There was a darkness in Doyle's eyes. He spoke when spoken with, ate when they asked, but did nothing on his own. Bodie didn't think he had ever seen anything so desolate as the bleakness in those orbs, on that face.

"Doyle?" The blue eyed agent reached out to touch the other man, but the slim man mentally withdrew though he did not flinch physically. Sighing, Bodie said, "It's going to be all right; I promise. Doyle?"

"Yes...Bodie." Doyle stared down at his hands.

"Doyle, I...it wasn't...."

"Bodie!" Cowley's voice was sharp. The agent jumped, flushed, and stepped quickly back from his friend and lover. The boss of CI5 pulled him out into the hallway.

"Cowley!" Bodie threw a worried glance at the lone, slim figure sitting in a chair by the room's lone window.

"I know, Bodie, but the doctor said not to mention any of it. He said he wanted a psychiatrist to handle it."

"I know but I wanted Doyle to know I don't blame him, that it wasn't his fault," the distraught agent protested.

"I think he knows you believe in him. He wouldn't let you get so close to him if he thought you blamed him."

"Yes, but...."

The pain filled eyes of the man in the small room, turned to stare numbly at William Bodie. Help me, they seemed to beg...help me.

"He knows, William; he knows," Cowley said in compassion. "Let him rest now."

"I love him so much," Bodie said, hurting deeply for his friend and lover.

"I know." Cowley rested a hand briefly on Bodie's back. "He knows too."

"Cowley, do you still have that little cottage in Scotland?"

"I do."

"Let me take Ray there; let me try and reach him. Maybe if it's just us, with no strangers messing in...."

"I don't think that would be wise. If you do or say the wrong thing, it could damage his whole future. I don't think I want that type of responsibility placed on your shoulders."

"They're my shoulders."

"And his life," Cowley pointed out in a firm voice.

"Ask the doctor; will you at least do that?"

"I can do that much, but I must have your word of honour, that you won't take Doyle without approval, even if the verdict is no."

"You have my word."

And Cowley knew from the expression, from the tone of voice, that William Bodie meant what he said. Despite misgivings, the head of CI5 went to the doctor, presented Bodie's odd plan to him.

---

Part 2

Dr Hogan closed Doyle's file folder with a sigh and turned to Cowley. "Send him away to that quiet, secluded place of yours in Loch Mary with his friend. This is totally unorthodox but everything in our testing points out that this is Doyle's only chance of returning to normal. I don't like it but his mental health has to come before my misgivings."

"Bodie and Doyle are more than partners, Doctor."

"I sensed that from several things Ray Doyle said."

"They've been...together...a long time."

"That just might be the saving factor in all this. That might be the medicine Mr Doyle needs to break the bond of depression." Sighing, the doctor admitted, "He's constantly asking to be released, to be allowed to go home with this Bodie."

"Do they seek another doctor while they're in Scotland?"

"Only if there's a need. I'll make sure Doyle's private records are sent to a colleague of mine in that area, just in case. However, it is imperative that Doyle continue taking the anti-depressant."

"I'll make sure Bodie understands the seriousness of that." They talked a while longer and then Cowley left, going in search of Bodie who was sitting in Doyle's room watching the slim beautiful operator sleeping. Cowley called the agent out into the hallway, told him what the doctor had said.

"I'll take good care of him," Bodie promised solemnly.

"I have no doubt of that at all."

"None of us believes he was responsible for what happened," Bodie said with firm determination.

"He believes it and that's what's causing the whole problem. Until that misconception can be removed...." Cowley didn't finish; there was no need.

---

Part 3

"Well? Do you like it, Doyle?" Bodie asked as he looked around Cowley's tiny cottage.

"Yes...Bodie...." But Doyle only sat, staring down at his clasped hands.

Bodie's eyes hovered on the forlorn figure. There was pity in the blue orbs, and love...and sorrow. He went to the other man, placed his arms around him. "Are you hungry?"

"No." The voice was bland, dull.

"Will you eat if I make something for us?"

"Yes."

Bodie caressed his lover's face. Doyle glanced up at him, and for a moment, the blue eyed agent saw a glimmer of love and gratitude, but those emotions quickly vanished. "What do you think? Do you like it here?" He bent down, letting his hands rest on the other man's knees. "Of course, I think you'd like it better if it were spring or summer and not just March, but we're here now and we can suffer through the cool weather, now can't we?" He went to the door, opened it, and took a deep breath. "Can you imagine Cowley as an energetic, little brat, fighting imaginary villains."

"Yes." A tiny bit of love seeped into that word, and again their eyes touched.

"Oh, God, Doyle!" With a groan, Bodie hurried to his lover of five years and hugged him with fierce, hard arms. "I love you so much."

His lips touched Doyle's, and it was the hardest thing he had ever done, to keep from deepening the kiss, but Bodie pulled back, stepped away. "Dinner," he announced shakily. He hurried towards the tiny stove. His loins ached with the need to make love with Doyle, but his emotional love was greater, and he knew the man was not yet ready for the physical aspect of their relationship to resume.

Yet, later that night, Bodie lay down beside Doyle in the one bed the cabin held. When his arms went around the tall slim form, Doyle tried to move away. "No," Bodie said firmly, "Don't pull away from me. You never used to when we slept together. Ray, I don't expect sex, honest I don't, but we're going to hold onto each other every night we're here, like we do when we're in London. I need that touching, and so do you."

The slim man remained stiff at first, but the familiar warmth and feel of Bodie's body soon seeped in, and the young agent relaxed against his will, allowed his body to curve against Bodie's, and deep, peaceful sleep followed for them both.

