Doyle had been at Bodie's bedside for two days and two nights now. He got in the odd hour or so of rest in a nearby relatives' room, but he was exhausted. They'd got into some hand-to-hand stuff with a gang. They'd been outnumbered, but had fought on bravely. Doyle had glanced Bodie's way and saw a man heave a lump of concrete at the back of Bodie's head. Doyle had yelled a warning but had been too late, and had received a nasty knee in the groin for his inattention. Fortunately, colleagues had turned up and the battle became more evenly matched. After a further ten minutes or so, the gang had been brought under control and Doyle had radioed in for an ambulance. He'd noticed blood seeping ominously from Bodie's left ear and his hair saturated in blood.

It had been over an hour of tense waiting at the hospital before Doyle had been called in and given the news that Bodie had a fractured skull and there was much swelling on the brain. He'd relayed the information to Cowley but was summoned by the medics almost as soon as he'd put the phone down. Bodie had begun bleeding from the brain and had been whisked off to the operating theatre. The practical side of Doyle had him back on the phone to Cowley.

"They may need a decision from you, sir, as next of kin," he advised grimly.

"Let me know if they do. Two things you need to know, lad. Bodie had advised me that, if things went badly for him at any time, he'd not want to be resuscitated. And, secondly, he'd want his organs donated to those in most need."

Doyle closed his eyes, not wanting to hear those words but knowing that he needed the information Cowley had just given him. He murmured an acknowledgement and went back to pacing the corridors. It was nearly an hour before the consultant found him and said that the bleeding had been stopped and they were monitoring. He again advised Doyle that the situation was serious and that there could be brain damage. Doyle passed on Cowley's message. The doctor made notes on the file and wandered off to attend another medical crisis. Doyle returned to bedside duty.

Later next day Collins came in to relieve Doyle. He was reluctant to leave, but Collins said that Cowley wanted to see him. He'd keep Doyle informed if there was any change. Doyle grudgingly left. Back at HQ Doyle took a weary seat across the desk from his boss and told him that Bodie was holding his own after his operation. Cowley just nodded distractedly, his face giving nothing away.

"Your job is out there, laddie," he said after a moment's pause for reflection, "not at a hospital." He raised his hand for silence, seeing him tense. "It'll be some time before Bodie comes to, and" he hurried on, not wanting to dwell on the 'if ever', "I've got a job for you."

Cowley knew that his agent was exhausted, physically and emotionally, but he was short-handed and work was piling up. And so, as the days dragged on, Doyle divided his time between assignments, bedside vigil, and a few hours sleep here and there. Bodie underwent a second operation several days later when the bleeding began again and he was transferred back to Intensive Care. Cowley, trying not to look worried, allowed Doyle extra hours at the bedside while Bodie - hopefully - tried to overcome this next crisis. Doyle looked over his mate anxiously, then braced himself to speak to the consultant. The doctor was pleased that his patient had survived the operation, but was concerned that no progress seemed to have been made prior to the crisis. Bodie's strength, physical and mental, seemed to be keeping him going. Depressed, Doyle returned the side ward where the medical equipment was beeping and bleeping. He was surprised to see a middle-aged couple hovering at the foot of the bed. They turned their eyes to him and Doyle could immediately see the family resemblance. The woman was naturally upset, but the man seemed annoyed more than anything. Doyle tried a tentative smile and held out his hand in welcome. Introductions over, the couple - or, rather the woman - drilled Doyle for information. There was little he could tell them that the doctor hadn't already explained. Doyle said that he'd leave them to some privacy when Mr Bodie senior said unexpectedly, "It's all right, I'm leaving anyway."

"But you've only just arrived, Bill," Mrs B- complained.

She received a thunderous look. "Not much point in staying is there? He can't see us. He can't talk to us. The bugger never could," he added meaningfully, and stormed out.

There was an embarrassed silence. "Anger is a way of dealing with fear," Doyle heard himself saying. He knew now that Bodie had inherited that trait from his father. More practically, he asked, "Where are you staying?"

The woman looked rather lost so Doyle offered, "I'll show you the relatives' room. It's not being used at the moment. Have you had anything to eat?"

"I just want to stay."

"I know, but Bodie'll be here when we get back."

Doyle hadn't eaten himself for some time. His eating patterns were as random as his sleeping patterns. He guided Mrs Bodie to the canteen and sat her down with a steaming plate of pie and vegetables. He tucked into the same. She said that he could call her Elsie and they talked of this and that, both avoiding Bodie's name and the reason for their being here.

