“I’ve spoken with him a few times,” Dr. Bradley said, watching Doyle cross the foyer.  “He’s a good man.  They’re both good men.”

Intent on his destination, Doyle didn’t appear to notice either of them standing in the alcove.  He was already headed for the lift, his eyes fastened on a group of student nurses waiting there.

“Doyle,” Cowley called sharply, noting with some inner satisfaction the reflex snap of neck his voice commanded.  He motioned for the agent to come over to the hospital’s waiting area.  Doyle looked rested, probably had been able to get a full night’s sleep for the first time in almost a week. 

I wish I could say the same.  Cowley watched the easy glide of walk that so characterized this man, one hand resting on slim hip as he stopped before them, the other hooked on a front pocket of the tight jeans the agent habitually wore.  Yes, Doyle looked a damn sight better than he had in some time.  The anger had burned out of the green eyes, taking with it the familiar, haunted cast that had hovered since Bodie’s disappearance.

The reason was simple enough: Bodie had been found and they were assured he would recover fully from his capture, so the “one day” had been pushed back into the dark recesses of Doyle’s mind.  One day, maybe, it would be a dead body found, but not today.

And for the Head of CI5, it was one less funeral.  One less eulogy.  One less agent walking in a daze because the person who had become his other half was gone.  One less night spent at my desk paying memory to one of my men.  One less glass held high in silent toast.  It would happen to one or both of these agents, but not today.

“Good morning, sir.  You’re here early.  Is there a problem?”  It was spoken casually, but with an underscore of tension that Cowley had learned to hear in Doyle.

“Not pertaining to the case at hand.  Doyle, this is Dr. Ian Bradley, who has been handling Bodie’s case.  Dr. Bradley, I’m not sure if you’ve formally been introduced to Raymond Doyle, Bodie’s partner.”

Doyle stuck out his hand, wary but pleased to speak with anyone who was responsible for getting his partner back to health.  “Doctor.  Yeah, we’ve spoken.  Thanks for everything—and that’s from Bodie, too, once he’s got his head back on straight.  Any idea when that will be?”

Bradley steered them towards the plastic covered benches, and once settled, addressed his comments to Doyle.  “The drug should clear Bodie’s system in the next forty-eight hours.  Our course of treatment, recommended by our staff and seconded by your superior, has been to let the drug dissipate naturally, without trying to speed along the process.  We’ve had him under observation for three days now, and there is definite improvement and every indication of full recovery.”

“Except for the present, he’s like a bloody kid.”  Doyle grinned, trying to lessen the bitterness of his words.

“He will get better, Mr. Doyle, and it won’t be long.”

“Yeah.  Can see it already.  There’s the hint of Bodie again after that—state he was in that first morning.”

Cowley heard the faint tremor in the voice, cataloguing the repugnance and horror still clearly marked on Doyle’s memory of the first glimpse of his partner in Casualty, a vegetable bent into a fetal curl.  The improvement had been steady and by the second night, Bodie had some idea who he was and where he was, and had successfully identified his partner and Cowley, had eaten some food, used the facilities unassisted, and had promptly fallen asleep, without the aid of any medical intervention.  The following day had brought more improvement, but for the most part Bodie had slept, recharging his depleted system.

Bradley smiled encouragingly.  “Oh, he’s well on the road to recovery.  Other than the drug itself, probably used to confine him, and a few abrasions around his wrists and ankles, he escaped the ordeal with little damage.  From all indications, he should be himself in a few more days.  Have you been in to see him yet today?”

“No, I just arrived.  Had to take care of some chores I’ve been neglecting.”  Doyle’s eyes widened slightly, sensing something left unsaid.  He glanced from the doctor to Cowley.  “Is there something I should know?”

Cowley leaned forward, keeping Doyle’s eyes fixed on him.  “Ach, no, lad.  We would have said something right off.  Dr. Bradley has asked if you would consider taking Bodie outside today for a brief walk.  This morning Bodie’s been restless, pacing his room and the corridor, and the doctor feels that a nice stroll in the fresh spring air would have beneficial results in easing his sense of claustrophobia.”

Doyle chuckled.  “Bodie doesn’t like hospitals—no offense, Doctor,” he directed towards Bradley.  “Sure, I’ll take him for a walk.  He’s up to that, then, is he?  Knows what’s about now?”

 “He is by no means his normal self, but physically there is no reason for him to remain cooped up all day.  He is in excellent physical condition and I’m sure is accustomed to a certain level of activity.  The exercise will do him good.”

“It’s just his brains that are still muddled?”

Bradley smiled.  “Something like that.  I’m sure, as his partner, you are very much aware that he’s not himself yet.  In some ways, he’s still very much the ‘kid’, as you put it.”

    “I’ll keep that in mind, sir.  Spare the rod, and all that,” Doyle grinned, trying to look at ease about the whole situation, his eyes focused on his clenched hands.

    “Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Doyle,” Bradley said, calmly.  “Bodie has not reverted to his childhood or anything so melodramatic.  His speech will be affected for a while, as his thought processes are slower than usual.  Much as you experienced yesterday, expect short or monosyllabic comments or answers to your questions.   You will notice this especially when Bodie is upset or flustered; his speech patterns will be simple and emotional.”

    “Yeh, I thought he’d gotten brain damaged.  You’re sure about this?  He’s all right?”

    Bradley nodded confidently, and Cowley could see Doyle begin to relax a little.  “Your partner appears childlike only because he is in a phase of recovery where he is locked into the present.  To explain, think of Bodie at this time as a man with little past and no future considerations; his current wants and desires will be foremost in his mind, with little regard to consequence.  Oh, he knows faces and people, general things, but specific events will take another day or so yet to be recalled.  He knows you’re his friend and he trusts you, or I would never let you leave the hospital with him.  I don’t mean to alarm you with all this, but you should be aware that first, this condition is only temporary, and second, that you will need to keep him under firm control, for he is not, at this point, a good judge of his actions.  I don’t anticipate any problems, but you should be forewarned.”

