the darkness without even leaving the faintest sound of his footsteps.

***

Bodie crouched down next to the man he'd just killed in the bedroom to pick up the weapon. A quick glance at it confirmed Bodie's suspicions – the laser weapon had been converted into a tranquilliser gun.

The men who were after Doyle were not here to kill him.

They wanted him alive.

Bodie should have felt relieved at that thought, but he knew The Hive. In the past, they had wanted many other hostages alive – at first.

A shiver ran down Bodie's spine as bitter memories flooded his head, causing his gut to tighten. Two years ago he had failed and it had cost a life. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

Moving out of the bedroom, Bodie headed down the hallway towards the lounge. As he neared the kitchen, a shadow fell across the smashed kitchen door, giving away the presence of another person outside. To Bodie's right the cellar stair creaked. He knew that Doyle was heading right into the line of fire. Gun raised and crouching low, Bodie moved quickly, attempting to cover Doyle's entrance into the kitchen. At the exact same time, the enemy came around the doorframe, making himself a clear target. However before Bodie had time to squeeze the trigger, Doyle entered the room, blocking the path directly between Bodie and his target.

With a silent curse, Bodie dropped the muzzle of his gun down towards the floor. "Doyle! Get down!" he shouted.

The man in the doorway ducked and fired, the dart finding its mark, the tip sinking into the flesh of Doyle's thigh. Doyle jumped, hissing in pain, the rifle in his hands falling to the floor with a metallic clang. For a second, Doyle stared at the object in his leg before reflexively ripping it out and tossing it aside.

Unfortunately, Bodie knew that the damage was already done. Doyle wobbled unsteadily on his legs as the drug began to take effect. He fell to his knees, hands dropping in front of him in an attempt to keep himself upright.

Bodie quickly rose from his crouch, levelled his gun at the enemy and squeezed off one shot. The bullet hit its target, right in the middle of the intruder's chest. Even before the dead man had crumpled on the ground, Bodie was rushing to Doyle's side.

Doyle's fingers were pressed over the wound in his leg, a dark spot of blood staining the material of his jeans. Drug hazed eyes met Bodie's and he knew he didn't have much time to complete the second part of his mission before the drug rendered Doyle unconscious.

Taking Doyle by the shoulders, Bodie gave him a shake. "Don't pass out on me yet, Doyle," he commanded in a quiet growl. "Where's your research?"

Doyle squeezed his eyes shut then opened them wide, trying to focus on Bodie's face. "Wha…?

"Your papers? For the military?"

Clumsily, Doyle's mouth worked to form words. "No papers. All here," he mumbled, tapping a limp finger against his temple. His eyes glazed over, his face went slack and Bodie caught him as his body toppled over.

"Save Doyle at all costs. We need him alive." Cowley's words came back to him. Bodie's orders had been crystal clear. Not wanting to wait around for any more visitors to appear, Bodie scooped Doyle up and positioned him over his shoulder. As soon as his burden was settled, Bodie raised his gun, went out the back door and headed for his Range Rover.

***

From his vantage point across the street, Enrico Krivas lifted the edge of the lacy curtain and watched Professor Doyle being carried away. Something nagged at his memory the second he saw the man who had killed his own men and now had possession of Doyle. Krivas frowned. There was something familiar about the way the man moved. Perhaps it wasn't so much that he knew this particular man as it was the fact that he knew men like him. Men who were dedicated to an ideal they would never see realised.

Such a waste of talent, Krivas thought. It's a shame that someone with so much to offer will be dead in a few hours.

As for Doyle, Krivas would have the pleasure of convincing him to use his special talents to help his organisation.

In the distance, the sound of sirens could be heard. The authorities would be arriving any minute and Krivas wanted to be long gone. Letting the curtain fall back into place, he turned, stepping over the bloody remains of the elderly woman who used to occupy the house.

