Professionals
- 6 -
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Over several days, they gradually reduced the level of Doyle’s medication to a point where he was able to respond rationally to counselling. It was a week after their visit to the hospital before Al Parker was able to go to his room to resume his counselling programme.
“Hello, Ray. How are you today?” Parker asked, as he seated himself by the bed where Doyle was sitting, clad in jeans and a blue sweatshirt, his knees drawn up and his arms folded around them, his anguished gaze fixed on the bed covers.
As Parker spoke, Doyle shifted his gaze to his face, but, though he was looking at him, it seemed, to Parker, as though he didn’t really see him.
“Bodie?” he said, huskily, “H-how’s… Bodie?”
“He’s doing fine, Ray.” replied Parker, “They’ve taken him off the ventilator, and he’ll soon be back on his feet.” he added, crossing his fingers, under cover of the clipboard he was holding, as he spoke, “Now we have to concentrate on getting you well.” he told him.
A month of intensive counselling followed, which reduced Doyle to a mental and physical wreck, and Parker was almost beginning to think that Doyle was lost to them for good. But, gradually, he began to see a glimmer of progress.
“I think he’s reaching a turning point.” he told Cowley, “I’ve noticed a change in him this last day or two. He’s still full of hatred, and bitterness, and self loathing, but…” he paused, as he tried to explain himself, “…I think it’s costing him, and he wants to let it go.”
“So, you think there’s a chance he’ll recover?” asked Cowley,
Parker raised his eyebrows in a shrug.
“I’m seeing improvements,” he said, cautiously, “but, what level of overall recovery he’ll achieve is impossible to predict. We’re going to ease down on his medication and see how he copes.”
Cowley relayed this information to Bodie on his next visit to the hospital. Bodie was sitting up now, but would be bedridden for several weeks yet, before his arm was healed and his pelvis sturdy enough to begin physiotherapy. He had asked Cowley to tell him about the crash and had been gutted to learn about Taylor’s death, cursing himself for not having changed places with him. Perhaps it might not have happened if he had.
He was bored, stuck in bed all day, and easily irritated, having long since worked his way through all of the female nurses, extracting promises of dates from each of them when he was back on his feet. Chatting them up had alleviated some of the monotony but, being used to always being on the go, being stuck in bed was hard for him to handle.
“What does he rate his chance of recovery?” Bodie asked anxiously.
Cowley shrugged. “He wants to have him transferred to a private facility, completely away from our environment, as soon as he feels Doyle is ready. He thinks it will do him good to be with ordinary people, and will help his recovery.”
Bodie looked thoughtful.
* * *
In another month, Al parker decided that Doyle was strong enough, emotionally, to cope with being transferred to a private institution. Parker would still go there to counsel him, but the rest of the time he would mix with the ordinary people there and not have to be reminded of CI5 and everything that had happened.
Doyle was apprehensive at first, not having seen anyone except Al Parker and his staff for almost three months, but the staff at the private facility were very good and soon drew him into things and, gradually, he began to communicate with them, and make friends, although he was careful to keep himself at a distance emotionally. After all he’d been through he wasn’t ready to handle relationships.
Bodie, meanwhile, had now graduated to a wheelchair, but he was unable to go home, since his upstairs flat was impractical for a wheelchair, and, since he still needed twenty four hour care, he had been transferred to a rehabilitation facility. His arm was healed and he was having physiotherapy to build his upper body strength, and to try and put some strength and movement into his legs. The fractures were healing well but, due to nerve and muscle damage, he had very limited movement and feeling in his left foot and lower leg. He had also suffered a series of debilitating migraines and dizzy spells as an after effect of his head injury, but over time, these began to subside.
It was almost five months before he was fit enough to get up on crutches which, while a milestone in itself, was only a small step on the road to his recovery.
“Well, look at you!” smiled Cowley, when he visited him that weekend.
“It’s nice to be able to speak to people eye to eye again.” said Bodie, “It’s amazing how you cease to exist when you’re in a wheelchair.”
“You’ve done well, Bodie.” said Cowley. He was extremely proud of the determination Bodie had shown in getting back on his feet, enduring terrible pain, headaches, and sickness, with little complaint.
Bodie smiled. “I’ll be back at work before you know it.” he said, with a determined look in his eye.
Doyle was also making good progress at the private clinic. As Al parker had hoped, getting completely away from his working environment, and mixing with ordinary people, had done a lot to help him come to terms with what had happened and begin to pick up the pieces of his life.