    Cowley couldn’t help but nod in response.  “If you need assistance, Doyle—” he began, but was cut off.

    “The day I need help with Bodie, sir, you can reassign us.”  Doyle sensed the conversation was over and rose to his feet.

    Cowley stood as well, easing the stiffness in his leg before risking a step.  “I’ll give you a few minutes to see him, Doyle, then you can give me a ride back to Headquarters.  We have work to do before I’ll agree to release you this afternoon.”

    Bradley closed his notes and shook their hands again.  “That works well for us.  We’ll be putting him through some tests this morning and after lunch, but an excursion later in the afternoon  —say around three o’clock—will do wonders for him.”

    And this news will do wonders for his partner, as well, Cowley thought, slowly making his way to the front entrance to wait for Doyle.
 

    Mid-afternoon, Doyle stood outside Bodie’s door for a moment before entering, trying to get himself under control.  It hurt seeing Bodie like that.  The way Bodie looked at him, not really seeing him, almost looking through him...  As cold and distant as that first day they had met and eyed each other skeptically.  Bodie’s intensity and aloof iciness had unnerved Doyle at first, and he had flung up his own barriers and walls to protect himself.  It wasn’t too long before trust began to break the ice and the fear, and then caring and friendship shattered it altogether.

    He wanted his Bodie back, not this shadow, this pale reflection.  He wanted to talk to him.  To find out what had happened.  To tell him, over a pint, how they had searched for him, how they had found him alone in the hotel room, how absolutely terrified he had been waiting with Bodie for help to arrive.  Maybe one day, Doyle would tell his partner how he had held his trembling body in his arms until the ambulance came and pried them apart.  Bodie had clung to him, knowing, somehow that it was his partner, that he was safe.

    Doyle was shivering.  Damn.  He had to be in control.  This was still Bodie, despite everything.

    He turned the door handle.  Bodie literally bounced off the bed when he walked in, utterly transparent in his anxiousness to escape the room.  Bodie was edgy, nervous, and Doyle could see the frustration his partner felt at being confined to the small room.   “Ready to go?  The Cow let me leave a bit early today.  Wasn’t doing him any good and he figures I need the fresh air just as much as you do.”

    “Yeah.  Let’s go.”

    It was good to see Bodie moving about, pulling the brown leather jacket over the dark polo-necked sweater, arms more or less coordinated.  “Looking forward to getting out of here, are you?”  Doyle grinned at Bodie’s eager struggle into his jacket.

    “You bet.  Too crowded here.  Going out now.”  Bodie finally let Doyle do up the zip on his jacket when the two catches wouldn’t meet properly for his rushed fingers.  “Sun looks good,” he said, gesturing out the window.

    “You could use some sun, mate.  You look even more pasty than usual.”  Doyle held open the door to the hospital room, smiling affectionately as Bodie passed through it into the bustle of the hallway.  Maybe it wasn’t the Bodie he knew, but he could at least do this for his mate.  “Where do you want to go, sunshine?”

    “Where?”  Bodie came to a complete halt, the expression dropping from his face, almost returning the normally confident features to the dull stare of the first two days after he had been found, abandoned by his captors.

    It scared Doyle more than he wanted to admit, and he swallowed quickly and pasted a smile on his face.  No use in alarming Bodie before they even made it outside.

    Bodie looked at him, eyes clouding with unrest.  “I don’t know.  Don’t remember... Where are we again?  Forgotten.”

    Doyle touched his arm, nudging him forward.  “Don’t worry ‘bout it.  I know where we are, that’s what counts.  How about once around the park and then we’ll take it from there?”

    Bodie shook his head, as though to clear the confusion hovering over him.  “Park?  Park.  All right.”  The face cleared, a trusting half-smile replacing the anxiety of a moment before.  “Let’s go now.”  Bodie grabbed his hand, tugging him down the corridor.

    Knowing what they must look like, Doyle got his arm free.  “Hold on, there, mate.  Some rules first.”  He snagged Bodie’s jacket and jerked him to a halt, turning the taller man around to face him.  “Rule one: I say where we’re going and when we’re coming back.  Okay?”

    “Okay,” Bodie readily agreed, looking over his shoulder and edging closer to the entrance of the hospital.

    “Look at me!” Doyle demanded.  “Rule two: try and act normally—or what passes for normal for you, okay?  I don’t want everyone staring at us.  I know your mind is kinda addled right now, but try not to act like a four-year-old.”

    “Okay.  Be good,” Bodie promised, hand over his heart and staring fiercely into Doyle’s eyes with such sincerity that Doyle felt suspicious.

    “You better, or I’ll haul your arse right on back here.”

    “Bet you can’t,” Bodie said with a sudden grin that seemed so close to what Doyle saw every day that he had to stare at the dark-haired man carefully to see if he was being had.

    “Don’t make bets you aren’t willing to cover, sunshine.  Rule three—” Doyle stopped and frowned.  He couldn’t remember rule three.   He was about to say so to his partner, when he looked up and saw the anxious look on the pale features.  “Rule three is,” he said quickly, “that we’ll get some ice cream before we head back here, okay.”

    “Okay,” Bodie agreed finally, but it took almost a minute before Doyle could coax a smile back to his mate’s face.  Ice cream didn’t seem to be the draw with Bodie that Doyle remembered from his own childhood.

