But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break
                                Billy Joel
 
 
 

February 22.
Tuesday, 12.05pm

Bodie glanced at his watch as the nurse came in to do her quarterly
obs. Five minutes late this time - she must be a bit busy. She
glanced up once at Bodie as she began her work but they'd long since
exhausted their supply of small talk and didn't make any further
effort. Instead, Bodie settled back in his chair - the one he'd
nicked from the rest room down the corridor - and stuck his feet up
on the coffee table in front of him (also nicked - or rather
borrowed). He put his elbow on the arm rest and gazed out the window
to watch faint flecks of snow drift into the compound.

Less than twenty four hours ago, such a sight would have sent him
spiralling into a black depression. Now, he could only imagine
Doyle's incredible journey.

Never over the last five years had he ever had cause to question
Doyle's courage - but now, he could only be awed by it. It was the
kind of story that earned bravery medals and newspaper reports.
Already, the CO of the camp had been in to pay his respects - even
though Doyle hadn't actually woken since last night.

Cowley had been in too, just after breakfast. He'd had a few words
with the doctor then shuffled off back to work with instructions of
how Doyle was to be moved to a London hospital that afternoon. Bodie
was to stay with Doyle.

Yeah, well, sometimes even Bodie got good orders to follow.

It had only taken him an hour to get to sleep last. An hour during
which his mind had only slowly drifted down from the peak at which it
had been resting for the hours before that. But there had been this
blind comforting presence in a room a stone's throw away and
apparently, that had been all his subconscious had required to give
him the first decent sleep since that awful night when Doyle had
walked out on him.

But right now, he didn't care about any of that. It was over. The
nightmare was over and Doyle was alive - pretty much in one piece -
and would get better. One day, some time in the future, Bodie would
hear that wicked laugh again, would see those eyes flash with one of
his moods. It would happen.

Knowing he was grinning like an idiot, Bodie turned his gaze back to
the bed as the nurse finished up. Doyle's face looked a little
healthier in the daylight streaming through the window and Bodie
gazed at him knowing for certain that he had never seen anything more
exquisitely beautiful in all his life. The auburn locks were clean
and laid out on the pillow, a softer down that the one wrapped in
linen. The straight nose was a little red along the ridge, probably
from windburn. The full lips were still cracked from exposure, but
already looking better than last night.

Bodie wished he could kiss them better.

The nurse left the room and closed the door quietly behind her but
even so, the noise brought some life to Doyle. His eyelids flickered
briefly, stilled - then opened. Bodie was close enough to see the
gaze was much clearer now.

He resisted the temptation - as he had since he'd first come into
this room - to grab Doyle up in a hug. No need for such things. Not
now.

"Mornin'"

Doyle blinked and turned his head. He stared for a moment before
making any response. "Morning."

Bodie got up. He reached under the bed and pulled the lever to raise
the angle a little. Doyle watched him the whole time. Feeling no pain
at all, Bodie grinned, "I'm Bodie."

"I figured you had to be." His eyes left Bodie for a moment, looking
for something.

"Water?"

"Thanks."

Bodie lifted the glass and put the straw up so Doyle could drink.

"Thanks. Much better."

Again the eyes were on Bodie, cool, serious and patient - so he
pulled up a nearby stool and sat down. "How do you feel now?"

"You came last night, didn't you?"

"That's right."

"Cowley got you here. You're my… partner?"

"Right again."

"You're not bothered that I don't remember you?"

Bodie shrugged and ventured a smile, "Won't say I'm not a little
wounded. We are talking five years here." Five years and one evening
in particular. Was it possible that not only had Doyle been brought
back to him - but that he would be mercifully unmindful of the events
that had driven him away in the first place? Would Bodie get a second
chance? An opportunity to undo the mistake he'd made? Two miracles
for the price of one?

Living without Doyle's love was a lot easier than living without him
at all.

"I don't understand," Doyle said into the silence.

"What?"

"If we were together five years, why don't I remember you? When I saw
you last night, I swear it was for the first time - but I remembered
Cowley, the moment I saw him. I knew exactly who he was, could even
remember getting told off by him a couple of times."

"Was I in any of those scenes?" Bodie asked gently.

"Should you be?"

"Well, we usually got told off at the same time."

"But not always?"

"No."

Doyle swallowed again and Bodie helped him to some more water. He sat
back and allowed his gaze to drift to the bandaged hands.

"Frostbite."

Bodie glanced up to find Doyle's green gaze on him again. In a way,
it was a little unsettling - there was no sign of recognition there
at all. Where Bodie was ready to slip back into their old patterns of
speech and communication, Doyle had nothing. Bodie was a complete
stranger to him.

He'd have to tread carefully for a while. At least until Doyle began
to remember more.

"Is it bad? The frostbite?"

Doyle frowned, "They say I won't lose any fingers or toes, so I guess
I've been lucky on more than one score."

"You and me both, sunshine," Bodie murmured before he could stop
himself - but Doyle only smiled - then raised his eyebrows in
surprise.

"I remember… sunshine. Somebody calling me sunshine. Would that be
you?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Bodie grinned again. Perhaps this wouldn't take
so long after all. In perhaps only a few weeks, Doyle would put all
the pieces back together again and then there would only be the weeks
of physical rehab before Doyle could be back on the job and life
could start again.

Except -

Doyle would put all the pieces back together. Every single one.

God, what idiot makes an assumption that mistakes can be undone! Of
course Doyle would remember - and things would never go back to the
way they'd been.

Yes, Doyle was alive - and that was more important than anything in
the world - but Bodie staying around here was only going to hasten
that one memory's return.

He came quickly to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Doyle was frowning at him, those steady green eyes
holding him in his place for a moment.

For three weeks, he thought he'd never see those eyes again - and now
he was getting ready to walk away by choice. Was he really that
stupid?

No!

He couldn't take back what had happened, but he sure as hell could
make certain he didn't compound the error. He'd already made the
mistake once, of putting his own needs ahead of Doyle's. He wasn't
about to do it a second time. And when Doyle did remember, there
would be a replay of the rejection, the tearing up of his heart. He
didn't need to go through a repeat performance to know it hurt too
much. This whole thing: it had hurt too much.

"Nothing's wrong." Bodie hid his thoughts and smiled genuinely, and
at that face, it wasn't difficult. "I just have to go to the little
boy's room. Back soon."

Bodie reached the corridor and stopped, twisting the thing around
inside once more, just to make sure it was the right decision. He had
to be certain because half of him wanted to go straight back in and
be with Doyle - regardless of how painful the consequences might be.

No. There was only one thing he could do, decently and with any
honour he might have left. What he'd meant to do from the beginning.

Resign.
 