---

It would be over a week before Doyle did anything on his own, and then it scared Bodie when it occurred.

On the morning of the tenth day, the blue eyed agent woke up and found Doyle gone. Puzzled he sat up and searched the one room cabin; it was empty...so was the bathroom whose door was wide open.

"Doyle?" Alarm sent tremors up and down Bodie's spine. Surely the man wouldn't...wouldn't.... Bodie jumped out of bed, jerked on a robe, and, barefoot, ran from the cabin.

Doyle was kneeling on the ground, examining tiny, green leaves just emerging from the ground.

Relief made Bodie's knees weak as he hurried to him, "Doyle?" Tentatively he touched his lover's shoulder. Doyle almost smiled up at him.

"Bodie, look. See how fragile they are?" His slim finger caressed the tiny bit of green life.

"I see." His voice was soft and tender, laced with love. Something fluttered in Doyle's eyes when he glanced up, but the man retreated immediately back into his shell. "Don't!" Bodie begged as he pulled his lover up to stand beside him. "Doyle, don't go away from me again. Doyle!" But the bleakness remained.

And another week passed.

"Doyle, let's go for a walk." Bodie stood in the doorway. "I'd like to see where Cowley was born. There are more houses now, but we should be able to grasp what he saw every morning." He turned, walked jauntily to the man, tugged him up. "Come on; Aren't you curious about old Cow? Stop being lazy." Doyle sighed. "And don't make rude comments either." Pleasure flashed quickly in the green eyes. "You'll like it." They went out, and walked around in a leisurely manner, simply enjoying the sun and the clean air. When the sun was low, Bodie turned them towards the cottage again, but they walked for what seemed like hours, much longer than it should have taken. Bewildered, Bodie stopped more than once, trying to get his bearings. Nothing made sense.... Unless.... No, they weren't lost; they couldn't be. Bodie moved forward again and soon stopped.

"Bloody hell," he muttered as he looked around in disgust. He felt the other's eyes on him and flushed. "Don't worry," he said in false reassurance. "Everything's under control." Yet, his face grew pink once more as Doyle's green eyes lingered on his face. "Okay, okay, we're lost!" The disgust was real. "I don't lose my way, now do I? But I did this time, and I don't understand how it happened either!"

"So where are we?" Doyle asked in a whisper. There was a definite teasing in the man's voice.

Bodie's eyes darted swiftly toward the man. His heart thumped wildly. He didn't want to push , but he couldn't bear to see that life vanish once more from his friend-lover's face, so he answered lightly, "In Scotland."

Doyle blinked, once, and said, "Oh." He took a deep breath. "Where in Scotland?"

"At the bottom of a hill by a trio of trees," Bodie teased.

The wind blew up. It held cold, dampness. There was going to be a storm. Dark clouds bubbled ominously on the horizon. Their speed towards them was incredible.

Bodie noticed Doyle's shivering. "You're cold. I have to get you back." He glanced around again. Nothing seemed familiar; the landscape was totally alien to him. He stared at it, perplexed. Delicate raindrops splattered them; the front of the storm had arrived.

"Come on. There are houses all over the place here. We're bound to run into one of them in a moment." Well, he thought, there should be. Where the hell were they? Bodie pulled an unresisting Doyle after him. They walked for yet another hour but did not see another house, no sign of life other than trees and birds and vegetation.

"This doesn't make any sense," Bodie muttered. "Damn it! It doesn't make any sense!"

"Bodie?"

"We're lost," the other man snapped.

"Yes...." Doyle shivered faintly again.

"I...I'm sorry. I hate making mistakes, but I had no right yelling at you, now did I?

Doyle's voice held tenderness. "I know. Bodie?"

Blue eyes left the surrounding area to meet the other's. "What?"

"I'm cold." He sounded apologetic, sorry.

Bodie flushed in guilt. "I know. I...." They were both wearing jackets, but.... "Let's keep going." They started out again. The rain burst in a torrent, bringing sudden greeness, and the close rumble and flash of lightening, thunder. Bodie and Doyle broke into a run. They felt a road beneath their feet and Bodie thought in relief, now we're getting somewhere.

But the road appeared to go forever without the appearance of houses, roadside building of any kind. The rain was frigid, numbing...punishing, relentless.

And then....

In the distance....

Lights appeared.

Bodie ran faster, pulling a quiet man behind him. The lights represented shelter, warmth. a place to rest. The doors were suddenly in front of them. The blue eyed agent pushed them open and dragged his shivering, icy friend in behind him.

It was an inn. The rich smell of cooking smacked them delicately in their noses, the feeling of warmth caressed their faces. Bodie sat Doyle down and turned to the old lady behind the counter. "My friend could use a towel, if you have one." On the seat behind the solid built agent, Doyle shivered violently. His lips were pale, his eyes drooped.

"There are clothes, a shower and blankets in the back. Help yourself to what you need, free of charge." The old lady's gaze was one of sympathy and concern. She was nondescript, that woman, the kind people pass in the streets every day without really noticing.

"Thanks." Bodie encouraged his friend-lover to stand, and had to hold him when Doyle stumbled.

"Is he going to be all right?" she asked in worry.

"I hope so," Bodie informed her grimly as he looked at Doyle's ashen face.

"I'll have hot tea waiting," the woman told them.

"I didn't bring my wallet with me but I'll pay you back when the rain lets up and I can go back to my cottage," Bodie promised.

"I'm not worried." the old owner of the diner grew busy behind the counter.