    Then again, he’s not a kid either.  Maybe I should have offered him a whisky.

    Bodie was Bodie, but he wasn’t.  That’s as close as Doyle could come to describing what his partner was like at the moment.  It was a very surface Bodie, a very lost Bodie who had emerged from the catatonic state first.  The eyes that looked back at Doyle seemed to know him, but that spark that was Bodie was missing, except for isolated moments that sent shivers down Doyle’s spine.  The doctor had reassured him that Bodie’s other layers just needed more time to come up.  But they were missing right now and that left Doyle feeling distinctly disoriented.

    Still, it was so bloody good to have him back, alive, after being gone for almost a week, that Ray was happy to deal with any version of his partner, especially since there was every indication Bodie would be himself in another few days.

    “Let’s go then, mate,” he said, gesturing to the door and the sunny, cool day beyond.

    Bodie let out a whoop of excitement and tore out the front door onto the pavement, not looking left or right as he crossed the road, heading for the park.

    Right.  Bloody rule number three.  “Stay with me!” Doyle shouted, running after him, passing Cowley in the entrance way.

    “Everything under control, 4.5?” Cowley called out after him.

    “Yes, sir.  Just babysitting Bodie, sir, as ordered!”

    “Call in 6.2 if you need assistance,” Doyle heard as he pelted down the street.
 

    Babysitting Bodie.

    Twenty nerve-wracking minutes later, Doyle rubbed at a large bruise on his shoulder from his perch on the back of the park bench, his feet on the seat, watching his partner doing chin-ups from the top of the swing set in the playground.  Bodie had climbed all over the equipment at first, almost appearing unaware of those already occupying the area, jumping from teeter-totter to teeter-totter, or attempting to send the twirl-a-whirl orbiting into space by spinning it wildly.

    While Doyle knew that there was no way Bodie—any incarnation of Bodie—would hurt the children playing there, the nannies in the park didn’t know that.  To spare his partner from their protective wrath, Doyle had intercepted the loud complaints—and the blows of two elderly, eccentric, umbrella-armed nannies—and had done some fast talking to them, and then to Bodie, negotiating the use of one of the swingsets and monkeybars for a short time.  His argument had been that this way, Bodie wouldn’t bother them, and they wouldn’t have to be worried that the children in their charge would risk injury.

    One nanny still sat primly nearby, suspiciously eyeing both of them, her brolly clutched in her hand ready to wield it again if necessary.  She had a wicked shot; she had broadsided Doyle with it before he could duck away.  The Cow should hire her as a bodyguard, Doyle mused, still rubbing his throbbing shoulder.

    He turned his attention back to his partner.  Bodie was hyper, his movements exaggerated.  It was interesting watching him work off his excess energy—Bodie would hang from the top bar, upside down, then drop to the ground and stand shock-still, tensed, listening.  He would fling the swing into the air, trying to get it to go in a full circle, then look like he was ready to shoot it down when it flew back towards him.  Child, agent.  Child, agent.  Doyle would alternately be ignored or pestered.  “I’m hungry,” was the most common complaint, followed by “I’m thirsty,” and “Bored.”

    Without warning, rule three was broken again, Bodie swinging from the parallel bars to a full-out run that sent him scattering birds and ducks amid loud squawks of indignation.  Doyle was off  and chasing him, cursing and yelling for Bodie to “stop right this instant”.  They certainly had the attention of the park-goers.  The madman and his keeper, Doyle thought, launching himself to tackle Bodie to the ground and earning himself a rebounding slug in the head from his partner.  Bodie, it seemed, did not want to be quiet.  Bodie did not want to walk about sensibly.  Bodie wanted to run like a wild fox, zig-zagging across the park from one end to the other.  At least he was still in the park, Doyle conceded, staring at the sky and waiting for the stars to stop revolving.

    A group of birds were sent flying; Bodie had never liked pigeons and seemed determined to rid the area of them.  “Damn it, Bodie!  Have a heart.”  Doyle winced, sitting up on the damp ground and rubbing his forehead after another attempt to catch Bodie.  He glared as his partner—or this evil manifestation of his partner—tried to scare off every bird that dared land in the grassy expanse.  Doyle hauled himself to his feet.  “Bo-die!” he yelled, groaning at the too-loud sound of his own voice inflicted on a raging headache.  “Come here!”

    Bodie was hot from running and shed his leather jacket, flinging it to the ground without a backward glance.  He had targeted one particular pigeon, intent on not letting the poor bird so much as touch down.  Bodie’s eyes were too bright and looked rather insane, Doyle thought, retrieving his partner’s jacket.

    “Leave it alone, mate.  Come on, Bodie.  Come here,” Doyle hunched over, trying to catch his breath.  His head was pounding, he had a nasty bruise on his temple, and a cramp in his side.  “I said, come here!”

    “No,” carried across the park.  Then Bodie ground to a halt, hands on his head, eyes closed, as though he were in pain.  By the time Doyle had almost reached him, Bodie moved, trying to keep distance between himself and anyone else, even his partner.  The man’s body was thrumming with adrenaline that need to be released and running seemed to be the answer Bodie had chosen.  He seemed to want Doyle nearby, but not too close.

    After an hour of trying to get within fifteen feet of his partner, Doyle gave up and pulled out his R/T.
 

    Murphy pulled over at the park, eyebrows rising as Bodie ran out in the street in front of him, heading down the block at full tilt.  “Hey, Bodie!” he yelled, climbing out of his car. Bodie never stopped, and Murphy looked the other way to see 4.5 jogging wearily toward him, looking like he’d lost a round with a middleweight.