As the weeks passed, CI5, and the injustices he believed it had caused him, took less and less attention in Doyle’s mind as he became more involved in everyday things. Things that, because he’d become so involved in his work, he’d lost touch with. Emotionally, he still kept himself aloof from everyone, his wounds still too raw for him to risk any more hurt. But, in other areas, Parker could see glimpses of his old self beginning to return. He had begun painting again, something he hadn’t done since joining CI5, and Parker had also seen periodic flashes of Doyle’s deadpan humour. However, when Parker suggested that Doyle might like to spend some time at home, as part of his reintroduction to everyday life, Doyle retreated back into himself, and Parker realised that it would be some time yet, before he would be ready to cope with the pressures of life in the outside world. At the clinic, he felt safe. There, he didn’t have to think about anything more taxing than what to have for dinner. There was no pressure on him to think about how he was going to make a living if he didn’t go back to his job with CI5, thoughts which would force him to rake up all the painful memories once more. It was a safe harbour, where he could rest until his mind healed itself enough to face life again.
* * *
After nine months, Bodie felt fit enough to begin training to get back in shape to pass CI5’s stringent physical. He had discarded the crutches after two months, at which time he had been allowed to return home, and he had spent the time since having physiotherapy, on an out-patient basis, and doing lots of walking to strengthen his legs.
Instead of training with CI5’s trainer, John ‘Slim’ Sullivan, Bodie contacted an old army friend of his, who had trained recruits for the Para’s, and enlisted his help. Paul Walker had devised a programme especially to suit Bodie’s requirements, and helped him through it.
Initially, Bodie found it hard going. Even with heavy strapping on his legs it was extremely painful and, although he’d regained sensation in a large proportion of the damaged tissue, there was still enough numbness to cause him problems which was precisely why he hadn’t wanted to train with Slim. He didn’t want them to know his weaknesses so that, when he did take the physical, he had a chance of hiding them.
After eight weeks of intensive training, Bodie felt that he could put in for the physical, although Paul Walker wasn’t so sure. There were still some weaknesses, in Bodie’s left leg, that he felt Bodie would be hard pressed to hide if the CI5 trainer was worth his salt, and he wasn’t sure how much more improvement there would be. Bodie had worked his socks off to get back into peak condition, and Walker reckoned that he was as fit now as he was likely to get. But Bodie was convinced he could fool Slim, and so arranged to take the physical the following week.
Doyle, meanwhile, had now been released from the private clinic and was under Al Parker’s care at home. Cowley and Bodie were impatient to contact him, but Parker had told them that any contact must be initiated by Doyle. Parker had relayed their best wishes to him, and told him that they were looking forward to seeing him but, so far, Doyle had shown no inclination to contact them.
He had more or less come to terms, now, with all that had happened, and his reactions to it, but, at the moment, he didn’t seem ready to think about the future, about whether he wanted to return to CI5, or what else he was going to do if he didn’t, and Cowley had told Parker not to push him. He would need to know soon as he would have to pay him off if he was unfit to return to work after a year, but he didn’t want to push Doyle into a decision until he had to.
Bodie turned up for the physical the following Friday morning, at their training camp on the outskirts of London. All CI5 agents were required to spend a weekend here, every six months, honing their fitness, fighting and weapons skills.
Cowley had arranged to be at the camp to monitor Bodie’s progress.
Bodie wasn’t allowed to wear any supports during the physical and, towards the end, his leg grew extremely tired. Bodie tried to hide it but he wasn’t clever enough to fool Slim, who spotted Bodie’s attempts to cover up, and, as his instructions required, put Bodie through even more strenuous moves, designed to highlight any weak areas.
Bodie put up a valiant response but he was exhausted, and in considerable pain, when it was finished although he was careful not to show it.
Cowley arrived in the office, just as Slim was printing off the results of the physical on his computer. He handed Cowley the printout with a grim look.
“He’s fitter than he deserves to be after what’s happened to him,” said Slim, “but,” he sighed, “not fit enough, in my opinion. Maybe in a few months…”
Cowley studied the results, wondering if he could make an exception and allow Bodie back onto the squad, but there were some areas of weakness that, given certain circumstances, could, in a combat situation, result in Bodie breaking down, and that could ultimately result in his death, or someone else’s.
Cowley slapped the printout down angrily.
“Shall I tell him, or do you want to?” asked Slim.
“You can.” said Cowley, not relishing Bodie’s response.
Slim nodded and went to find Bodie who had just showered and changed.
“I’m sorry, Bodie.” said Slim, “You’ve done great to get this far… but you’re not fit enough. We have to fail you.”
Bodie stared at him in disbelief. He’d felt sure he’d done enough to pass.
“I’m sorry.” Slim repeated.
Bodie turned on his heel and slammed out of the room. Slim sighed, and shook his head, before reporting back to Cowley.
“He didn’t say a word, just slammed out.” he said, in answer to Cowley’s enquiry as to how it had gone.
Cowley chewed his lip, thoughtfully. “I’d better go and try and talk to him.” he said reluctantly. Bodie was impossible to deal with when he felt he’d been mistreated and would no doubt be in a foul temper.