In the back, Bodie adjusted the shower, stripped off Doyle's clothing, and encouraged him to go under the hot spray. Bodie rubbed the man's cold flesh until the trembling stopped.

Moments later, the blue eyed agent briskly dried his lover's body, re-dressed him in clean, dry clothes and shoes he had found in the closet. After sitting the man down on the bed, Bodie placed a blanket around the slim shoulders. Then the blue eyed agent removed his own clothing and went into the bathroom to shower.

When Bodie too was dressed, he led Doyle back out to the front and seated him at a table close to the heating vent, but Bodie remained standing, hovering over his friend like a mother hen. The old woman brought huge mugs of hot, sweet tea to each of the men.

"Thanks. I will pay you back." He put the cup in his friend's hand. "Drink it, Doyle, while it's hot."

"I'm not worried," the woman replied blandly.

Bodie picked up his own mug and took a tentative sip. It tasted so good he finished it in record time. "Would you like another cup?" Bodie asked his companion in love. That emotion shone brightly in the blue eyes when they met Doyle's.

"Or boiled eel?" the elderly owner inquired gently. "Or steak kidney pie?"

"Bodie?" Doyle murmured in a low voice. When Bodie bent closer, the man whispered, "I have to go to the bathroom."

Trying not to smile, Bodie stepped out of the way. As Doyle vanished quickly into the back of the inn, the solidly built agent told the owner, "He'd like the pie, and I will pay you."

"Like I said, I'm not worried. What about you?" She grinned.

Bodie grinned back. "What ever is easiest for you to fix." He glanced at the torrential rain. "It doesn't look like it's ever going to stop."

"It'll stop when it stops." The woman settled the steak and kidney pie into two white bowls. The smell made Bodie's mouth water.

"It's a good thing you were open." Bodie sat at the counter. "It would have been more logical for you to close up and go home."

"I live in the back and I didn't have anything better to do. You want chips?"

"Yes, please. You're very trusting."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"We could have been thieves or murderers." He watched the small up turning of her lips. "This place looks new to me. How long have you been here?"

"Off and on for about one hundred years." She set his food down in front of him.

"What? Oh...." Bodie laughed and picked up his spoon, took a bite. "This is good."

"Like I said, I aim to please."

Doyle came back out, sat down at the tiny table. Bodie took his lover's food to him, asking as he did so, "Are you all right?"

"Yes." Doyle simply sat, staring down at the food.

"Eat it, Doyle," Bodie ordered gently. The old woman brought his food over and set it on the table. "Thanks," he murmured but instead of sitting down, he walked to the huge picture window. He saw only the thick, black curtain of rain. He stared at it perplexed, concerned. Such rain was not normal.

"It'll stop when it stops. Your food is getting cold. I'm Jessie."

"I'm William Bodie; this is Ray Doyle."

"Pleased to meet both of you. Eat." She pointed to the food with her chin.

"Yes ma'am." Bodie returned to the table and began eating.

One hour later, it was still raining, a midnight looking, cold storm that made the cafe seem like a prison. Bodie began to fidget. He didn't like this incarceration. He wanted to leave, return to the cottage. More than once, he walked to the window and glared out at the downpour. Doyle simply sat quietly in his chair, eyes closed.

"It'll stop when it stops, William. How about a hot piece of currant pie?" Jessie asked. "I made it fresh this morning. It'll taste good with a cup of coffee."

"No, thanks. Doyle? Would you like to try it?"

"No." The man closed his eyes, sighing wearily, though it was not tiredness of the body but of the soul.

Bodie walked briskly to him, hugged him. For one brief moment, Doyle cuddled against him. "Do you want to lie down?" he asked in love.

"Yes." It was barely a whisper but the other man heard it.

Bodie looked at the woman hopefully. "Would it be all right with you if he lies down on your bed?"

"Sure. He's welcome to use it. You can turn up the heat back there, if you want to."

"Jessie...thanks." Bodie wanted to say more but the words wouldn't come.

"Wouldn't be much of a person if I didn't give help when help was needed. Your friend looks bad."

"He's been...ill. Come on, Doyle." He lifted the man to his feet and supported him on the walk to the back.

The bed was covered with a white, wool blanket. Bodie made the man sit, and then he knelt and pulled off the black boots they had borrowed earlier from the woman. Doyle lay down and allowed his friend to cover him with the blanket. Bodie caressed the slim, warm cheek, kissed the man's forehead. For one fleeting instance, the man's eyes gleamed with the emotions touching involved, then the green orbs went blank again.

"Sleep well, my love." And the blue eyed agent stepped quietly away from the bed.

But at the door, Doyle's voice halted his exit. "Bodie?"

Bodie turned, saw the question in the green eyes, heard it.

"No one blames you, Doyle. It wasn't your fault." There was a suspicious sparkle in Doyle's eyes before the man turned over and hid his face beneath the blanket. Massaging the back of his neck, Bodie went back up front.

"He'll be okay," Jessie said in reassurance when he reappeared.

The lights flickered.

"The lines are going down," Bodie announced, troubled.

"Transition," Jessie argued politely. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and left the counter to sit in a booth.

"Transition?"

"Get yourself something to drink, William."

The door opened and a young negro girl, about fifteen, entered. She stared at them, frightened, soaking wet. The door remained open while she stood there, and the cold and the rain came in. Bodie's mouth flew open.

"Come in and shut the door," Jessie ordered. "There are dry clothes in the back. Why don't you go back there and change?"