    “Don’t lose him,” Doyle called out.  “I think he’s hungry and is trying for something to eat.  I need to sit for a minute and clear my head—I bumped it.  Don’t bloody lose him!” he shouted, angrily pointing after Bodie.

    “Sit down, Doyle.  Take a breather.  I’ll handle it.”  Murphy saw a construction site across from the park, with a food stand set in front of it.  “I see where he’s headed; don’t you worry.   Just take it easy, you old geezer.  Cowley says to remember that Bodie’s not himself right now; it’s nothing personal.”  Murphy slammed the door shut and headed after Bodie.

    Strange the things drugs will do to you, Murphy thought, catching sight through the crowd of the dark head bobbing down the block ahead of him.  And to Bodie of all people.  Bodie whose motto seemed to be “Stay cool at all times”.

    There he was, at the food stand, three fingers held up and pointing to the foot-long hotdogs.  Murphy broke into a jog and approached him. “Hi, there, Bodie.  Where you off to?” He stepped up and tapped Bodie on the shoulder, finally getting his attention.

    Bodie stared at him oddly, his eyes rapidly blinking.

    “Do you know who I am?” Murphy asked cautiously.  Just because Bodie knew his name yesterday, didn’t mean he knew it today.

    Bodie was distracted when his food was handed to him, and he took the hot dogs and stood, looking rather lost.

    “You’re supposed to eat them,” Murphy offered.

    “I know.”  He frowned at the paper-wrapped hot dogs crowned with mustard and fried onions, then glanced around at his surroundings.

    “Bodie, are you okay?”

    “Yeah, Murph . . .  Where’s Ray?”

    “He’s coming in a minute.  Why don’t you sit down here and eat?”

    “I’m hungry.  Good food here.” Bodie crammed the end of the first hotdog into his mouth, turning away from the owner’s request for money and walking down the pavement, mumbling something about looking for Ray.

    “Oi, mate.  You owe me for those,” the man yelled.

    Bodie kept on walking, intent on his stomach, not his wallet.

    Murphy wasn’t even sure if Bodie had his wallet.  Not likely anyone had thought to give him any money either.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out enough to cover the cost, then moved quickly to keep up with Bodie before he got too far; if he lost Bodie, he’d have to answer to not only Cowley, but to Doyle.  Cowley could fire him, but Doyle would kill him for sure.  A quick glance behind showed there was no sign of Doyle, so he doubled his pace.

    Bodie ambled down the pavement happily munching his food, then crossed the street—with hardly a look at the traffic—and ducked into a pub.  He’d already finished the hot dogs, Murphy noted as he ran between a few cars—horns blaring—to cross the street and follow Bodie inside.

    The place was called the “Dragons’ Inn” and had a disgustingly cliché decor that went with it.  Bodie was already at the bar with a pint in his hand, his glass half empty.  He finished it by the time Murphy got to the counter, staring at the younger agent over the rim of the glass as though expecting Murphy to take it away from him.

    “Don’t gulp that down, mate.”  Murph offered a note to pay for the drink and one of his own.  “I know you’re old enough to drink it, but I’m not so sure your nurses would say the same.”

    “Thirsty,” Bodie said, and reached for Murphy’s drink before he had a chance, slurping off the head.  “Like this.”

    Murphy shook his head, disgusted, but ordered another one.  “Any chance of getting a receipt for this?” he asked the barman.

    “Bog,” Bodie announced, and walked away just as Murphy’s beer arrived. Murphy watched him head to the toilets at the back of the pub, choking on his drink as Bodie went into the ladies’ room instead of the men’s.  “Damn it, Bodie.  If you can’t read, look at the pictures.”

    It was almost empty in the pub and no screams sounded from within, so Murphy waited impatiently outside the door and collected Bodie as he made his exit.  “Come on, then, mate.  Let’s get back to the park.  Doyle’s waiting for you there.  It’s time for you to get back to the hospital.”

    “No.”  Bodie shook his head, his answer clipped.  “Bored.  No hospital.  Too crowded.”

    “Well, you just listen to Uncle Murphy here and do as I say.”  Murphy downed the rest of his glass and left it on the counter when Bodie turned and headed for the door.  Once outside, he grabbed hold of Bodie’s arm, carefully steering him back to the park.  They were almost there when Bodie put on the skids, braking them to a halt.

    “I know.  Want to go to a film.”

    “Tomorrow.”

    “Now.”

    “Tomorrow.”

    “Now.”

    “Tomorrow.”

    “Now.”

    “Sod it, Bodie.  Give us a break.”  Murphy tightened his grip on Bodie’s arm until the other man gave a yelp of pain and shoved at him.  “We’re going back to the hospital now.  You’ve had your runabout.  Here comes Doyle,” he added, relieved at the sight of the curly-haired agent approaching them, limping slightly.

    “No.” Bodie wrenched out of his grasp and ducked into the crowd a bus had just discharged onto the street.  “Can’t catch me.”

    “Where is he?” Doyle demanded, pushing through the shoppers.  “You’re supposed to help, Murph, not lose him in record time.”

    “Me lose him?  I think he had already outrun you long before I showed up.  Besides, you owe me three quid so far.”

    “For what?”

    “For three hotdogs and three pints.”

    “Why should I pay you?” Doyle asked, jumping up to see above the crowd.  “Can you see him from up there?”

    “No,” Murphy said, frowning.  “He wanted to go to a film.  There’s a cinema around the corner that we passed coming here.  He’s probably back there.”

    “Well, he can’t get in without money,” Doyle reasoned. “And no matter what condition his brain is in, he’s a bit too tall to steal inside without anyone noticing.”

    The marquee spelled out an X-rated movie and Bodie was disappearing through the entrance as they rounded the corner.