5.40pm
 

Doyle closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of this new
hospital, the third in as many days. For all that he remembered
hating hospitals, this one didn't sound too bad. Lots of squeaky
rubber shoes on vinyl, laughter echoing down the corridor, metal
trays and trolleys and children playing outside below his room. At
least this place felt alive. Stanfield had been positively maudlin -
especially with all the damned senior officers in the place trouping
in to salute his courage.

Beyond the walls he could hear sounds from London, a rumble lying
beneath everything else, a permanent counterpoint to life in general
- and his in particular. Oh, yes, he remembered London.

He'd asked them to move his bed close to the window and now he opened
his eyes and gazed out at the darkness. The nights were still so
long, even though March was only a week away. From here, he could see
the dome of Saint Paul's lit with a yellow glow, other points
sparkling behind it. To the left, the famous gold statue above the
Old Bailey; Justice, her eyes blinded, her hands meting out fairly to
all.

Almost obscured at this angle was Tower Bridge, lit like a Christmas
Tree, the Tower itself a white block beside it.

All familiar, just as it should be.

So why were there still those tendrils of fear wrapped around his
gut? Why could he not shake off the feeling that one of the things he
was forgetting was so important, that his life depended on
remembering it?

He'd asked Cowley, of course. The Old Man had turned up minutes after
he'd settled in here. He'd asked Doyle a few questions, testing his
mental agility against yesterday, probed to see if any more memories
had surfaced and had prepared to go. That's when Doyle had asked if
he'd been involved with any important cases over the last couple of
months. Anything that might give him this feeling. The answer had
been a disappointing no.

Then Cowley had gone and Susan and Jax had turned up with flowers and
fruit and a card signed by the whole squad. Doyle had looked at the
names, only remembering a few - though some of the others pricked in
the background, comforting him that he would certainly remember soon.

It had been Susan who had told him of the memorial service held in
his memory, of who had turned up, what people had said.

It was a little weird, but Doyle felt a little comforted after they'd
gone. Not too sure why.

And then an hour ago: Murphy.

For the first minute or so, Doyle had struggled with a name, knowing
the long lean face and pale blue eyes were familiar - but then the
man had smiled and almost immediately, Doyle had picked it all up.
Still a few gaps - but it was mostly there.

Murphy had shown him the newspaper. Page 4. A picture only of Russell
- not Doyle - and his account of how his skiing companion, an unnamed
CI5 agent, had saved his life. Truth was, seeing it all in print like
that made it seem so much more heroic that it had felt at the time.
At the time, it was just bloody hard, day in day out. Every minute
not knowing if they would live or die. Heroics just hadn't come into
it.

"Would've been front page," Murphy had said, "but the Old Man
squashed it - as well as refusing to let them print your name. When
they give you a medal, mate, it will all be behind closed doors."

"Knowing Cowley, I'd be lucky to get that much."

Murphy laughed, "I can see your memory's not in too bad nick. How's
the frostbite?"

"Better than it could have been. Sam made me buy quality gear before
he'd let me anywhere near the snow - so in my mind, he's the real
hero."

Murphy came around the bed and peered closely at the traction
equipment, "And this?"

"Simple bad luck," Doyle replied with a grin. "As they were taking me
off the chopper at Glasgow, one of the porters slipped on the ice and
I fell, wrenching my knee. It'll be up like that for another day, I'm
told. If I was in any condition to be walking, I'd be doing it on
crutches."

Murphy laughed, "Considering you could have broken every bone in your
body, I think I'd call it good luck. You know most broken bones in
this country result from skiing accidents. That's why I never go.
Don't like danger, myself."

"So why are you still in CI5?"

As Murphy chuckled and turned to spy the view, Doyle experienced a
vague frisson of fear, of déjà vu. Where had he heard those words
before and why would they bother him since they'd obviously been said
to a fellow agent?

"Murphy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know… Bodie?"

"Sure. As long as you have."

The other man had turned now and was facing him with a languid
expression that didn't appear to be quite as honest as it should be.

"Do you know where he is now?"

"Dunno. I assume back at Central. Why?"

Doyle frowned, "Well, Cowley said we were partners - but I don't
remember him at all. He came to Stanfield last night, was there in
the morning when I woke up, said he was going for a pee - and never
came back. Nobody has said a word about him since and I can't help
wondering if something has happened and there's a conspiracy of
silence because I'm sick. If something's happened to him, I'd rather
like to know. I mean, it's pretty safe. I don't remember anything
about him so if he's been killed or something, you won't spark off a
relapse."

Murphy was watching him with a rigid expression, eyes bright and wide
and hiding a whole host of things. Eventually, he swallowed and
nodded, "Nobody's hiding anything from you, Ray. Bodie is alive and
well, I promise you."

Yes, Doyle could believe that, read it from Murphy's eyes. "And?"

"And I don't know any more than that."

Which was a lie.

"But," Murphy put his hand up, reading Doyle's expression, "I heard
him in Cowley's office this afternoon. They were having in argument."

"What about?"

"I don't know. I just heard the shouting."

And Murphy wouldn't say more, no matter how Doyle prodded him.
Eventually, Murphy, promising to bring Kathy with him tomorrow, had
left him alone to gaze out the window at the wonderfully familiar
sight of London.

It would be at least a week before the doctors would let him get up
and walk - and until then, painkillers would be his staple diet. Then
would be a long stretch of rehab, then retraining and retesting as
Cowley determined if he was fit enough - physically and mentally - to
rejoin the squad.

Four or five weeks. Perhaps a little longer. But what would be
waiting for him? A partner he didn't remember?

And what would happen if he never remembered? Where would he go home
to then?
 

6.00pm

Cowley arrived back in his office and would have happily slammed the
door behind him if Kate Ross hadn't been waiting for him. Astute
woman that she was, she instantly read the anger on his face and
refrained from commenting on it immediately. That gave Cowley the
moment he needed to get his ire under control so she wouldn't be
unfairly inflicted with it.

He got behind his desk and sank into his chair. He removed his
glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, then put them back on.

"And when was the last time you had a holiday?"

Kate Ross's voice spread across his mood like honey onto fresh bread.
The woman had little extraverted personality, but she could be as
cunning as a fox when she wanted and as smooth as any politician. She
knew people. That was, after all, her job.

Cowley treated the question as rhetorical. He sat back, laced his
fingers together and said, "Your report on Doyle?"

She smiled and shook her head, accepting the evasion, "Preliminary
only at this stage of course. I will need to spend some time with him
to help him over the psychological effects of his ordeal - plus
there's a bit of testing and observation to be done with his memory.
However, considering everything he's been through, he's remarkably
fit."

"Remarkable? How?"