The female stiffened and her chin grew stubborn. "I'm Kahtia, daughter of Kynd, and you are on our land." Her accent was clearly South African.

"I'm Jessie and this is William Bodie. Please shut the door. You're letting the cold come in."

Kahtia entered regally, disdainfully and the door shut. "Why are you here on my land? Does my father know of your existence? Perhaps I should go and inform him of your presence."

"Why don't you wait until the rain stops?" Jessie suggested in a bland manner. "It's silly to go back out in that."

Kahtia glanced at the rain. "Perhaps I will wit until this storm ceases. Where are the clothes?" She sniffed in irritation. "They will smell like a white man's"

"They're in the back."

The negro stared pointedly, coldly, at Bodie. "You will stay here."

Bodie flushed but he ordered, "Don't wake Doyle."

"Who?" Kahtia demanded sharply. "Is there another white man back there?"

"Doyle is ill, and he's sleeping back there. Don't wake him." Shock rippled through Bodie's body. South Africans? Here in Scotland?

Kahtia sneered and sauntered towards the back, dripping water as she went.

Bodie turned to the old woman. "She's a South African."

"Yes. Her father is the leader of the Black Imperialists, I believe." Jessie took a long sip of her coffee.

"She thinks we're in Africa." Bodie went to her, stood by her, staring down, perplexed.

"Yes, she does." she propped her chin on the palm of one hand and stared at him with uncomplicated eyes.

Bodie blinked. "Are we?" he finally asked.

"Yes." She smiled at him.

"And you're American, aren't you?"

"I am."

"How did we get here?"

"William, some things are better left unanswered." The old woman drank again.

"Lady, I didn't get where I am by not asking questions." Bodie froze. In the back, Doyle was whimpering. The agent ran to him, sat down on the bed and gripped the slim arms. Doyle came to full consciousness instantly. There were tears on the slim, anguished face. "Ray, don't punish yourself like this. It wasn't your fault." But the man only shifted his head, closed his eyes once more. Emotion threw shudders through his body.

"He'll talk when he gets ready," Jessie told Bodie, speaking gently from the doorway. The agent observed her with ill concealed impatience, but the woman was not offended. "You shouldn't stretch the skin until the wound's healed." She turned and left.

"You were not...not...responsible for the deaths of those children. The terrorists detonated that bomb, not you. Doyle...look at me...listen." He forced Doyle's head to turn and saw that the agent was silently weeping. Bodie pulled him into his arms, rocked him, whispering soft words of caring and comfort. Slowly, Doyle grew quiet. "It wasn't our fault," the agent told him again, earnestly, truthfully.

"Bodie, you are very good to me," Doyle whispered.

"I love you, Ray Doyle. I believe in you; I always have; I always will."

In a little while, Doyle felt well enough to go back to the front of the cafe with Bodie but the slim operative slumped into an end table. He ignored the hot soup placed in front of him by Jessie.

The young negro woman came out, sneered at Doyle, scowled at the rain, and demanded in a cold, haughty voice, "Food."

"Clato?" Jessie asked as if serving a negro from South Africa was a normal, every day occurrence for her.

Kahtia's eyes grew wide. "You have clato?"

"Yes. And sour mead to drink."

"I will accept this offer of yours. How is it you are on my father's land? Why haven't the Imperialists taken you? Why hasn't my father claimed this property?" The negro female inquired suspiciously. "Who have you paid off?"

"We aren't hurting anyone here." Jessie placed a bowl of clato in front of the young, black girl and then a mug of steaming mead.

The negro smirked and began eating. When she was through, she belched loudly, wiped her hands on her clothes. She then swung around on the stool and turned her attention to Doyle and Bodie. She challenged the agent's worried glance with her own cool disdain.

Sighing inaudibly, Bodie asked Doyle, "Shall I have Jessie make more tea?"

"No." Doyle watched the rain through memory blinded eyes.

Bodie rose, took his empty tea mug back to the woman behind the counter. He was becoming discouraged. He had thought he could help his lover, but it didn't seem as though he was doing any good or ever would. Every step forwards was followed by a step backwards.

"Would you like more tea?" Jessie asked in sympathy as she accepted the cup from the man. He nodded. "And your friend?"

"He doesn't want any right now." Bodie pinched the bridge of his nose.

"How about some chocolate pudding, my special formula?" the old woman asked hopefully.

"I don't know." Bodie looked back at his friend who was sitting with his eyes closed, barely breathing.

"Take it to him. It can't hurt." Jessie took two bowls from the cooler, placed them and two spoons on the tray, and handed it to the man. "You have one too. My treat."

Bodie smiled in grateful acceptance. "Thanks, Jessie." He carried the tray back to the end booth. "Look, Doyle, chocolate." The lights flickered. Bodie's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He set the tray on the table, removed one of the bowls and placed it before his friend. He handed a spoon to the other one. "Eat it, Doyle." The tall, slim man took a bite and then another as the rich flavour began to interest him. Bodie didn't bother to hide his pleased reaction.

"What's the matter with him?" Kahtia asked insolently. "Is he retarded? Is that why you have to tell him what to do?"

Bodie's jaws tightened. "Please don't bother us."

"Was he raped?" she asked in curiosity. "Is that why he...."

"Please, don't," Bodie entreated.

"Did they tie him up first? My grandfather did that to one of his body guards once. I hid in the room and watched. Boy did that guy yell when Oom rammed into him. Well, it serves him right...."

Bodie had had enough. His footsteps were hard, full of purpose as he went towards her. "Be quiet."

"My father will kill you if you touch me. I am the last of the line. My brother was killed in the Vanguard school massacre."