And so that had been the beginning of a nightmare that stretched into weeks. Doyle getting on with his assignments for the day, a few hours sleep where he could, then hospital duty. He fitted in eating here and there. He and Elsie took shifts. After two weeks, and Doyle's colleagues no longer asking for progress reports - there was nothing to report - Elsie greeted him with a tentative smile as they changed shifts.

"He opened his eyes, luv," she gushed. "He saw me, I know he did."

Doyle couldn't bear to crush her one grain of optimism, but her son opening his eyes wasn't the same as seeing or understanding. He smiled weakly at her and saw that that was enough to bring her castle in the air falling to the ground with a thud.

"When was this?" he asked, feeling a need to say something.

"About ten minutes ago. You should have seen 'im." Her Irish brogue melted into Scouse.

Doyle went over to the bed and looked at his mate more closely. He didn't expect miracles - he was well past that point.

"Hey, sunshine, are you going to wake up, or just lie there? Your mum's come to see you."

Bodie sighed as though not wanting to be disturbed. Doyle shrugged apologetically at Elsie.

"Well, it's some kind of reaction I suppose. I'll take over now."

This time, though, Elsie wanted to cling to the bedside in case she missed another outbreak of consciousness, but Doyle persuaded her to get something to eat at least. After some time, and Bodie not twitching any more, Elsie came back. She looked as though she had something on her mind. Doyle wasn't sure he wanted to know what it was. He looked at her encouragingly though.

"The relatives' room's booked up. I suppose they've got more right to it, unless you class me as a squatter."

She was trying to make light of it and Doyle felt stupid that he hadn't thought of this possibility before now.

"Don't worry," he said getting up, "I'll fix something."

He reluctantly left and drove to a b&b he knew. It wasn't close to the hospital, but he knew the landlady. He negotiated a good deal for Elsie and received instruction about the local buses to and from the hospital. He arrived back at Bodie's bedside and relayed the information, writing down the address and phone number for her. She thanked him and added that Bodie hadn't moved again. They both gazed at their patient. Then Bodie began to open his eyes. It looked a struggle and his visitors tried not to push him. Bodie's breathing became laboured as though the effort was more than he could bear. Elsie was holding his hand tightly and Doyle hovered at her shoulder. At last his eyes opened. It took a while for him to focus in the semi-darkness. Doyle soaked some loo paper from the en suite bathroom and trickled the water into his friend's mouth. It seemed to refresh him and his eyes looked more focused.

"Mum?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yes, Will, it's Mum."

Doyle began to walk backwards slowly out of the room, not wanting to break this intimate family moment.

"Doyle, where' you going?"

Doyle stopped in his tracks and returned to the bed. "Thought you'd want a few moments with your Mum."

Elsie took Doyle's hand to detain him. "He's been here most of the time, luv," she said to her son. But Bodie had gone back to sleep.

"I'll find a doctor," Doyle said and smiled encouragingly at Elsie, squeezing her hand.

After informing the nursing station that their wayward patient had at last made a tentative step into the world of the living, Doyle headed for a public phone. His voice broke as he relayed the news to Cowley at home. It was nearing midnight and the Cow was just climbing into bed when the call came through.

"I don't want to pour water on your parade, laddie," Cowley began, though his heart was leaping in celebration.

"I know," Doyle interrupted. "We still don't know if he's damaged or how bad, but it's something for the doctors to work on now, isn't it? And he did recognise me and his mother."

"Aye," Cowley conceded. "Now, are you finally going to get some sleep?!"

"In a bit, sir. Sorry to have disturbed …"

"With that news, you can disturb me anytime. 8 o'clock tomorrow morning I've some work for you."

"Yes, sir. Good night."

Doyle put the phone down and realised that his legs were shaking. The tremor rose through his body and he laid his forehead on the telephone and wept. Once he'd got his emotions under control, he headed for the Intensive Care ward again, but bumped into a woman who was evidently waiting to use the phone. It was clear that she, too, had been crying.

"Good tears or bad tears?" she asked shyly and tentatively.

"Good tears," Doyle confirmed, smiling uncertainly. "My mate's just woken from a coma, but we still don't know how he is. And yours?"

Doyle wasn't sure if that made sense, but the woman nodded and confirmed that hers were good tears too. "My little girl's been transferred from Intensive Care to High Dependency. At this rate, they say that she should be on the children's ward in a few days. Good tears," she concluded again, and then broke down.

Doyle gathered her in his arms. "I think I'll join you," he murmured into her hair and allowed himself to cry on her shoulder.

They eventually pulled away and she made for the phone as Doyle headed for Bodie's bed after stopping off for a cold wash. Doyle was too keyed up to leave his mate and he shared the vigil with Elsie through the night. Bodie made no further signs of joining the world, but somehow his watchers felt that he was with them more now than he had ever been since the injury.