Kate shrugged, "It's really only at times like this that you, George,
begin to see just how tough these men of yours are. Not just
physically. If I hadn't already marked him as such prior to this,
after the last three weeks, I would immediately point Doyle out as
perhaps the strongest character on your squad."

Cowley couldn't avoid wincing and glanced away. The drinks cabinet
sang to him from the corner and he hesitated only a moment before
getting up and heading in that direction. He was always very careful
about drinking in front of Kate; she had a habit of watching
everybody she was around - and didn't spare him simply because he was
the boss.

She continued talking, "You have seen him since he transferred to
London. What do you think?"

"Och, I agree with you wholeheartedly."

"Then what's the matter?"

Cowley poured out two slim measures of Laphroig and turned to face
her squarely. "The matter is his other half, Master Bodie - the man
who is in competition for Doyle's title as the toughest man on the
squad."

Kate rolled her eyes, took the glass from him and touched the liquid
to her lips. "Well, what has he done now?"

"Resigned."

"What?" Whisky forgotten, Kate now sat forward as Cowley regained his
seat. "Whatever for? I would have thought he'd be well on the way to
recovery now that Doyle is back. What did he say?"

Cowley shrugged, "That he was tired of the job and didn't want to do
it any more."

"Rubbish!"

"That's what I said."

"But he did try to resign before Doyle came back, didn't he?"

With a big sigh, Cowley nodded, "And it wasn't the first time he's
tried that on me. I've been in this job long enough not to take
everything that young man says too seriously."

"So what did you do?"

"I suspended him. Told him to go back to the hospital and help Doyle
regain his memory and once he was back on his feet, we'd sit down and
have a wee chat about Bodie's future with this organisation."

Kate's eyes sparkled with anticipation, "And?"

"As I discovered, that was about the worst thing I could have said -
though I'm damned if I know why. Och, Bodie's been a minefield for
months now. I've lost count of the times I've told him to go see you.
Somehow in the back of my mind, I thought Doyle would sort him out -
but then, Doyle disappeared, didn't he? And the problems we had with
Bodie suddenly became so much more serious."

"Yes, I know."

"You do?" Cowley glanced up, more than a little surprised. Did Kate
Ross have sources he was unaware of?

The good doctor probably read his thoughts but instead of answering
directly, sat back and steepled her fingers together. "When you put
those two together at the start, you knew what was going to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"They balance each other out. It was always there, in their
personalities. We all saw it, we all knew that it would be a good and
productive teaming. I'll grant you, it has probably developed beyond
what any of us could have imagined and I suspect that might have
something to do with Bodie's problem now."

"I'm sorry, Kate," Cowley shook his head, "you'll have to explain it
more than that."

"Bodie has always had a problem confronting how he feels about
things. He admits it openly - when he doesn't feel threatened. That's
why he ran away from home, why he left Africa, why he left the SAS.
Each progressive step has marked a change in his attitude - not just
towards something new - but away from something he didn't like."

"Are you telling me he runs away?"

"That's one way of putting it."

"And another way?"

Kate Ross smiled in her own special way, "He believes the actual
solution to most difficult emotional situations is to physically
remove himself from the action. To not be there any more. To pack up
and start again elsewhere, where those problems do not exist, where
he no longer has to feel the way he does."

"Is that what he's doing now?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Perhaps. It could be any one of a dozen
different reasons - but the point is, his resignation is proof that
he considers this a problem of serious proportions and that he can
see no other way out. Neither you nor I believe he really wants out
of CI5 - but he's willing to sacrifice the squad to solve this
problem."

"Then I was right and this is serious." Cowley nodded and emptied his
glass. "I'm a little comforted to know that all that anger I saw from
him this afternoon wasn't entirely meant for me alone."

A small laughed escaped Kate. "So? What happens now?"

"What would you suggest - since nothing I say appears to be having
any affect. I do want those men back, I promise you. As much for
their sake as the squad's."

Kate remembered her glass and this time, took a good swallow. She
placed the unfinished whisky onto the desk before her and folded her
arms. "I'll work with Doyle as discussed. I'll reserve my complete
judgement until I've spent more than an hour with him, but at this
stage, I think the key is getting Doyle up and well - with his memory
intact."

"Will that help Bodie?"

"Absolutely. If Bodie is trying to avoid Doyle for some reason, he
won't be able to once Doyle is up and moving around. That's where we
concentrate our efforts. In the meantime, I'd keep an eye on Bodie if
I were you. Suspended or not, he could get himself into a lot of
trouble."

Yes, Cowley remembered. All too well. "Aye. Well, let me know how
Doyle is going and I'll worry about Bodie."
 

March 2.
Wednesday, 3pm

By this time, he should have developed some kind of aversion to the
bitter cold of the outdoors - at least, that's what Kate Ross had
told him - but all the same, Doyle could only stand sitting inside
the hospital for a few hours at a time before he badgered and cajoled
either a nurse or one of his visitors to wheel him outside to breathe
in the not so fresh London air.
And he would have still another week at least where he had to depend
on those around him to do the simplest of things. Feeding himself was
impossible, walking was unthinkable - and as for the really personal
things? Well, nurses just didn't get paid enough, and that's all
there was to it.

But he was healing. Slowly, but surely. Of course, the doctors
marvelled at his rate of recovery, but when you're stuck inside a
cold room with painted concrete walls and everything you do has to be
done by somebody else, the rate of recovery, no matter how fast, was
always going to be too slow for him. They'd promised they'd try
taking the bandages off his hands this afternoon and he couldn't help
it, he kept glancing at Kate Ross, wishing she would finish with her
damned questions and let him get on with it.

Of course, she sensed his impatience. "Whether it's done now or in an
hour, Doyle, won't make any difference. It's not as if my questions
aren't equally important."

They sat on the roof of the hospital, in a small sheltered alcove
right next to the helipad. The doctor had about three coats on, a big
scarf and a thick woolly hat pulled down almost to her eyes. The
nurses had also rugged Doyle up and the truth was, he was glad; it
was damned chilly out here today. Almost as cold as…

"As what?"

He looked up blinking. "Pardon?"

Her voice dropped, "Today is as cold as?"

He knew she was here to help him, with Cowley's blessing, but
sometimes, her probing questions left him more unsettled than
otherwise. It was hard to see how it could do him any good, prattling
on about the days spent trudging through the snow, dragging Russell
behind him, not knowing whether he'd live or die.

With a sigh, he looked away, his gaze ranging across the grey bleak
London skyline. "I think I've had enough."

Not one to push too hard, Kate nodded and rubbed her hands together
for circulation. "We can start again tomorrow."

"No. I mean, I think I've had enough permanently."

He got no response and turned to look at her. She didn't appear hurt,
merely speculative. That made him even more uncomfortable, forcing
him to elaborate. "Am I gonna be a basket case if I don't talk about
it any more? Christ, this is worse than any damned de-briefing I've
had before."