Doyle moaned and huddled in the corner.

"Doyle, don't," Bodie begged as he hurried back to the agent. Anger against the negro for causing this fresh pain welled up inside Bodie.

"Now I know why his name sounded so familiar." Kahtia's face grew hard. "There was a CI5 agent involved in the killing and he's it, isn't he?" She slid off the stool and went coldly, in anger, to the two men. "You are him, aren't you?" She tried to reach past Bodie, grab Doyle's arm, but the blue eyed agent stopped her. Kahtia's attempt to pull free from Bodie's grasp was futile.

"Leave him alone," Bodie warned in a wintry tone.

The door slammed open and a man and woman stumbled in. They were French and they had been lost in the storm on the way to the hospital. She was pregnant, large with child, and in labour, perspiration as well. Kahtia gasped and then cursed beneath her breath. Bodie inspected them with no surprise at all.

"We need to call for help," the man said. "Clee is in the last stages."

"We have no phone," Jessie apologised.

"I cannot take her back out into that," he said in anxiety.

"Of course not. There are dry clothes in the back, a shower, a bed. Get her warm and dry and let her lie down. The others can help her."

"But we can't..." Bodie began. His gaze shifted back to his friend. It was the right thing to do; the agent was sure of it. Running medicine in South Africa wasn't the same as giving aide in childbirth, but.... And maybe this would jar Doyle into full awareness. "We'll help her, won't we, Doyle?" he asked, knowing the other man wouldn't say no. Doyle's eyes drifted to the newly arrived couple who were proceeding slowly to the back, but he didn't reply. "Doyle?" Bodie inquired. "We'll help, won't we? You'll help, won't you, like before?" he inquired in worry. "You assisted a policeman once, didn't you? And actually delivered one by yourself...didn't you?" He waited for a moment and then said firmly, "Someone needs you."

"Yes." Doyle rose stiffly. "I will need a few things," he told Jessie who listened calmly, but beside him, Bodie was rejoicing. A song sang in his heart. It was as though Doyle felt that gladness. He turned shy eyes toward him. Bodie smiled proudly at him. That was the extra bit of persuasion Doyle needed. He told the old woman what he would need and then waited quietly while she gathered the few things he had asked for. He then took the items to the back where the Frenchman waited outside the bedroom door, guarding its entrance, while his wife undressed and climbed into bed. Doyle informed him in a worried timbre, "I'm not a doctor."

"Can you be of any help at all?" the other man asked in anxious fear. "I have never been around a birthing before and I don't know what to do."

"If there are complications..." Doyle began.

"Mister, we just lost our twin sons. If my wife loses this baby...." He chewed his lower lip for a moment. "I fear for her sanity."

"How did her kids die?" Kahtia asked in avid interest as she appeared beside them. "Did a car hit them?"

They looked at her in shock. Surely privacy to anyone was sacred?

A loud moan from inside the bedroom sent both men into the bedroom, to the woman's side.

Doyle bent down to her and said, "I need to touch you."

"Yes." The woman begged, "Don't let my baby die!"

"I'll do my best, but I am not a doctor." Doyle felt her abdomen. It was hard and then grew soft again beneath his hand.

"I've never seen a baby being born before," Kahtia announced with glee. "Is there going to be blood?"

"I need to check how far along you are," Doyle said and felt his face grow warm.

"I know." The pregnant woman cried out as another birthing pang gripped her body in iron fingers.

Doyle lifted the covers and encouraged her to separate her legs. He saw how dilated she was and quickly replaced the covers. His face was dark with embarrassment.

Bodie came to the door. He and the negro threw baleful glances at each other. "Doyle, do you need help?" he asked.

"Not yet." He could not meet the agent's gaze and did not see the smile of relief Bodie gave him.

Still, worry took that smile away. "Will you need me?" Bodie asked in concern. He too flushed when Doyle's eyes moved to touch his, and there was understanding in the dark orbs. "It's just that I've never seen a baby being born before. I don't think I could be much help. I'd be all thumbs, all I did was run medicine to the village hospitals."

Kahtia snorted. "The idea of blood sickens the agent."

"No, it doesn't!" Bodie told her coldly.

"Fadaha," Kahtia decided in scorn. (wimp)

"Bodie!" Doyle said quickly and his friend-lover turned to face him. "It's okay, really."

"Thanks," Bodie growled and hurried back to the front.

"Please, don't tease him," Doyle pleaded quietly.

"Why?" the young South African girl demanded, her hands on her hips in defiance.

"You don't know him."

But Kahtia's attention turned to the female on the bed as she cried out in agony. "Why don't you just rip it out of her? It would save a lot of time." The husband threw her a look of anger.

"No." Doyle went to the bathroom, washed and disinfected his arms and hands, cleaned his nails thoroughly. He brought back wet wash cloths to bathe the pregnant woman's face and neck, to cool her down.

"I did not have this much trouble with my boys," the woman said through pants.

Doyle bathed her face. "The baby feels very large."

"My sons died," she told him and then cried out once more as another burst of pain struck.

"I'm...sorry." Doyle allowed her to clutch his hands.

"They were killed." Tears welled up in her blue eyes, overflowed.

"Clee..." her husband soothed her damp, blonde hair in love and devotion.

"I am sorry," Doyle told them truthfully.

"I did not want them to go to that school," she said harshly and then screamed as the birth grew closer, harder.

Doyle had to force himself to say, "I need to check you again." He lifted the blanket....

School....

Death....

Children dying....