***

Bodie sped down the motorway until the lights from the city were only a faint glow in the night sky. After several lane and speed changes, he was fairly certain that no one was following them. With one last glance in the rear view mirror, he picked up the mic to his radio and turned the dial to the secure frequency.

"3.7 to Alpha One."

"Alpha One, go ahead 3.7," answered Cowley.

"I've got him, sir. A clean-up team will be needed at the house."

"What kind of mess?"

"Three bodies. One van parked in the drive."

"Did you get all Doyle's research?"

"He said there were no papers. That the information is in his head."

"I'll order a sweep of the house to be sure." There was a brief pause before Cowley asked, "What is his condition?"

Bodie looked at Doyle's limp form asleep in the passenger seat. Curled up the way he was against the door, Doyle appeared young and vulnerable. Since Bodie had no way of knowing what kind of tranquilliser had been used or how much was in Doyle's system, he found himself stealing glances to make sure the man was still breathing.

He hoped that there would be no ill effects caused by the drug. They needed Doyle. The professor was their best chance for breaking the most complicated bit of cyphertext that had surfaced since the end of World War II. That was the reason why The Hive, the military and Cowley wanted Doyle alive.

"He was shot with a tranq dart," Bodie replied. "He's still out cold. Perhaps I should take him to hospital."

"No. It's too risky."

"He may need medical attention, sir."

"You've been trained for this type of situation, 3.7. Deal with it."

"I don't like it."

"You have your orders."

"Yes, sir."

Bodie resisted the urge to tell Cowley where he could shove his orders and quickly glanced at Doyle. Auburn curls spilled over his forehead and onto the right side of his cheek. Doyle's skin was too pale and it worried Bodie. If he couldn't take Doyle to hospital then he needed to get him to the closest location that Bodie had scoped out during his quick preparation for this op. Not far up ahead was a lodge where he could take the time to check Doyle out more carefully and focus on getting the drugs out of his system.

"I'll check back in when I'm settled," Bodie said.

"Aye. Report in as soon as you can. Alpha One out." The line went dead and Bodie hung up his mic on the radio.

He drove for another two miles and turned off at the next exit. Pulling around the corner, he brought the Range Rover to a halt, switched off the headlights and waited to see if anyone followed. When he was satisfied that they weren't going to have any company, Bodie turned the lights back on and continued down the narrow laneway until he reached the Pinecroft Lodges. After signing the register under an assumed name, Bodie manoeuvred the vehicle past the main building, following the road until it brought him to a small wooden lodge that was tucked away from all the others.

Bodie shifted around, turning his body towards Doyle, who now sat slumped in his seat, looking rather uncomfortable. Sliding across the bench, Bodie took hold of Doyle's shoulders, lifting his body so that Doyle sat more upright. Doyle let out a quiet moan. His head lolled sideways, coming to rest on Bodie's shoulder. Bodie froze when Doyle's mouth pressed lightly against his throat and warm breath swept over his skin like a caress.

Entirely against Bodie's will, his body responded.

After the botched operation between CI5 and The Hive, Bodie had quit the organisation and gone into isolation – deep isolation – for over two years. Not once during that time had he touched or been touched, sexually or otherwise, by another man.

He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut as a spicy scent mixed with male sweat filled his nostrils, scattering his thoughts. His body hardened in a maddening rush of blood – all of it leaking from his brain and heading south.

As if it had a will of its own, Bodie's hand reached out to touch Doyle's hair. The soft, silky texture of a curl slid between his fingers. Doyle released a contented sigh and leaned more heavily against Bodie. Suddenly realising what he was doing, Bodie snapped his hand away and cursed as sweat beaded along his hairline.

Why did it have to be a man who needed rescuing? A man whose exotic good looks were very appealing. It was the first time in two years that he'd been attracted to someone and he wasn't sure how that made him feel. Actually, if he was to take a moment to be honest with himself, it scared the hell out of him and he didn't want any part of it.