"Do you think you remember the whole ordeal?"

"I remember about as much as I care to. It was terrifying, harsh and
life-threatening every moment - but I survived. I can live with that,
if you'll let me."

The faint suggestion of a smile played about her eyes and she nodded.
"Very well - but only on the condition that we do a follow-up in say
three weeks, once you're back home - and if you have any problems, or
nightmares, you promise to give me a call. Deal?"

"Deal."

She got up and took the handles of his wheelchair. With practice, she
pushed him towards the doors and inside away from the cold. The lift
opened quickly and soon he was back in his room, with her taking the
blankets from him. He stayed in his chair, his mind on bandages.
However, before she could go, he stopped her.

"Would you answer a question for me?"

"If I can."

She faced him with confidence, folding her hands together on her lap.

"Where's Bodie?"

Her eyebrows rose, "Why do you ask?"

Doyle kept his patience in check, "Because - as I have been told - he
is supposed to be my partner. I haven't seen him since Stanfield,
more than a week ago. Cowley hasn't said Bodie is on assignment or
anything. I was just curious. I would have thought partners would
support each other at a time like this."

"They do, yes."

"Then why isn't he here?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't asked him."

"Then," Doyle gritted his teeth against his irritation, "could you
please ask him?"

As though satisfied she'd got that exact reaction, Kate nodded and
moved a little closer. "Do you remember anything more of him?"

"No - what bearing does that have?"

"None. Just curious."

She would have gone on but at that moment, a doctor and nurse entered
with a tray of things and Doyle left her to attend to removal of his
dressings. It didn't matter; she wasn't going to help - he could see
that much. Perhaps it was just this hospital, or maybe his ordeal or
something - but there were days, like this one, where it was easy to
believe there was some kind of conspiracy going on regarding Bodie.

Like?

Like they'd never been partners in the first place and that the whole
thing was designed as some kind of memory test for him? See if he'd
keep working to get all his missing memories back? Perhaps it was
standard procedure or something…

But the truth was, Bodie bothered him and he knew it.

Ignoring the pain, Doyle laid his other hand out and let the nurse
gently remove the dressing.

Bodie bothered him because of his absence - and because of the
presence he'd sensed in those few short minutes they'd been together.
If it was a conspiracy, then Bodie was an actor of awesome ability.
It would be hard to feign the recognition he'd seen in those blue
eyes. Bodie had been happy to see him returned alive.

No, happy wasn't a good way to put it. Relieved? Delighted? No. There
didn't appear to be a word that perfectly described it - but whatever
it was, he'd seen it clearly in Bodie's eyes.

And how had this partner then, the one that been so glad to have him
back alive - how had he dealt with the supposed death of one so close
to him? Was that why he didn't come back?

"There you go, Mr Doyle," The doctor stepped back and nodded happily.
"Now you'll have to be careful and not go rummaging around in
anything that could give you an infection, but I should think your
hands will work as planned from now on. The skin will still be a
trifle raw for a while, but you were terribly lucky; the frostbite
was so mild."

Doyle lifted his hands and flexed his fingers gingerly, unable to
avoid smiling. "And what about my feet?"

"Another few days and we'll take a look." The doctor beamed and
ushered the nurse out of the room.

Alone, Doyle was left to stare out of the window at heavy black
clouds congealing in the west. More snow.

Sam had rung again that morning. He was up and around now - but then
he'd had three weeks more of medical treatment than Ray had had. He
was planning on coming down to London in the next week or so. It
would be good to see him. Russell was still on the serious list. He
would survive but it would be a long time - if ever - before he would
go skiing again.

Yes, there were a few wayward flakes drifting down across the glass
now. They landed on the window sill and instantly melted. But a few
more and they would stick like glue and within an hour, a faint rug
of white would layer the ledge, giving the impression that there were
no cracks in the concrete, that it didn't desperately need another
coat of paint. That's why people loved snow so much - especially in
the cities; it hid so many things without any effort at all. While it
lasted, the dirt and decay beneath simply didn't exist.

"Jesus you must be getting bored by now."

Doyle turned to find Murphy standing in the doorway with a grin, a
plastic carry bag in his hand. "You don't wanna know."

Murphy made his way to the window, depositing the bag on Doyle's lap
on his way. "Thought you might like a few more books. Kathy picked
them out so don't blame me if you don't like them. Hey, no bandages
on your hands! They don't look too bad either. You'll be on your feet
in no time."

Doyle smiled and shook his head. Just about everything Murphy did
came out in the same laconic style of one so laid back he was almost
horizontal. To see Murphy seriously upset by something was a genuine
rarity - to be witness to him losing his temper was impossible.
Understood to never have happened. Not once.

Except…

Except… Birthday. Stripper. Handcuffs and a guy in leather…

Doyle frowned, grasping at the frail details as they straggled before
him, squeezing the life out of them by trying too hard.

"Hey, Ray, you alright?"

Murphy had knelt in front of him, his brows drawn together with
unveiled concern.

"Yeah," Doyle breathed evenly, as Kate Ross had told him, tried to
relax and let the memory take him. "Just something I remembered. Did
you have a birthday with a stripper?"

Murphy's face was a picture. First surprise, then horror which evened
out to a resigned smile. "Yeah, that's right. A couple of weeks
before you went north." He stood and pulled up a chair, sitting - or
rather, lounging in it, prepared to wait, to answer, to talk.

Doyle stared down at his healing hands and brought forth the image
he'd seen, described it to Murphy. "But there was no real stripper,
just this guy - I think I knew him. Kathy was there, and Jax and
Anson, Taggart. Lucas and McCabe. Fields and Susan. Cowley wasn't.
Oh, everybody."

"Everybody?"

The sudden stillness in Murphy's question brought Doyle's gaze up.
Murphy, Kathy and many others from the squad had made the last week
bearable by dropping in all through the day. Some for an hour or so,
others for just a few minutes. The variety, the relaxed company had
been a balm to his impatience. He would have gone around the twist by
now if it hadn't been for these people he remembered as being his
friends.

But he had just about had enough of the Bodie mystery.

"What the hell is going on, Murph?" The words came out with such
force, the other man appeared startled for a moment. "Am I exhibiting
symptoms of being brain dead? Have I gone from being one of the best
on the squad to being the thickest rookie? Do the injuries on my
hands and feet mean I can't think for myself? Come on, tell me!"

Rather typically, Murphy just raised his eyebrows and picked the real
question out of the multitude, "What do you want to know?"