The pain in the agent's soul tried to overwhelm him.

"Our government chose our children to be part of the Vanguard School," the husband informed Doyle. "We didn't want them to go but our sons wanted to be part of history. They insisted we allow them to go, and so we did."

"You're fully dilated. If you begin pushing with the next contraction...." Hide the pain, he commanded himself; someone needs you; hide the pain! The woman on the bed nodded and gripped Doyle's hands fiercely. His mind, however much he tried, was not fully on the female who lay on the bed before him.

I did not want to be the Primary Negotiator. I did not want to be responsible for the outcome of the hostage situation. I did not....

The woman screamed.

"Bend your knees and separate your legs. Sir, hold your wife in your lap. This will give her support." The Frenchman did as he was told.

Kahtia asked from the doorway, "Is there blood yet?"

When Doyle removed the blanket, the woman adjusted her legs. She began pushing. In no time at all, the head crowned. Ten minutes later, eager to be born, the head of the child appeared fully. "Wait. I need to clean his air passages." Though the woman on the bed wanted to continue pushing, she held back until Doyle had finished, but when he had accomplished what he was doing, the woman began pushing again. In no time, the baby emerged completely into Doyle's hands. When the cord stopped pulsating, he tied it off in two places and cut it. He cleaned the newborn as best he could, wrapped it in a soft blanket Jessie had provided, and placed the baby in the woman's arms.

"It's a boy," the woman announced in joy, half crying, half-laughing. "Vi, it is a boy!"

And her husband agreed, "Yes, it is a boy." He touched the tiny head with gentle fingers.

Bodie came to the door. Kahtia announced scornfully. "There is much blood, white man; perhaps you should run and hide."

Bodie ignored her. "Doyle?"

"I am cleaning her up now." He bathed the blood from her lower body while the husband shielded her from the eyes of Bodie and the negro.

The lights flickered.

"Her wiring should be replaced," the new father remarked.

"I'm done," Doyle said in a soft voice. He moved so the husband could be by his wife's side.

"We thank you for assistance," Vi said, and his wife agreed in a tired voice.

"I only cleaned his air passages," Doyle protested.

"Your presence made me feel safe," the woman informed him in gratitude.

"He is a killer," Kahtia said slyly.

"No, he isn't," Bodie hissed.

"I would not let him near your baby again," the negro female continued as though the agent had not spoken.

"Be quiet," Bodie ordered coldly.

Kahtia smirked at him. "He killed the children at the Vanguard School."

"No, he didn't!" Bodie argued in anger. Doyle left the room in stiff sadness. "Now see what you did," the blue eyed agent accused.

"Because of him, I must marry an old piece of meat because my father wants our two houses to join," Kahtia growled.

"He was one of the terrorists at the school?" the man on the bed asked in an odd voice.

"No," Bodie argued in a tight voice. "He was one of the negotiators."

"He was the main one," Kahtia added in icy contempt. "He ruled the others."

"No," Bodie declared hotly. "They worked as a team. He did the talking but that's all he did."

"No," Doyle interrupted from the hallway. "I told them I didn't think the terrorists would explode the bomb. I killed those children."

"No, Doyle," Bodie disagreed.

Clee looked up at him from the bed. "We do not blame you," she said in complete honesty.

Her husband concurred, "No."

An old Russian peasant appeared at the hallway's beginning. His hair was long, dirty, matted; His clothes were slovenly, he shuffled when he walked. He would not meet their eyes. He seemed shy, unsure, almost as if he thought they would tell him to leave. "She...she said I could change back here." His voice was almost inaudible.

"What is this?" Kahtia demanded. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the bent form. Why did he seem so familiar?

"The bathroom is over there," Bodie said gently. "The clothes are in the closet here."

The Russian whispered, "Thank you." He went to the closet, chose a long, dark blue robe and vanished hurriedly into the bathroom.

Jessie entered the hallway. "I have food for the new mother." She carried a tray, skirting the girl and the two agents. "What a beautiful, baby boy." She sat the tray down on a small table next to the bed and turned to the others. "I have food out in front."

"I will not eat with a murderer!" Kahtia announced in hot refusal.

"Then you will be very hungry by the time you leave here," Jessie said blandly.

"I will eat then he can," the negro female declared pointing at Doyle with her stubborn chin.

"There is plenty of room," Jessie said firmly and left the small group.

"Come on, Doyle," Bodie decided and nudged his friend to the front.

"I am not hungry," Doyle said.

"Yes," Bodie deemed firmly, "you are."

The old Russian exited the bathroom.

"I will not eat with a murderer!" Kahtia almost screamed.

"My son did not do it on purpose," the old man cried. His face was a mask of pain, of humiliation.

"Your son?" Bodie asked, puzzled.

"I am speaking of the agent," Kahtia informed the blue alien, terribly vexed. "He is a murderer and I will not eat with him!" Yet, when the old Russian seemed relieved, the truth slapped her in the face. "You are Ivan Tolvich's grandfather!" she accused. "I saw your photograph in the dailies."

"Who?" Bodie asked, yet the name had a familiar ring to it.

"You're not very smart, are you?" the negro girl asked in scorn. Bodie's lips tightened but he did not react in any other way. His mother had taught him to be polite to females. "Tolvich was the one that exploded the bomb!"

"My grandson did not do what they say," the little man protested in pain.

"Your grandson killed my brother and now I have to carry on my family name. I am not free to come and go as I once was. He should have been drowned at birth."

"With the exception of the couple with the baby, I want everyone out of here," Jessie said in a rigid tone. They trouped up front. "Sit. I have food for everyone."