    “How’d he get in?  Talked the guy into it?” Doyle fumed, stalking down the pavement as fast as his aching head would let him.

    “No.”  Murphy slapped his back pocket.  “He nicked my wallet.  That bastard —”

    That brought a chuckle from Doyle.  “Not his fault, Murph, remember?  He’s rather in a delicate way right now,” Doyle added in mock seriousness.  “Just an innocent kid, remember . . .”

    “Bodie wasn’t fucking well an innocent kid even when he was a kid.  And he certainly isn’t one now.”  Murphy kicked the side of the cinema in frustration.  “He better not lose my bloody wallet or I’ll have his hide.”

    “Oh, we’ll get him out.  Quit whingeing.”  Doyle went up to the cashier, frowned at the cost, then passed some notes under the glass, receiving back two tickets to see ‘Wicked Wanda’.

    Murphy snatched his ticket from Doyle, and they slipped through the door, disappearing into the darkness.  They prowled the lobby and the seats, but could find no sign of Bodie until a raucous whistle and catcall caught their attention.  Caught everyone’s attention, actually.

    “I’ll wait here for you, Doyle,” Murphy said quietly.  “In case —”

    “That’s a good idea, one of us waiting here, but you lost him.  You go get him,” Doyle whispered back.

    “He’s your partner, mate.  I’m just a lowly agent called in to assist the élite.”

    “Yeah, right.”  Doyle didn’t feel much like arguing.  Bodie was throwing popcorn at people who were staring at him.  “Come on, then.”  Doyle made his way through the seats till he reached his partner, happily munching on popcorn that was flying in every which direction with his enthused digging into the packet.  “Let’s go.”

    “No.  Bugger off.”  Bodie pushed at him, inadvertently knocking Doyle into the man sitting in front.  Doyle had to duck to avoid a backhanded swipe from the irate film watcher.

    Murphy dropped into a seat in the row behind and tapped Bodie on the shoulder. “Don’ t make a fuss.  Come quietly, Bodie.”

    “No.  I said, Bugger off.”

    “We heard you.”

    “Then bugger off.  Leave me alone.”

    “No.  You’re coming with us.”

    “Bugger off.”

    “Come on, Bodie.”

    “Bugger off.”

    “Now.  Get on your feet this instant,” Doyle barked, then winced.  “I sound like me own mum,” he whispered to Murphy.  “Please, Bodie,” he added.

    “Bugger off,” Bodie said at the same time as the man sitting in front of him.

    Murphy glanced around at the half-filled cinema, and dragged Doyle to sit down beside his partner.  “Come on, Ray.  The film’s almost over.  Let him watch this and then we’ll take him out.”

    “But this is a porn film.  He’s—”

    “He’s what?” Murphy laughed.  “Are you going to tell me he’s too young to see this?”

    Doyle sputtered, then turned to Murphy with an ‘I-told-you-so’ look as Bodie pointed to the screen and said loudly, “She’s got big tits.”

    “She does, mate,” Murphy said, reaching to scoop a handful of popcorn from Bodie’s carton.  “That she does.  Settle down, Doyle, and watch the show.”

    Ten minutes passed relatively calmly until Bodie apparently decided that too much of his popcorn was disappearing and started slapping at their hands.  One thing led to another and it took both CI5 agents to haul him outside, this time flashing their ID to the cinema manager to stave off any calls to the police.  “We’ve got him, thank you,” Murphy said with a smile as they emerged back into the fading daylight.

    Bodie brushed the popcorn bits from his shirt, then frowned over at Doyle.  “That’s mine.  Give it to me.”  He snatched his jacket from Doyle’s hand.

    “I’ll give it to you all right, mate,” Doyle snarled, one fist tightening and Murphy had to step in between them to prevent the two partners from scrapping on the street.

    “Come on, Doyle.  Easy does it.  Remember this is not quite Bodie we’re dealing with here.”

    Doyle growled like an angry little terrier.  “There’s enough of him there for me to hit,” he threatened, grabbing a fistful of Bodie’s sweater.

    Murphy untangled the fingers, trying to keep Doyle under control.  The bruise on Doyle’s forehead was starting to purple, and no doubt a throbbing headache was responsible for much of the aggression.  “He’s just an innocent—”

    “Oh, drop that crap, Murph.  Bodie’s being a bastard.  He’s not now, nor was he ever—”   Doyle stopped and swore as Bodie spun around and stalked away from them, jaw set.  “Just shoot me now, Murphy.  Please.”  He caught his breath, and then started after his partner.  “Bodie.  Come on, Bodie, I didn’t mean it.”

    Bodie started running and Doyle took off after him.  Murphy shook his head, then headed over to his car, hoping to head Bodie off that way.  They were due back at the hospital half an hour ago, and he knew that Doyle wasn’t going to last much longer.
 

    George Cowley turned a corner, heading toward the hospital, when his R/T came on.  It was Murphy, requesting assistance from anyone in the area to locate Bodie, who had escaped them.  No sooner had he heard the message when Cowley jammed on his brakes.

    “Bodie!” he thundered out the open car window, as he saw the young man race across the street by himself just as the lights were changing.  A quick look showed Murphy was stuck at the crossing, unable to make his way across the busy junction.

    Cowley swung over to the curb, stepping from his car just as Bodie drew up even with it, his footsteps faltering.  “Bodie,” he snapped, but the dark-haired agent just kept walking past him, determinedly heading somewhere.  “Bodie?”

    Bodie slowed down, then stopped and turned, his eyes sad.  “Hungry.”

    “What’s that?”

    “I’m hungry.”  He turned again and trudged off in the opposite direction from the hospital.

    Cowley hurried after him.  “You’re going the wrong way, son.  There’s food in the hospital.”