"Where the hell is Bodie?" Doyle almost yelled this - but remembered
at the last that he was in a hospital. "Why won't anybody tell me why
he isn't here, why he hasn't appeared since I turned up in one piece
and why is everybody always asking me if I remember anything about
him? Hell, I remembered you once I'd got a good look at you. Every
time I see you I remember more and more. Soon it'll all come back -
but with Bodie it's still a blank. How the hell am I supposed to
remember, to get my head back in one piece if he won't come near me?
What's wrong with him? Does he want me to remain ignorant? Damn it,
Murphy, I want an answer!"

Murphy, not entirely insensitive to Doyle's mood, raised his hands in
a calming gesture. "Look, Ray, we all want you to get better as soon
as possible. We want you up and around and back on active duty."

"But?" Doyle snapped, unrepentant.

"But Bodie was, well,… he had a few problems when we heard you'd been
killed."

"So? I'm not dead. What's his excuse now?" Doyle would have gone on -
but another thought intruded, an alternative explanation. "Before I
went to Scotland - did I do something wrong? To Bodie, I mean? Did I
fail him or something? Endanger his life? So that he's glad I'm alive
but is still angry or something?"

Murphy pressed his lips together but said nothing.

"Jesus, Murph, I'm guessing here. I don't remember the man, don't
know him from a bar of soap. I don't know how his mind works. You
tell me. Is it possible?"

Still Murphy said nothing, merely getting to his feet and facing the
window. With a sigh, the wind left Doyle and he sat back in his
wheelchair. "Please, Murphy, I really need to know the truth."

"I can't tell it to you, Ray. But I will try and do something about
it for you." He turned, a resigned smile lifting his grey eyes. "I'll
find Bodie and see if I can get him in here for a visit. I won't
promise - I'll just try."

Doyle let out a big breath of relief. "Thanks, Murph."
 

March 3.
Thursday, 9.15am

Of course, he wasn't going to make it easy, was he? Murphy had spent
more than an hour waiting outside Bodie's flat in the cold and dark
last night before he'd chucked it in and gone home to Kathy. A few
phone calls received no response and he'd given it up as a bad idea.

And this morning, after another phone call, he'd gone to the flat
again, to find it empty. Being on suspension, Bodie no longer had the
silver Capri so Murphy couldn't even put out a call on it. He was
about to head in to work when a thought struck him. He pulled out his
R/T.

"Central, 6/2."

"Go ahead, 6/2."

"Is 3/7 still on suspension?"

"Affirmative."

"Has he notified you of any change of location?"

"Negative."

"Do you know where he is now?"

"3/7 phoned this morning to say he was going out for 2 hours and
would be back at his flat for the rest of the day."

Murphy had to smile - suspended or not, Bodie was scrupulous about
following procedure. He knew as well as any of them that if something
big blew up around them, he'd be back on duty and in the thick of it
and they'd worry about his active status after the clean-up. It was a
good sign; about the only one Murphy had seen so far.

"Any idea where 3/7 was heading?"

"Negative, 6/2. I'm not his bloody nursemaid."

"Thanks, Central," Murphy chuckled. "6/2 out." It seemed Bodie was
getting up a few more noses than usual.

Trotting back to his car, Murphy paused with his hands in his
pockets, his gaze drifting down the street to where the bare trunks
of a dozen oak trees hedged the road. There was a park down there,
where Bodie and Doyle would go running more often than not.

Taking a chance, Murphy headed towards the trees. The grass was
flattened by last night's snowfall, and patches of greeny-grey still
survived the morning. The sun had barely risen let alone melted any
of it. Still, it wasn't icy for a change and he could walk the dirt
path without trouble.

He followed it down the slope towards the river. A pedestrian bridge
crossed over and into the woods opposite. He was just coming out into
the open field beyond when he saw a lone figure running towards him.
Dressed in jogging gear, puffing out great wads of steam with every
stride, Bodie didn't notice Murphy at first. Then, while still twenty
feet away, he came to a sudden halt, alarm all over his face.

"What's wrong? Is Doyle okay?"

If Murphy had been given to extravagant displays of emotion, he would
have rolled his eyes heavenward, heaved out a big sigh, folded his
arms and shook his head. As it was, he contented himself with a brief
grunt. It appeared enough to quell Bodie's immediate worry. He came
closer, his face now perfectly schooled.

Murphy fell in beside him as they walked back towards the bridge.
Small fingers of sunlight were now clawing their way through the
barren branches above, making the first efforts to dry the damp path.
 

"Surprised to see you're still here."

Bodie glanced aside at him with half a frown, "Why, where else would
I be?"

"Dunno. You were the one who resigned, mate."

"Yeah, well, Cowley wouldn't let me. I did think about just taking
off but I knew he'd have a tail on me and I figured it would be
easier to stick around till he got sick of me. No sense in goin' to
all the trouble of losing the tail and going underground when I can
get what I want through peaceful means."

Murphy chuckled at this convoluted logic.

"How's Kathy?"

"Fine." Murphy allowed the silence to develop, knowing the question
had to be asked and being determined to actually make Bodie ask it.
It didn't take as long as he'd expected.

"How's Doyle?"

"Confused."

Bodie stopped at that and fixed Murphy with one of his most piercing
stares. If he hadn't already been so angry, Murphy might just have
felt a little intimidated by it. As it was, he met it squarely. Bodie
didn't flinch as Murphy continued. "He thinks he's done something to
offend you and that's why you walked out on him at Stanfield, why you
haven't been back since. He thinks there's a conspiracy of silence
about you."

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing." Bodie's gaze didn't budge. It was only the anger in
Murphy's stomach that kept him where he was. "You have to go and see
him."

"No." Instantly, Bodie was striding away. Murphy caught up but
refrained from reaching out to stop the other man. He wasn't that
stupid.

"You must. I don't give a damn if you tell him a pile of lies, Bodie
- but you have to tell him something. Think up a reason why you
haven't been back. You have to do it in person because he won't
believe anyone else."

"No." Bodie had reached the bridge by now as Murphy hurried along
behind him.

"Bodie, I'm warning you," Murphy came to a halt as Bodie stopped and
turned, his gaze thunderous.

"Or you'll what?"

They'd talked about this last night, Murphy and Kathy, about how he
should approach Bodie. She had volunteered to do it - but Murphy had
come, fearing a violent reaction. Not that Bodie would ever hurt
Kathy.

"Well?"

Now that the moment had come, Murphy found the anger cooling to ice.
"I know what you're thinking. If you stay clear of him, he'll forget
that anything ever happened between you. You can make it all go away.
Well, mate it doesn't work like that. If he doesn't get his memory
back, he'll never regain his place on the squad."

Bodie lifted his chin at that but remained defiantly silent.

"Don't you understand, Bodie? He's confused. He doesn't remember
anything about you and yet all he can do is blame himself for your
not being there to help him through this. Jesus, he may have lost
some of his memory but he's still the same person. He chewed me out
yesterday because I wouldn't tell him anything."