When the Russian hesitated, Bodie said, "You can sit here by us." He motioned to the unused portion of the booth he and Doyle were using. The old man slid hesitantly in. "I'm Bodie. This is Doyle."

"I am Rudolph," the wrinkled peasant told them.

"I won't eat with them!" Kahtia said sharply.

"Nonsense," Jessie exclaimed and placed bowls of stew in front of the men in the booth. "I have yours at the counter," she advised the negro.

"I refuse to eat in the same room with them," Kahtia said haughtily.

"There's always the bathroom," Jessie said philosophically. "But I think you'd be more comfortable out here."

The Frenchman entered the front. "My wife and I have something to say to the agent and the Russian."

"He wants them gone as well," Kahtia said smugly.

"No, we don't," Vi replied in a cool voice. The negro girl snorted and sat at the counter.

"All decisions were made by the group," Bodie hissed. His hands clenched. "All Doyle did was relay what they decided...as a group!"

"Still, he..." Kahtia began.

"I killed those children," Doyle moaned and buried his head in his hands.

"No!" Bodie yelled, "You didn't!"

"I said...I told them that I did not believe the terrorists would actually kill the children. The others believed me." Doyle's voice was dead, void of all emotion. When he looked towards Bodie, the dark eyes were desolate.

"I know the history of those terrorists," Bodie informed him firmly. "They were not known for killing."

"The leader was an Irishman," Kahtia exclaimed in rage, "And the Irish are a violent people."

"My grandson did not do what they claimed he did," the old man said bleakly.

"Fasrt," Kahtia cursed.

"Please, may I speak?" the Frenchman requested dryly. He welcomed the silence with a sigh as he turned his attention toward Doyle. "My wife and I want to say thank you for trying to save our children. We did not know you as a person, but when we learned they had placed a CI5 agent in charge, we felt easier. Such an agent, we knew, would not give into anger, into using emotions, and therefore antagonise the captors. We knew our boys stood a better chance with you there."

"But the children died," Doyle murmured in great sadness. "The others listened to me, and they died."

"It wasn't your fault!" Bodie exploded and then apologised immediately, "I'm sorry, Doyle."

"The Russian pig exploded that bomb," Kahtia snarled as she jumped off the stool to glare at the old peasant.

His skin darkened considerably but he protested, "My grandson did not do what they said!"

"They said his hand was on the bomb!" the South African shrieked.

"He would not have set it off," the old man murmured in agony. "I know he would not have."

"He was colour blind, wasn't he?" Jessie asked and took a sip of her lemonade.

"Yes," the Russian agreed with a soft exhale of breath. "My son and I are the same."

"If he was disconnecting the bomb and pressed the wrong colour combination, it would have gone off, wouldn't it?" the old woman asked in a bland voice.

Doyle answered, "Yes."

"And since he was colour blind, it was possible that this happened, wasn't it?" she asked with a small smile.

"Did it occur that way?" Bodie asked hopefully.

"She is just an old, foolish, white woman," Kahtia sneered. "What does she know?"

Bodie threw the negro a baleful look but said nothing to her. He asked Jessie, "Did it happen that way?"

"The only ones who would truly know that are dead," Jessie said in a voice devoid of expression.

Kahtia sniffed in disdain. "I told you; she is just an old, stupid, white woman." She went back to the counter and sat down. Her food was cold when she took a bite. "Replace this," she ordered. Jessie did so without comment.

Bodie stepped briskly toward the old woman. "Jessie?" he begged. Icy fingers played with his spine. He didn't know why he believed because it made no sense, but he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this woman was the key to Doyle's recovery.

Jessie gazed thoughtfully at each of the inhabitants of the room. "Is seeing the truth with your own two eyes the only thing that will help?"

"Doyle needs it," Bodie whispered. "Please."

Jessie left the counter again, went slowly toward the door. She touched the doorknob but did not turn it. She then took the three steps toward the huge, picture window. Jessie inhaled deeply and blew on the glassite surface. There, on the other side, in place of the rain that still appeared through the other windows, was the inside of the Vanguard School.

"Those are my sons!" the Frenchman exclaimed in joy and ran to the window. His hands caressed the glass for a second and then came to rest on the cold finish.

"And that's Kyrino!" Kahtia shrieked. She hurried to the door and tried to open it but it wouldn't budge. "Open this!" she commanded Jessie.

"No," Jessie replied calmly.

"I said open it, you foolish, old woman," Kahtia shouted in rage. "Open it or I'll break that ugly neck of your!"

Bodie stepped between the two women. He didn't say anything verbally but his face and eyes, his stance, did.

"It is not our right to interfere in what has happened," Jessie told the young girl.

"Damn you, you stupid woman!" Kahtia snarled. "I can save my brother! Open the freshing door!"

"No."

The negro would have tried to push by Bodie to attack the old lady, but the sound of voices from the other side of the picture window made Kahtia whirl.

"I am going to disconnect the bomb," the young Russian on the other side of the picture window told his colleagues. "What the agent said made a lot of sense."

"But if we do that," the fat, little Frenchman argued, "How will they know that we mean business?"

"We planned to die to show our dissatisfaction with the way the world is being run," the tall, husky Irishman added quickly.

"But the children didn't," the Russian suggested. "It is like the agent said, why must they die as well?"

"To show those outside we mean business," the Irishman snapped.

"This whole thing was your idea," the Frenchman reminded the Russian.

"Yes, but the agent said.... Jean, do we want our deaths connected with the murder of innocent children? Or do we want the universe to think of us as rational creatures?"