    “No.”

    “Yes, there is.”

    “Bad food there.”

    Cowley snagged hold of the leather jacket and Bodie obediently drew to a halt.  “Oh, it’s not so bad.  They’ll feed you there.”

    “No.” There was a big sniff, as though he was trying to catch his breath, but the emotions leaked through anyway.  “I’m hungry,” Bodie repeated, blue eyes filling with tears that he immediately tried to wipe away.  “Please,” he whispered to Cowley, then pointed to a restaurant behind them.  “Please. I need good food.  I’m hungry.”

    The pleading face, so uncharacteristic for Bodie, made Cowley reconsider.  He took a good long look at the young man, and relented.  “Yes, I suppose you are, at that.” Cowley glanced at his watch.  “Come along then.  We’ll get you some soup and a sandwich and then straight back to the hospital.”

    “Steak,” Bodie said, a hopeful smile on his face.  “I want a big steak.”

    Doyle stumbled up to them, grabbing hold of his partner and spinning him around.  “What the hell are you trying to pull, Bodie?  You could have got yourself killed running through the traffic like that!”

    “And you were supposed to be watching him, 4.5.  Why was he on his own?” Cowley demanded.

    “Because he keeps running off, that’s why!” Doyle yelled into Bodie’s face.

    “Bad!” Bodie yelled back, putting everything he had into the single word.  “Bad!”

    “Yeah, well I’m mad as well.” Doyle hauled him around and tried to get him to walk toward the hospital.

    “No!” Bodie hollered, digging his heels in as he looked back at Cowley.  “You said I could have steak!”

    “Doyle, let him be.”  Cowley stepped between them, extracting Bodie from Doyle’s grasp.  “Get yourself under control, 4.5.  I expect you to come with us.  And you, as well, 6.2,” Cowley added, as Murphy sidled up from behind them, waving his finger at Bodie as though he were a naughty little boy.

    “You aren’t behaving, Bodie,” Murphy scolded.  “We’re going to have to tell Nurse Grunion to give you a strapping.”

    Bodie’s eyes widened and he darted behind Cowley, glaring out at Doyle and Murphy.

    Cowley gently took his befuddled agent by the elbow and escorted him into the darkened restaurant, trying to calm him down as Bodie shot suspicious glances at the two trailing men.

    Once settled at a table, Bodie announced to the restaurant in general that he wanted a big steak.  “No veg’tables.”

    “Anything else, sir?” the waitress asked, her eyes taking in the handsome young man staring appreciatively at her.

    “You,” Bodie declared, almost falling out of his chair as he turned to watch her walk away.

    “Bodie, sit around,” Doyle muttered, looking down at the table.  “Don’t embarrass us.”

    “He can’t help it—”

    Doyle’s hand caught Murphy’s jacket in his fist.  “Say that once more and—”

    “Och, quiet both of you.  Let Bodie eat his dinner, and then we’ll get him back to the hospital.  I won’t have you disturbing him.”  Cowley turned Bodie around and stuck a bread stick in his hand.  “Eat this, lad.  She’ll bring your dinner in a bit.”

    Bodie crunched on the bread stick, looking from Doyle to Murphy, then smiling grimly at Cowley.  “Bad boys,” he said knowingly, shaking his head.

    Cowley started to agree, then saw the anguished look cross Doyle’s face as he stared at his partner, and the Major thought better of it.  Instead, he reached into his pocket for some pain tablets and slid them across the table to Doyle.  “Take those, son.  Don’t let this get to you.”

    Doyle let the tablets sit on the table for a moment, then nodded reluctantly and took them.  He leaned on the table, his face hidden in his hands.  “Can’t see any improvement.  All afternoon, and he’s the same.  What if—?”

    “Give it time, 4.5.  We’ll cross that bridge if and when it is necessary.  Not before.”

    Doyle stared across at Bodie, who was following the waitress around with his eyes, but he  offered no comment.

    Other than having a bit of difficulty with his knife, Bodie caused no further problems over dinner.  Cowley took over responsibility for him, cutting the meat into manageable pieces, and keeping Bodie focused on his meal.  The CI5 Chief finished his bowl of soup, while Murphy sat across from them, gloomily staring into his coffee.  Doyle just stared at his partner thoughtfully.

    Cowley observed 4.5 silently, knowing how difficult it must be for Doyle to witness his partner, and his friend, in this situation.  How degrading for a man to lose even part of his memory and revert to this state.  “He’ll be himself again soon, Doyle.  Dr. Bradley is quite convinced,” Cowley said, as Doyle continued to be transfixed by Bodie’s actions.  “This will pass.”

    “Yeah.  Sure.”  But Doyle kept staring at Bodie until Cowley ordered him not to.

    “More?” Bodie asked, unaware of the close scrutiny his mate was paying him.

    Cowley looked away from Murphy’s snicker.  “What’s that?”

    “I want more,” Bodie announced as the waitress passed them.

    “Dessert?” she suggested.

    “Yeah.  Want ice cream.”  Bodie turned to Doyle and stuck his finger out, pointing it an inch from Ray’s face.  “Ice cream.  You said.”

    The waitress tried again, “What about a banana split?”

    “Yeah.  Banana split.”

    Cowley nodded approval, ordering a scotch for himself and more coffee for the other two agents.  The drinks arrived, followed by the sweet concoction that Bodie dove into with great relish.  “You like that, lad?”

    “It’s good.”  Bodie grinned back at him, then dug in with such force that whipped cream sprayed across the table to land on Cowley’s nose.