Bodie turned away at this, placing his hands on the bridge rail.
After a moment, he replied, "I've hurt him enough. Going back will
only make it worse."

"For you or him?"

The words were out before Murphy could stop them - and then Bodie was
bearing down on him so fast he had to back away. "You really think I
could be that selfish? Of course I bloody want to help him, like a
partner is supposed to!" Bodie demanded, his voice rough like
sandpaper. Abruptly he came to a halt, hauling air into his lungs and
breathing it out in clouds. "Sure, you know all about what happened
between him and me but I'm sorry, Murph, you don't know shit about
anything else. You don't know how well we know each other, how we can
predict almost to the letter, whatever way the other will react to
something. I've almost lived with him in my pocket for five damned
years, Murph! Do you think I've learned nothing in that time? If he
ever finds out the truth, about that night, about his running away,
about the lives he endangered along with it and the hurt he caused as
a result, how the bloody hell do you think he's going to react, eh?"
Bodie paused to catch a breath, dropping his voice to a menacing
growl, "I'll give you a hint - he sure as hell won't be blaming me!"

"C'mon, Bodie, it won't be that bad."

"You have no idea the depths Doyle's guilt can sink to. He nearly
chucked it all in over that damned Coogan affair - even after it was
proved he didn't kill the man. What you and I can brush off without
turning a hair, sinks claws into Doyle which draw blood every time he
breathes. Christ, Murph, a man died on that mountain. If Doyle hadn't
gone north, he might still be alive."

"But that's not his fault."

"Of course not. But Doyle will think it is. Trust me, Murph. I know
him better than he does himself. He's better off not knowing."

All the anger had died from Bodie's eyes now and he turned once more
to resume his path. Murphy followed a little behind, holding onto the
silence for his own peace of mind more than anything else.

There was little doubt that Bodie's assessment of Doyle had to be
accurate. Bodie would never stoop so low as to lie about something
like that - but all the same, the whole thing had the imperious taste
of a rationalisation to it. Of course, confronting it was impossible
- not if he expected to keep his front teeth. All the same, he
couldn't just leave it like this.

"Bodie?"

"Yeah?"

Taking a deep breath, Murphy came to a halt on the path by the river,
where a few trees stood alone. "You will go to the hospital and see
Doyle."

As though not sure he'd heard right, Bodie continued a few steps
longer before turning slowly to face him. Murphy continued before
interruption could turn his course. "You will go, some time before he
gets out next week so he doesn't have to come looking for you. You
have that much time to think up some reason, some excuse to give him
that will suit both our purposes. You go and see him, spend no less
than an hour with him and then you can leave and never go back."

Bodie stared at him, understanding completely. "And if I don't?"

"Then I'll tell him the truth. The whole truth."

His breath little more than a whisper, Bodie replied, "You don't know
the whole truth."

"I know enough to damn you. It's your choice."

Bodie nodded slowly, his gaze reappraising and caustic at the same
time. He drew himself up and stuck out his chin. "Yeah. Funny, that's
exactly what I thought it was. Strange how choice means something
different to you, isn't it?"

With that he turned and walked away.

"Bodie, I'm serious!"

"Go to hell, Murphy!"
 

March 13.
Sunday, 2.30pm

Doyle sucked in another breath and held it. Trying not to bite his
lip against the pain, he shifted his right foot and gingerly
transferred his balance, putting real weight on it. His foot felt
like it was on fire.

The physiotherapist beside him held out his hands, ready to catch
Doyle if he fell but determination kept him from reaching out. Slowly
he took the weight, shifted the crutch under his arm and put his left
foot out.

His hands felt a lot better and taking weight on them wasn't  as
difficult as it had been over the last week, but still walking wasn't
pleasant. They'd not wanted him to try too much yet, but if he didn't
get up and move around soon, he was sure he'd start to look like the
place. While his memory still sported huge gaps, he could remember
enough to know he'd never liked hospitals - so now was not the time
to change.

He took another step and this time couldn't suppress a groan at the
pain.

"Come on, Mr Doyle. That's enough for now. You can try again later
this evening if you like."

"No," Doyle grunted, taking another step, his eyes fixed on his
bandaged feet. "I'll keep going." He just wanted to get as far as the
door. Then he'd happily sink into his wheelchair. The door or
nothing.

Another step and another. Odd, but after a while, the pain didn't get
any worse. It simply hovered around the level of excruciating without
giving any hint as to when it might drop down to merely unbearable.

The physio fussed like an old woman but Doyle didn't look up. It took
all his effort to concentrate on moving each foot, to lean his weight
gently, to spare his hands as much as possible - and still manage to
make himself breathe at the same time. Just another two steps and
he'd be there.

He stopped when a pair of boots barred his way. Frowning, ready to
growl, he looked up -

Into a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

Bodie was watching him and from the look on his face, had been doing
so for at least a couple of minutes. For a second, Doyle didn't know
what to say. This was just about the last person he'd expected to
see. Taking his silence for hesitation, Bodie raised an eyebrow and
said, "That must hurt."

Involuntarily, Doyle half-laughed, "No kidding."

Saying nothing more, Bodie cast a quick glance around the room to
land back on Doyle. There was an awkwardness in his gestures overlaid
with a kind of easy charm that seemed to be habitual. Together the
impressions only served to confuse Doyle more and he frowned before
he could stop himself.

Fortunately, Bodie took it as a sign of fatigue. He slipped into the
room and grabbed the wheelchair, bringing it up behind Doyle so he
could sit. Ignoring the physio completely, Bodie then took the
crutches and helped him get comfortable. The crutches were put beside
the bed, the physio dismissed and Doyle was wheeled to the window and
a glass of water placed in his hand before he had a chance to object
to any of it. Then Bodie was glancing through his things sitting on
the table, idly picking up books to feign an interest in the author -
and unconsciously giving Doyle the chance to study him.

Bodie was a big man without being beefy. A few inches taller than
Doyle, no more, and where Doyle was fine, Bodie was solid - though
there was nothing spare on his frame. Broad shoulders were covered by
a black leather jacket, underneath, a thick black polo-neck. His
trousers were also black leather; for a motorbike, though he carried
no helmet. With those startling blue eyes, ringed by thick lashes,
the perfect nose above a sensuous mouth, Bodie was a man who would be
noticed in any crowd. Handsome in a kind of exotic and self-assured
way, he bore himself in a manner that demonstrated his awareness of
it. An attitude bordering on arrogance which for a moment, tempted
Doyle to prejudgement. But this wasn't just any man - this was
somebody with whom he had worked for over five years. Perhaps that
arrogance had a cause, or perhaps it was just for show. Either way,
in the end, Doyle found it more intriguing than anything else.
Intriguing enough to want to find out how he had put up with it for
five years.