With an effort of will, Bodie moved away so that no part of him was in contact with Doyle. He adjusted Doyle's head so that it was resting comfortably against the seat, doing his best to touch the man as little as possible. Although he tried to ignore it, Bodie could still smell Doyle's unique scent and was sure he would remember it for a very long time.

After several long seconds, Bodie managed to slow his breathing back to a normal rhythm. He got out of the truck, walked around to Doyle's side and opened the passenger door. Under the cover of darkness, he hefted Doyle onto his shoulder and quickly made his way into the lodge.

***

The smell of strong coffee worked its way into Doyle's brain, slowly bringing him back to consciousness. His head felt like it had been dragged behind a lorry and his mouth was as dry as a barren wasteland. Unsteadily, he reached for the glass of water he kept on his bedside table, but instead of touching the smooth, cool glass, his fingers encountered something hard and warm instead.

Panic sparked to life, the adrenaline rushing through his body like fire through dry timber. Doyle's eyes shot open, the meagre light in the room stabbed at his skull, causing him to groan in pain.

"Easy," said a quiet, deep voice close by.

A warm hand slid around the nape of Doyle's neck, helping him to sit up.

"Here. Drink some water." The cool edge of a glass was pressed again his lips. Obediently, Doyle opened his mouth and welcomed the wave of cold liquid that slid down his throat.

Forcing his eye open, Doyle squinted as the dim lighting from the bedside lamp made his temples throb. The man sitting on the edge of the bed shifted his body so that his shadow fell across Doyle's eyes.

"Your headache should ease off in a little while. These pills will help." Two pills were pushed into Doyle's palm and he stared at them for a second before placing them inside his mouth. Once again the glass was offered, but his hand shook as he tried to take it. "Let me." When he felt the rim of the glass rest against his bottom lip, he parted his mouth, allowing the water to wash the pills down.

"Ta," Doyle said, his voice rough. He looked up, trying to focus on the other man. Although his vision was a little fuzzy, Doyle could easily see the set of wide shoulders and muscular chest. The man sat only inches from him. An arm was still supporting the weight of Doyle's shoulders, and Doyle could feel the heat of the hand pressing against him, its warmth seeping through his shirt.

Although the man seemed vaguely familiar, Doyle couldn't quite place him. Oddly enough, he did recognize his scent – leather, sweat, cordite – and somehow knew, without a doubt, that this man was responsible for getting him out of his house alive.

"Who are you? No. Wait." Doyle held up a shaky hand and concentrated on what had transpired that evening. It took a few seconds before the whole night came flooding back to him and he had to clamp down on the rising panic. With an effort of will, he forced himself to think logically, rationally. After a few deep breaths, he became calm enough that he could manage a clear thought and the name of the man came back to him. "Bodie, right?"

"Right," Bodie replied with a little smirk.

"Where are we?" Doyle asked around a yawn. "What am I doing here? And who were those blokes in my house?"

Bodie ignored his questions and eased him back down onto the mattress. Doyle's body felt boneless, weak. He didn't have the strength to sit up under his own power. It was a very vulnerable position to be in. Suddenly, fear began to rush through him.

Bodie must have seen the trepidation on his face because he laid a soothing hand on Doyle's forehead and brushed back his curls. "The weakness will pass in a little while. It's an after-effect of the tranquilliser –"

"Tranquilliser?" His brain supplied him with memories of the sharp pain, seeing the small, needle-like object sticking out of his thigh and reaching down to jerk it out. At the time, he'd not processed what had happened, however now it was clear that he'd been shot with some sort of dart. Like the kind he'd seen used on animals.

"Those pills I gave you will help clear the tranquillisers out of your system. You'll be feeling like your old self in no time." Bodie's fingers shifted from Doyle's forehead to lightly touch his temple. "How's the head?"

"Feels like it's been trampled by elephants."

A faint grin lifted the side of Bodie's face. "That bad, eh?" Bodie stood up. He moved into the tiny kitchen and Doyle could hear the clink of ice hitting glass followed by the hiss of water.