    Doyle and Murphy broke into helpless laughter as Cowley wiped his face clean with the napkin.  “Oh, that’s sharp, Bodie,” Doyle gasped.  “Just be glad you’ve got that hospital tag around your wrist, or it would be a handcuff.”

    Bodie looked confused at their laughter, half-smiling at them, then looking down at his dessert as though uncertain whether it was safe to eat it.

    “Go ahead, lad.”  Cowley smiled reassuringly, then hid his glare at his other agents behind the cloth napkin.  “If you two are quite finished...”  While they sat around the table, waiting for Bodie to finish eating, Cowley updated them on the case, but his attention stayed focused on Bodie, who was listening, quietly now, to every word, his eyes hollow and tired.

    And on Doyle who still watched Bodie.  Waiting for him to come back.
 

    By the time they got back to the hospital, Bodie was exhausted, shuttled off to his room in a wheelchair.  Cleaned up and changed into his night clothes, he was asleep before the doctor allowed them into the room to see him again.   Doyle stared at Bodie from the doorway, numb emotionally after the active afternoon.  He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, trying to focus on what Cowley and the doctor were saying.

    “No harm done, then?  Our keeping him out late?”

    “None at all, Mr. Cowley.  If you can spare the men, I’ll have Bodie ready for you at the same time tomorrow,” Bradley said in parting, leaving them alone with their colleague.

    “Ta,” Doyle muttered after him.

    “Hard to believe he caused that much trouble, innit?” Murphy said, shaking his head.

    “I’ve got the bruises to prove it,” Doyle responded, but his voice had lost its harshness.  He was too tired.  “He’ll get his later, I can promise you that.”

    Cowley glanced at the notes at the foot of the bed, reading the findings.  “There’ll be none of that, Doyle, Murphy.  Not one reference to what happened today.  I suspect Bodie will be embarrassed enough by all that has gone on without you two adding fuel to the fire.  If either of you had a hard time controlling him, that was your own fault, not his.”

    “Yeah.  Maybe.”  Doyle took a moment to realize Cowley was frowning at him.  “I mean, yes, sir.  I’ll do better tomorrow.  Didn’t have the hang of it today.”

    “Both you and Murphy will be off other duties after two o’clock tomorrow.  You can find something safe and quiet for him to do, I hope.”

    “Yes, sir.”  Neither man sounded thrilled with the idea.

    “Don’t know if I can afford it, sir.  He cost me a packet today,” Murphy added.

    Cowley motioned Murphy to accompany him out of the room, leaving Doyle to drop to Bodie’s bedside, staring down at the sleeping man.  Bodie’s face was peaceful, looking as innocent as the doctor said he was.  After staring at him for several minutes, the frustration of the day gradually eased.  Bodie was alive, after all.  Nothing else really mattered.  By tomorrow, or the next day, he’d be out of the hospital, back to his usual irritating self.  So he had a little fun today ... was it really so bad?

    “Sorry I yelled at you,” Doyle murmured, one hand reaching out to stroke the beard-rough cheek.  He had never looked after kids much, didn’t have the patience for it, he guessed.  “Not your fault, though, sunshine.”  His hand smoothed down the scattered hair, wondering just how much of the day Bodie would remember once his memories fell into place.    

   Doyle tugged at the blanket covering Bodie’s arm, mumbling quietly, half to himself, “I’ll be better at it tomorrow; you’ll see.  Maybe take you to the zoo, all right?  I know you love the zoo, though why, I can’t fathom.  Probably feel closer to your relatives there...  Murphy, on the other hand, despises the place.  I can just imagine his nose already twitchin’ at the disgustin’ odours he knows will assault his delicate senses there.  He’s always going on about animals caged in unnatural environments, locked up for humans to gawk at.  But, you know, mate, if it’ll make you happy, I’m sure he’ll go to the zoo and have a good time if it kills him.”

    Bodie opened his eyes and looked at him.

    Really looked at him.

    “Bodie?” Doyle whispered.  “That you?”

    Bodie blinked, then closed his eyes.

    “Bodie?”  Doyle’s heart was hammering in his chest.  “Bodie?”

    “Yeah.   It’s me,” his partner nodded.  “I think.  Give me a minute, will ya?”

    “Take all the time you need, sunshine.”  Doyle grabbed Bodie’s hand, holding it tightly.   “I’m here.”

    “I know.”  Bodie opened his eyes and stared hard at Doyle.  “My head feels like a trolley hit it.”

    “Should I call—?”

    “No.  No,” Bodie repeated, firmly.  “Just need to put it all together.  Feels like two sets of memories.”  Again his eyes closed.

    Doyle sat beside him, silently, letting the tears run down his face.  He was so tired, so drained by it all.  Bodie had a fierce grip on his hand, demanding him to stay right where he was.  Since he had no intention of leaving, it was just as well.

    “I think I remember it all.”

    “Everything?  You remember everything?”

    With a groan, Bodie nodded again.  “Every bloody thing.  Today, anyway.  The park.  The cinema.  The damned restaurant.  Ray, how’m I going to look them in the face again?”  He struggled to sit up.  “I can’t believe what a berk I was to the Cow and Murph.”

    “No harm done, mate.  And you got back some of the money Murphy’s owed you for months.”

    Bodie looked at him, blue eyes seeking out Ray’s weak-with-happiness smile. “And what I did to you... Put you through the wringer, didn’t I?  Did I do that?”  He touched the bruise on Ray’s forehead, his finger dropping to wipe the tears.

    “Nah.  Don’t remember it all, then, do you?”

    Bodie shrugged.  “Remember enough of it.  I owe you plenty.”

    “What are mates for then?”  Doyle stood shakily, impulsively enfolded Bodie into a hug, then released him quickly before he broke down in front of the man.  “Shall we break you out of here?  No reason for you to stay—if you’re sure you’re okay?”  Tears threatened his eyes again.  Damn.