Doyle took a mouth of water, swallowed and said quietly and evenly,
"How long?"

"Eh?"

"How long do you think you have to stay before you can safely get out
of here without seeming rude?"

Bodie paused at that but didn't turn around. "Another forty-seven
minutes by my calculation. Do you have a different figure?"

Despite himself, Doyle smiled. He let it go for a moment then added,
"You can make it five if you answer one question."

"Oh?" Bodie's glance flickered over him without stopping. "What
question is that?"

"Why do you want to get out of here in the first place?"

"I hate hospitals."

"Not good enough."

"I've always hated hospitals."

"Still not good enough."

"I answered the question."

"What kind of answer is that?"

"The truth."

"Damn it, Bodie!" Doyle's voice rose and he struggled to keep hold of
his temper. He drained his glass of water before looking up at the
other man again - just in time to catch a fleeting look of something
he couldn't name. Abruptly, Bodie turned to the window, leaving his
back to Doyle.

What was wrong with the man? Why couldn't he just talk? Answer a few
simple questions? Why all this bloody evasion and why had it taken so
long to get him here in the first place?

But yelling at him wasn't going to do any good. He would have to try
much craftier tactics than that.

Taking a deep breath, he put the glass down and rested his aching
hands on his lap. "I take it you saw Murphy?"

"Yeah."

"He must be either one threatening bloke or a really good mate."

"Yeah?"

"To have forced you into coming here."

Bodie said nothing, simply keeping his gaze on the window. Obviously,
Doyle was going to have to try harder. "He doesn't strike me as the
threatening type, so I guess he must fall into the good mate
category. Don't envy him though. Getting caught between you and me
can't be much fun."

Bodie froze, didn't even so much as take a breath. Fully aware of the
effect his words were having, Doyle continued, "I mean, I've been
nagging him for more than a week about what's been keeping you away
and why and he so obviously knows more than he's telling, but can I
get him to say a word about it?"

The smallest, almost imperceptible shift of the shoulders, the
tiniest relaxation.

"But I figure he must have arrested you and dragged you here 'cause I
don't think you would've come under any other circumstances."

Nothing. No movement at all.

Very well, time to go in for the kill.

"I'm sorry."

He said the words softly and gently, sending them out towards Bodie
with both genuine regret and sincere fury. Like a true marksman, they
hit their mark with deadly accuracy. Bodie started, whirled around
and opened his mouth to reply, his eyes wide with instant denial but
Doyle didn't give him a chance.

"I'm sorry for whatever it was that I did. I know I can't remember it
but it must have been pretty bad for us to be best mates one minute
and then for things to get so bad you have to be blackmailed into
coming to see me for five minutes. So, I'm sorry and if you'll tell
me what I did wrong, I'll do my best to make sure it never happens
again. Why did you resign from CI5?"

Bodie looked like a man caught between shifting realities without
having any idea which one he'd started in. He stumbled for a moment,
like a first-time skater on ice, then quickly pulled himself
together. He lifted his chin, put on his best expression and shook
his head, "I've been suspended." He tried hard but in the end, the
façade couldn't be maintained. With a sigh, he sank down onto the
nearest chair, folding his hands in front of him.       "I want to say this
just once, and then hear no more about it, okay?"

"Don't expect me to be making any promises, Bodie. You don't deserve
them yet."

Bodie didn't argue. When he spoke, his voice contained a month of
stress, anguish and force but at no time rose above a whisper,
"Doyle, I want you to understand and believe this: you have nothing
to apologize for. Nothing at all. You've done nothing wrong. I'm glad
you're alive and in one piece and I apologize for not coming in to
see you sooner and for not being here to help you get better. All I
can say is, I have my reasons."

"But you won't tell me what they are?"

Bodie looked up at that, meeting Doyle's gaze with unfathomable blue.
>From nowhere, Doyle clipped an image of looking into those eyes some
other time but the circumstances eluded him. "No, I can't tell you."

"Why not?"

Bodie pursed his lips but kept his gaze steady, "You might remember
one day, you might not - but the truth is, we can't work together any
more. That's why I resigned. I won't change my mind. I just don't
want you feeling guilty about it when it's not your fault, okay?"

"And I'm supposed to just take your word for it, am I?"

"Yeah."

Doyle snorted and looked away. He knew those eyes were hiding a
thousand things but he just couldn't look at them any more. This was
ridiculous. He was never going to get anywhere unless Bodie helped
him remember, helped him fill in the bigger gaps. His wounds would
heal soon, he was going home in two days - but he'd end up useless to
the squad because he couldn't remember what he was doing this time
last year.

Well, best mates or not, he was not about to let this arrogant,
pig-headed man to ruin the rest of his life. Not if he had the power
to force him to change his mind.

"So we can't work together any more, eh?"

The reply was gravel, both full of regret and determination at the
same time. "No, we can't."

"In that case, it can't do any harm for you to help me remember, can
it?"

Bodie's head dropped.

"Well? I mean," Doyle continued mercilessly, "if we're sunk as
partners anyway and you have no intention of returning to the squad,
what does it matter if I remember whatever it is that you're hiding?
So, following your logic, if you just help me remember the rest, I
can get better quicker and the Old Man will let you go all the
sooner."

"No." Bodie darted to his feet, his fists clenching tight, his head
shaking from side to side. "I'm not coming back here."

"Yes you are. Tomorrow morning. 11am. We can sit on the roof and
talk."

"No." He moved to walk out but Doyle caught his wrist, ignoring the
pain in his hand.

"Yes, Bodie - because if you don't, I'll discharge myself from here
tomorrow and turn up at your place. I'll camp on your front step
until you agree to help me. And if you think I'm making an idle
threat, then you're going to be surprised tomorrow afternoon."

"Jesus, Doyle!" Bodie didn't make too great an effort to get his
wrist back. "It doesn't matter! It means nothing. It's not worth
remembering!"

"I damned well hope it is if it's enough to split us up. Tomorrow,
Bodie, 11 am."

With a hiss, Bodie snatched his hand back and stormed out, leaving
Doyle in a room suddenly empty of an otherwise overpowering presence.

Despite his anger, that impression was the one that stayed with him
the longest.
 

March 14.
Monday, 10.05am

He slept off and on, dozing and then waking. His neck developed an
ache from sitting in the wheelchair and he kept forcing himself to
his feet to keep the circulation going in his legs. Then he would sit
again and sleep.

Things would come to him in his dreams. No way to tell which was
imagination and which was memory. Sometimes the image would vanish
the moment he woke up, at others, it would linger, often disturbing
him deeply.