"Where are we?" Doyle enquired again.

"Outside of London. This place is only a temporary stop over. Had to make sure you were all right and to find out if there were any other copies of your work anywhere."

Work? Doyle frowned and blinked in confusion. "What work?"

Bodie returned to stand by the side of the bed and stared down at Doyle. From his vantage point, Doyle could see that Bodie was a fairly tall bloke with short, dark hair and a handsome face which was shadowed in dark stubble. He wore black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. The tight, dark clothing nicely accentuated the well muscled body. Bodie possessed the kind of masculinity that could make both women and men, who happened to cross his path, do a serious double take – and that was exactly what Doyle was doing.

It shocked Doyle to be looking at Bodie with anything more than idle curiosity. Doyle had always had a fairly active sex life, although he'd never had such an instant attraction to a man as he was having with Bodie. He'd always preferred to get to know someone first. Go out on a few dates, before taking them to his bed. However, looking at Bodie, he found himself wanting to know what it would feel like to have that amazing body cover his own and press him down into the mattress. To have those soft looking lips take possession of his mouth. Perhaps it was the drugs causing him to feel this way, or perhaps it was the fact that Bodie had pinned Doyle up against that stone wall at a time when his whole system was being flooded with adrenalin. No matter the reason, at the moment Doyle was seeing Bodie as a very interesting, very physically appealing man.

"I've been given clearance to know about your work with encryption algorithms for the military," Bodie said, watching Doyle closely. "There's no need for you to hide it."

Doyle struggled to sit up, but his muscles refused to cooperate, making him want to scream in frustration. "I'm not hiding anything," he snapped. "I'm not doing any encryption work for the military. I gave it up when I found out they were the ones paying."

"And all the work you did before you gave it up? Where is it?"

"What little I did document, I destroyed."

"Bullshit." Even though Bodie's voice was quiet, his tone was still harsh enough to convey his disbelief.

"Pardon?"

"I was informed about your work on project Ghost Shield. You were offered a lot of money to do the work. You wouldn't have just thrown it all away."

"Don't know what you're talking about. I've never heard of project Ghost Shield."

"Not the name, perhaps, but you were offered grant money to complete your research."

"Grant money?" Doyle sneered. "More like blood money.

Bodie gave Doyle a casual shrug of indifference. "Call it what you want. All I want to know, Doyle, is the whereabouts of your research."

"Look, Bodie. Already told you, didn't I? Everything I had I destroyed."

Bodie stood silent, watching Doyle as if he was trying to determine the truth of his words. "You're sure there are no other copies anywhere? No forgotten files? Nothing written on paper napkins just lying about?"

"You think I'm an idiot, do you?" Doyle asked angrily, wishing that he had the strength to get up and thump the man. "I know better than to leave anything that valuable hanging about where anyone could find it and use it. I'll tell you one last time; everything I did for that project has been destroyed. Probably lose my job because I did."

One dark eyebrow rose. "You're going to be fired?"

"The university is undergoing budget cuts. Without that grant, I'm out."

"And even though you were going to be fired if you didn't take the grant money, you were still refusing to do the work?

"Yes. I refuse to do anything in support of violence. There was a chance my work would be used against innocent people. I will not be responsible for their deaths."

Bodie regarded Doyle for a moment before nodding and sitting down on the bed. The mattress dipped with his weight, causing Doyle to roll into Bodie's side until his hip rested against Bodie's leg. Doyle felt his heart skip a beat at the close contact.

Bodie slid his arm behind Doyle and propped him up against the "v" between Bodie's arm and body. The glass was held for Doyle to drink, but a little water spilled out the side of his mouth to trickle down his chin and neck. The cold liquid made Doyle gasp as it slid down onto his chest. Bodie grabbed a tissue from the bedside table and a shiver passed through Doyle as the long, strong fingers slipped beneath the collar of his shirt to dab at the trail of water.