    Bodie sobered, glancing away.  “Give me a minute.  I’m not ready to face them yet.”

    “Anything you want.”  Doyle was ready to promise the moon, but gladly gave his hand when Bodie reached for it.

    A deep sigh.  “It was strange, Ray.  When it was happening,” Bodie whispered, his eyes closed.

    “Yeah?”  Doyle didn’t know what to say, just sat quietly beside Bodie until his partner found words to explain himself.

    “I think it was flashing on and off while I was in the park.  I remember almost remembering things, standing still, waiting for it to come, and then nothing.  In the restaurant, Cowley was talking about what happened to me and—” Bodie shook his head.  “Couldn’t think at all.  It wouldn’t come.”

    Doyle asked his next question carefully.  “Do you know who did this to you?”  He let his hand rest on Bodie’s arm.

    Bodie shook his head.  “Nah.  Missed it all.  They must have put me out right away.  I just heard about it at dinner, when the Cow was talking about it with you.”

    “Thought you were quieter then.  More than just concentrating on your dessert.”

    “Took me awhile to realize he was talking about something that happened to me.”

    “Do you remember anything?  Last you were seen was walking into the hotel, then —nothing.”

    “I’d seen them leave, get into their car and drive away.  I decided to go check out their room and—well—”

    “Cowley’ll skin you alive.  Why didn’t you ask for help?  Why go in alone?”

    Bodie shrugged.  “Know better now, don’t I?”

    “Sod it,” Doyle whispered.  “Don’t you ever—”

    Bodie’s hand tightened on his.  “Can’t promise anything, sunshine, except that it won’t be intentional.”

    Doyle nodded.  “I know.”  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “What now?”

    “I’m tired,” Bodie admitted, trying to shutter a yawn.

    Doyle gave him an affectionate pat.  “It’s late.  Do you want to go home or sleep here?”

    “Home.”  Bodie summoned enough energy to push himself to his feet, but let Doyle help him into his clothes.  “Bloody hell, I’m shaking like a newborn,” he said, pulling on his jacket.

    “Long day.  It’ll be better tomorrow.”  Doyle moved around the room, gathering his partner’s few belongings, trying to hide the exhausted tremor in his hands.  The long week was catching up with him.

    Bodie stopped him with a hand on his arm, turning Doyle to look at his face.  “You all right?”

    “I’m not the one—”

    “I asked, are you all right?” Bodie repeated, firmly.  “Sorry you had to handle all this alone.”

    “Not alone.  Cowley and Murphy were there.”

    Bodie gave a short laugh and pulled him into a hug.  “Not the same thing, though, is it, mate?”

    Doyle shook his head, reluctant to pull away.  Bodie seemed to need the physical contact and Doyle was too tired to care about anything except that his partner was back.  They stood, leaning on each other and holding each other up, Doyle silently cursing himself for the persistent tears that filled his eyes.  No use trying to hide them from Bodie, though.

    The familiar cocky grin spread across Bodie’s face, damned pleased with himself again.  The ex-merc finally gave him a pat on the back and let him go.  “They’re waiting out there?”

    “Yeah.  Wanted to make sure I got home safely, I guess.”  Doyle turned away and wiped at his eyes quickly, then bent to retrieve his partner’s things.

    “Fragile thing, are you?” Bodie asked casually, but something exploded inside Doyle.

    “What do you want me to say?  That it was fun seeing you like that?  That it was all a big joke?  It was bloody awful!”  The force of his words surprised him.

    “Yeah, well...”  Bodie stood in the middle of the room, suddenly looking uncertain and lost, and not nearly as confident as he had a moment before.

    “You’re back, and that’s what counts.  Let’s go tell them you’re okay.”   Doyle waited a moment until he got himself under control, then grinned up at his partner, mindful of Bodie’s own emotions riding equally close to the surface.   “Home then?”

    Bodie smiled back readily enough and gestured to the door.  “Lead on, Macbeth.  I’m starting to feel a little light-headed and I want to get home before I pass out.  I’ll feel better in the morning.”

    Doyle took a deep breath and kicked the door open with renewed energy.  “So, Bodie, d’y’want to go to the zoo tomorrow?” he asked, loudly.

    “What—and have you and Murphy play babysitter again?”  Bodie looked outraged as they emerged from the room together.  “After that shoddy job of caring for me, I should say not.”  Bodie nodded primly as an astonished Cowley and Murphy leapt to their feet as Doyle and he walked by, heading for the lift.  “Sir, Murphy made a poor thing like me watch a porn flick.  He even paid for it.”

    “He what?”

    “That’s right, sir,” Doyle added, calling over his shoulder as they passed.  “Murph made him stay and watch the whole thing.”

    “And ate me popcorn,” Bodie added, woefully.

     Cowley’s voice, demanding an explanation from Murphy, faded away as the lift doors closed them out.

    Alone for a moment, Bodie draped an arm over his partner’s shoulders, half-hugging him, half-leaning on him.  “Zoo tomorrow, then?”

    “Sod off, Bodie.”

   “Oh, please...”  Bodie squirelled up his face like a whingeing child.  “You promised, Ray.”

    “That’s not funny.  Keep that up and I’ll get the Cow to have Ross do a full psychiatric on you.”

    “All right, all right.”  Bodie held his hands up in defeat, then rested one elbow on Doyle’s shoulder.  “So, tell me, sunshine, what would you have done if I had stayed that way?”

    Doyle sighed, then secured his hold on Bodie as the lift door opened and they headed for the entrance.  “Dunno.  Bought an umbrella, I guess.”