"Offer to exchange the children for the agent," the Irishman said slyly.

"Yeah," the Frenchman agreed.

"We will, but first I am going to disconnect the bomb. When we have the agent in here, I will reconnect it. Jean, don't look like that. I haven't gone insane. This bomb is detonated by vibrations. It's safer to have it disconnected while the children are walking out."

"Tol, are you going to exchange them for the agent?" the Frenchman demanded.

"Yes. Now, be quiet." Tol opened the lid to the box. The inside was a mess, confusion to anyone unfamiliar with the type of bomb being used.

Inside the cafe, Doyle stood up, walked as if in a dream toward the picture window. Bodie watched him in worry but he stood back silent, showing his concern by the chewing of his bottom lip.

"They listened to me," the agent said as he watched the Russian terrorist remove a screw driver from his back pocket.

"Yes," Jessie said with a nod. "You got through to them."

Doyle's mind sang, "They listened to me!" once more.

"Do you know the type of bomb, Doyle?" Bodie asked when he realised the agent was following the Britisher's every move.

"Yeah. I studied up on bombs after that scare in the bowling alley. I know it, all right." Doyle was silent for a few moments until the Britisher touched the wrong section. "No, not that one." The picture froze. The people in the school became statues. Doyle turned to his captain. "The correct procedure should be left red, right yellow, right blue, right green, left green. He's touching left red instead of left green."

"The bomb will explode," Jessie remarked without emotion, "Killing everyone inside that school."

Doyle's glance went toward her. He studied her intently before answering, "Yes."

"A colour blind person could have made that mistake," Jessie continued.

"Yes!" The Russian peasant cried out as he rushed toward the window. "My son did not kill those children on purpose! He did not do it!"

"But if he made the bomb," Bodie argued, puzzled. "Wouldn't he know how to dismantle it?"

"If he made the bomb," Jessie agreed. "Doyle, do you remember what they found when they investigated the ruins?"

"The bomb was South African, the type made by the Black Imperialists," the agent informed her.

"He lies! He's trying to protect himself!" Kahtia snarled. "He lies!"

"Doyle," Bodie whispered. "You were in shock. Could you have heard wrong?"

"I play the entire set of events over and over in my mind," Doyle murmured. "I have a perfect memory. It served me well on this one."

Bodie's hand went out to touch the agent, to ease the hint of bitterness away, but he allowed his arm to drop, respecting the other man's need not to be touched.

"We would not have given the bomb to them!" Kahtia yelled and stomped her foot.

The lights flickered...twice....

Kahtia's face was an odd mixture of expressions. "We would not have given a bomb to them; we had children in that school." Her voice was pleading.

Jessie took pity on her. "If your people had been aware of where the bomb was going to be used, it would not have been sold to the terrorists." She studied the agent who stood quietly contemplating her. "Are you feeling better?" she asked Doyle in a gentle voice.

"Yes."

He did sound more like his old self. Bodie grinned foolishly, in relief.

The lights flickered once more.

"Let me pull my brother from that school," Kahtia begged. "Let me save his life."

"No." Jessie's voice was firm. The negro cursed her in violent rage, swung around and sprang for the door. The people on the other side of the window vanished. Rain reappeared. The door opened to Kahtia's touch. The negro girl ran out into the rain and the door closed. The lights flickered yet again.

"Our turn?" Bodie enquired calmly as if the recent events happened every day.

"Your turn," Jessie agreed.

"I'd like to pay you for the food, for the kindness you gave us," Bodie told her truthfully.

"It's not necessary," she told him kindly.

"You won't be here tomorrow, will you?" he asked.

Jessie shrugged. "Who can say? I've been here off and on for over a hundred years."

"When someone needs you," Bodie said in satisfaction.

"When someone needs me," the old woman agreed. "It's time to leave."

"I'll bring the credits tomorrow, leave them in the field for you," Bodie insisted.

"Which field?" she teased. "If you want to repay the kindness I've shown, help someone else in trouble."

"I will." Bodie turned to his friend and lover. "Are we ready to leave?"

"Yes, Bodie," Doyle agreed. They stepped out into the rain.

It was a cold torrent. Darkness surrounded them, a wet curtain of rain. And then it disappeared. The sun was shining brightly. Birds sang in the trees...and the cafe had vanished. That didn't surprise Bodie at all.

"Bodie, our clothes," Doyle said in shock.

The blue eyed agent looked down. They were back in their original pants and shirts, wearing their own boots...and...they were dry. He made a strangled sound but recovered quickly. "Let's go back to the cottage." An icy tingle ran up and down his spine.

"Yeah," the tall, slim agent agreed.

The cottage was right over the hill. It stared back at them cool and aloof.

"No one will ever believe this," Bodie remarked in an odd voice. "I don't believe it." He shook his head. "Would you like to spend some time in there?" Bodie asked half-heartedly, motioning toward Cowley's cottage with his chin....

"I want to go back to London," Doyle informed the other man.

"Then let's go home," Bodie said in relief.

"Gladly."

---

There's a cafe at the end of the road. It's a nice, little restaurant, run by a generous, friendly, old woman. It is always surrounded by a dark curtain of rain. Its lights are always beacons of relief to those seeking refuge. Any traveller on need, anyone lost in the rain, is welcomed within. She gives him food, shelter, dry clothing, and when it's time, she sends him on his way again.

Sometimes the road is around the corner. Sometimes it's located in the middle of a desert outpost...and sometimes, it's located right over the hill.

-- THE END --