"Cold?" Bodie asked, moving his gaze away from Doyle's chest. "Depressants can sometimes do that. Not to mention shock."

Doyle looked away from Bodie's hand to his face. He tried to concentrate on the man's words rather than just Bodie's mouth moving. It looked soft yet firm and Doyle found himself bizarrely wondering if the man knew how to kiss as well as he could kill.

"Shock?" Doyle mumbled, his gaze returning to look at Bodie's hand and the way the long fingers tapered to short, neatly trimmed fingernails.

Bodie lifted an amused brow. "You don't think that being attacked in your own home and shot at is enough to shock you?" As he talked, Bodie pulled the sheet and blanket up, carefully tucking it under Doyle's chin. The kind, almost intimate gesture caused Doyle's stomach to do a little flip. He watched Bodie closely, but nothing on the man's face gave away what he was thinking.

"Are you going to take me home in the morning?"

Bodie's head came up to meet his eyes and Doyle could see a hint of sadness in their depth. "No, Doyle. You can't go back home." Bodie paused. "You can never go home again."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Doyle's chest tightened in disbelief and he struggled to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," Bodie said, touching Doyle's shoulder. "It's way it has to be, mate. You'd best get used to it."

"I don't understand."

Before answering, Bodie stared at Doyle for a long minute. "You really don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?" Fear, confusion and isolation swirled together within Doyle, creating a cold ache in the pit of his stomach. "All I want to do is go home."

"You are currently listed as the most gifted civilian cryptologist in the country – possibly even the world."

Doyle nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculous statement. "That's absurd. My main work is as an artist. A painter. Cryptology is only a hobby of mine. There are at least two other men in London alone who have more knowledge and experience in that particular area than I do."

Bodie's voice was very low and quiet when he spoke. "Six months ago, perhaps, but no longer."

Doyle frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

"You only need to know that the same thing will not happen to you," Bodie answered determinedly.

"Sure of that, are you?"

"Yes." Bodie's fingers carded through Doyle's mussed curls and Doyle was regarded with a fierce, unwavering stare. "Because they didn't have me protecting them."

***

Bodie watched Doyle as he fell back to sleep again. The tranquilliser was still affecting him, but not as much as Bodie had first feared. He could breathe a little easier knowing that the drugs weren't going to kill Doyle and now it was entirely up to Bodie to see that nothing else did.

Doyle shifted onto his side, the covers slipping down his arm. Bodie found himself reaching out to tug the blanket back up to cover the exposed shoulder. They couldn't stay in this lodge much longer, but Bodie wanted to give Doyle every minute possible to allow the drugs to work their way out of his system. He could tell by the panic he'd seen in Doyle's green eyes just how much it frightened him not to be in control of his own body.

Bodie doubted that Doyle fully grasped the concept that his name was at the top of a terrorist hit list. Four other men had been on that same list. Each had been kidnapped by The Hive because they possessed the expertise for cracking obscure codes. Those four men had either refused to cooperate or had simply been unable to break the code for they all had been found dead. Executed by The Hive. Bodie couldn't bring himself to tell Doyle that he was next. The man had already been through enough today.

As much as Bodie disliked having his isolation disturbed, he admitted that Cowley had been right to call him back into CI5. He knew just what would happen to Doyle if he didn't do this right. Mistakes were one hell of an effective teacher.

Bodie only wished that Doyle didn't appeal to him so much. With his scruffy curls and lean, muscular body, the man allured Bodie like no other had done before. He couldn't forget Doyle's unique scent or the quiet noises he made while sleeping. And it seemed like every time Bodie had to touch Doyle, he felt himself become excited.

It was pathetic, really.

Even though Bodie had gone more than two years without sex, he should be able to have enough restraint to stop touching Doyle more than was absolutely necessary. But it was as if his hands had a mind of their own. His fingers would caress the curly hair, touch Doyle's cheek or pat his shoulder.