It had been the same since they'd found him on the mountain. There
were moments even now, when he drifted on that precipice between
slumber and awareness, when his body floated weightless, unattached
to the world, and he would think he was still up there, buried in the
white blanket of promised eternity. He'd lived a whole life on that
mountain; each day lasting a year on it's own; each hour ticking away
with a lazy stubbornness, empty of rescue, devoid of hope. The
outside world and in fact, life itself had finally crystallised into
black and white, the clean lines of day and night providing the
delimiter.

Only now could he remember those days, those freezing nights as he
tried to keep himself and Russell warm, tried to eke out the meagre
food, tried to stop the hut from getting snowed in. But he only
remembered it in parts, in a single dimension, as though he were
wearing only one shoe or looking at the story through a telescope. He
knew the rest was there, somewhere, buried underneath the concussion
- but reaching it, touching it, seeing it was beyond him.

He dozed again, setting his mind to warmer climates, deliberately
allowing his subconscious to pull forth whatever memory it chose.
Good memories, anything, it didn't matter which.

A spring day, warmish with a sun drifting in and out of hazy clouds.
He had some time off work, a few hours, couldn't work out why
exactly. Didn't matter. Went home, grabbed the laundry bag, then back
out again. Put the laundry in, felt the sun on his face, nice and
warm after a cold winter. Down the shops, bought some cheese, some
olives, a paper and a couple of pints of milk. Then back home for a
cuppa and a read. Didn't get to read the papers at his own leisure
too often. Back up the lift, open the door, go inside…

*"What are you doing here?"*

*Jesus, she's got a gun!*

Too late. Falling slowly. Pain filled him, seeped red out of his body
onto the floor, carpet soft beneath his cheek, hard to breathe, so
hard, sharp, go shallow, still hard, can't move, she's still there,
gun ready, back of the head, love, back of the head, that's where it
belongs, gun shifts and fires again, don't feel it, already dying,
already dying, already…

Doyle woke with a start, sucking in air with a dagger of half-asleep
panic. Totally disoriented, he struggled to escape the chair but his
legs couldn't manage and he began to fall -

Strong hands caught him, lifted and steadied him. His legs
straightened and he looked up, his heart still thumping, head still
not clear.

"It's okay, Ray, you're okay. You were only dreaming." The voice
steady and warm, confident and assured, hands firm on his arms,
supporting. "Listen to me, Ray, you're fine. Nothing to worry about."
Totally devoid of doubt. Doyle latched onto it and forced his
breathing to slow a little. After a moment, he nodded and Bodie
helped him back into the wheelchair.

Doyle swallowed, better now but still unable to shake the images
still hurtling around in his head. He put a hand to his eyes and
pressed, trying to drive them away, suppressing the nausea
threatening his stomach. It was no good, the dream wouldn't budge. So
it had to be a memory. But, Christ, what a memory!

Again his breathing shortened and he felt dizziness fringe his
vision.

Hands reached out and grabbed his wrists, "Doyle? Look at me. Look at
me!"

He opened his eyes and tried to focus on those close before him. That
blue again, framed with long black lashes on a face serious and
determined.

"Now breathe steady and even. Come on, do it. In. Out. In, out.
That's it. Concentrate on the sound of my voice. That's it, steady
and slow, just concentrate. You'll feel better in a minute."

He listened, obeyed, keeping his gaze on Bodie, not daring to shift
for one second, not even to blink. Eventually, the grip on his wrists
loosened as Bodie relaxed a little, sinking down onto his haunches.
Not letting go, he kept his voice level, "What was the dream?"

Doyle opened his mouth but had to force the words to come out, "Did I
get shot?"

Both Bodie's eyebrows rose at that, "You've been shot a couple of
times. Once in the leg…"

"In the chest, and the back, by a Chinese woman?" Doyle frowned,
still ghosting the memory, haunted by it, afraid Bodie would let his
hands go. He needed some earthly contact, some proof of life
physically touching him. "She tried to kill me! And I… I…"

"Her name was May Li."

Yes. That was it. "Where is she now?"

"Dead," Bodie replied quietly.

"Did you kill her?"

"No. Fields shot her. I held her hand while she died."

"You held her hand?"

"Yeah."

Doyle searched that face for the arrogance he'd seen yesterday - but
there wasn't a trace of it. Nor pride, nor selfishness. "Did I know
that?"

Bodie shook his head slowly, "No. I never told you."

And the tremors died away. Blinking, Doyle let out a slow breath,
feeling his body once more under his control, the images for the
moment, put to one side.

Sensing the worst was past, Bodie let him go and got to his feet.
Doyle looked up and noticed the same black leather gear of the day
before. He met Bodie's gaze with faint surprise, "So you came?"

"Evidently."

"Bike?"

"Yeah. Don't get a squad car when you're on suspension."

"Must be cold."

"You get used to it. You feel okay? Want me to get a doctor?"

Doyle shook his head, running his fingers through his hair, "Nah, I'm
fine now."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Bodie nodded, taking a step back with a vague speculative gleam in
his eyes. "Really okay or just saying it?"

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"Nah," he replied offhand, "Just thought you might like to bust out
of here for a few hours but I'm not letting you on the bike if you're
gonna go all crazy on me."

Doyle almost leaped out of his chair, "No, I'm really fine, I
promise!"

Bodie kept up the sceptic's façade for a moment longer, then allowed
something of a grin to creep across his face. With a nod, he strode
to the door and picked up a bag he must have left there before. He
dumped it on the floor at Doyle's feet.

"I stopped by your place and picked up your bike gear. Can you manage
on your own while I keep watch?"

Doyle just nodded furiously and as Bodie left the room, he hauled the
things out of the bag. Black and red, these were, well-oiled and worn
but top quality. He had a bit of trouble with the zippers between his
fingers but not so much that he couldn't manage. Ten minutes later,
Bodie reappeared with a questioning glance that quickly turned into a
genuine smile - almost instantly suppressed. Doyle would have
questioned the change but he just wanted to get the hell out!

He could walk with the boots on - but only for about a dozen steps.
In the end, they rugged him up with a blanket as though they were
heading for the roof, then took the lift down. With an arm under his
shoulders, Bodie helped him outside and onto a big sleek motorbike
parked illegally outside the front entrance. Amazingly, there was no
ticket attached yet.

Bodie dashed back inside and reappeared moments later with two
helmets. He handed one to Doyle, put his own on then climbed on and
kicked the engine into life. The first acceleration was gentle and
demure, allowing for the hospital carpark and sick people close by
and everything, but then they were out the front gate and on a
stretch of straight road almost empty of traffic - and Bodie opened
the throttle.

Doyle roared and held on to the bar behind him, revelling in the
power of the machine, the bleak sun above and the sheer freedom of
being outdoors and alive.
 

(end part 4)