All completely unnecessary.

But quite nice, actually.

It was possible that his protective instincts were running on overdrive, but Bodie had to keep fighting off the urge to pull Doyle into his arms and say that everything was going to be all right. Unfortunately, Bodie understood the reality of the situation. It wasn't going to be okay – not by a long chalk. Chances were high that if Doyle wanted to stay alive, he would have to walk away from the life he knew and cut all ties with friends and family.

Doyle released a quiet moan in his sleep and Bodie looked down at the pale face. At least the drugs were wearing off quickly enough that Doyle should be able to walk out of here under his own power. That would keep Bodie from needing to touch Doyle more, which was for the best.

Come morning, Bodie hoped that he would be able to convince Doyle to cooperate with CI5 before they made it to the safe house, where Cowley would undoubtedly be ready to pounce. Bodie'd not been given the code that his boss wanted Doyle to break. "Strictly classified," Cowley had said. What his boss did say was that the information would lead them straight to the remaining members of The Hive.

The need for revenge still burned deeply within Bodie, even though he knew it would never change the past. He needed to wipe out every person involved with The Hive. Only then would he be satisfied.

For him to accomplish his goal, he needed Doyle's complete and utter cooperation. And, one way or another, that was what he was going to get.


Part 2




***


Title: The Hive
Author name: ankaree
Genre: Slash
Characters/Pairing: Bodie/Doyle
Word count: 58,564
Warnings: NC-17
Story Note: Originally appeared in the zine, Professional Adventures

Link To E-Reader File (.pdf): http://www.megaupload.com/?d=ARYMTKWP


SUMMARY: Part-time cryptologist Ray Doyle refuses to have blood on his hands. When the military asks for his help to decrypt a code that would locate misplaced nuclear weapons, Doyle refuses. His life abruptly takes a drastic change for the worse when members of The Hive, a terrorist faction, break into his home and threaten his life. Suddenly it's all too clear that any blood spilled may be his own. When a military-clad man unexpectedly appears to safeguard him, Doyle has no choice but to trust the stranger. A stranger who is everything that Doyle is against... and everything he desires.

***

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This story is dedicated to Kat, my best friend and partner in crime. She was the one who first introduced me to the wonderful world of The Professionals and who, many years ago, encouraged me to try my hand at fan fiction writing. It has been an awesome journey, made even sweeter by having such an amazing friend by my side to experience it all with. I am both honoured and thrilled to be sharing this zine with her.

To my beta's, Chris, Lyn and Kat. This story would not have been possible if it wasn't for their expertise, advice and support. From the bottom of my heart, thank you my friends!

And to the Pros fans. A warm thank you to all of you for your support and kind words over the past two and a half years. When I first joined the fandom you opened your arms and embraced this newbie, making me immediately feel comfortable and welcomed. And for that I shall remain forever grateful.

Comments

[firlefanzine.livejournal.com]

I liked your story very much when I read it some time ago.
And I can highly recommend it!

Thank you for sharing it with all of us!

[ankaree.livejournal.com]

Awww, thank you so much for the lovely comments! I'm glad you enjoyed the story!

[miwahni.livejournal.com]

That's a treat to look forward to! Thanks for providing ebook file - I've loaded it to my kindle for later savouring.

[ankaree.livejournal.com]

You're very welcome! I hope you enjoy the story!

[merentha13.livejournal.com]

Wonderful story! I'm not a big fan of A/U, but your Bodie was spot on! I really enjoyed this. Thanks for making it available on line.

[ankaree.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you so much for the lovely comments! I'm pleased you enjoyed reading my story.

You're very welcome!

[smirra.livejournal.com]

Oh yay sleeping bag fic *g* I enjoy the story very much so far, thank you for writing and posting! I think I can be grateful to have such wonderful stories delivered!

[ankaree.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you're enjoying the story! Thanks very much for commenting!