After a brief search, Cowley found Bodie sitting on a bench in the changing rooms. He was hunched forward, his elbows on his thighs, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking and, as Cowley approached him, it was with astonishment that he realised he was crying, something Cowley had believed Bodie to be incapable of.
“Bodie?” he said, softly.
Bodie jumped and hastily wiped his face on the back of one hand.
“Sir.” he croaked, not looking at him.
“I know how badly you wanted to pass, Bodie.” Cowley told him, “But there are areas of weakness that could put you, your co-operatives, and civilians, in serious danger. We can’t take the risk, however much I might want to.”
Bodie said nothing.
“You can try again in a few months.” suggested Cowley.
Bodie shook his head, lifting a hand to wipe fresh tears from his eyes.
“I’m as fit as I’m going to get.” he croaked.
“Not necessarily.” said Cowley, “With some endurance training, in a couple of months, you might be strong enough.” he encouraged, “Don’t give up.” He put a comforting hand on Bodie’s shoulder, feeling sorry for him. He’d worked so hard, it was a devastating blow.
Taking out his handkerchief with his other hand, he held it out to Bodie who took it and wiped his face.
“Keep it.” said Cowley, as Bodie offered it back to him, before patting his shoulder, reassuringly, and leaving the room.
* * *
While Bodie had been going through his paces for the Physical, Doyle had been jogging in a park near his house. He’d become extremely unfit, during his stay at the clinic and the hospital, and had decided it was time to do something about it.
Al Parker was pleased. It was a sign that Doyle was beginning to take an interest in his personal health one more.
For the first few days he had found it hard going, but now he was beginning to feel the benefit and, on an impulse, he decided to go to the gym. He hadn’t been to the gym since the day Julia had died, and it felt strange going there after so long.
“Well, hello!” Malcolm, the manager of the gym, greeted him in surprise, “Haven’t seen you around in a long time.”
“Er… no…” muttered Doyle, “I’ve been… overseas.” he said hastily, not wanting to encourage any further discussion on his prolonged absence.
As he worked out on the gym equipment, he ran into an old colleague from his days on the Met. He was now with the Fraud Squad, and they had often traded anecdotes about their respective jobs.
They exchanged pleasantries, as they lifted weights on adjacent benches.
“How’s your partner?” David Bryant asked causally. He had met Bodie on two or three occasions when he’d come to the gym with Doyle.
Doyle stopped lifting, a thoughtful expression on his face. He hadn’t thought about Bodie, or anyone else from CI5, for months. He had a vague recollection of asking Al Parker how Bodie was, and being told that he was going to be alright, although he had no idea of exactly how long ago that was, his senses having been dulled by the strong medication he’d been on at the time. But since then, and particularly after moving to the private clinic, his mind had been actively drawn onto other things and Doyle hadn’t given any lingering thought to anyone from that area of his life.
“I… er… haven’t seen him for a while.” he said presently, “He’s been on sick leave. He was in a car smash.”
“Badly hurt?” panted Bryant.
“Mmm?” Doyle returned from his thoughts, “Oh… er… multiple injuries…” He trailed off, Bryant and the weights forgotten, his mind suddenly full of questions. How was Bodie? Had he recovered from his injuries? Had he gone back to work? Who was his partner now? Was he mad at him for not visiting him, or contacting him? Whatever feelings of hatred he’d harboured towards CI5 and the government had never extended to Bodie and, after months of backing away from any kind of emotional involvement, Doyle suddenly found that he wanted, needed, to speak to Bodie, to feel the emotional bond that two and a half years of facing life and death situations together had forged between them.
“You O.K, Ray?” Bryant asked, as he sat up from the lifting bench.
“Mmm? Oh, yeah, I’m fine.” replied Doyle.
He finished his workout, showered, and went home intending to phone Bodie. He picked up the phone several times, and then put it down again, suddenly afraid to dial the number. He hadn’t spoken to Bodie for eleven months. While he’d been drugged up in the psychiatric wing, Bodie had been at death’s door and, in all the time since, Doyle hadn’t made any attempt to contact him. Knowing Bodie, he would probably tell him to go to hell and Doyle couldn’t blame him.
Eventually, he plucked up courage, snatched up the receiver and dialled Bodie’s number, having no idea what he was going to say to him, if he answered, but consumed by the urge to connect with him once more.
Bodie hadn’t long arrived back from the training camp, and was still pretty upset about failing the physical. He almost didn’t answer the phone when it started to ring, but then decided he’d better in case it was Cowley. Snatching up the receiver, he barked “Yes?” into the mouthpiece.
“Bodie?”
“Yeah.” growled Bodie.
“Bodie, it’s me… Ray.”
“Ray?” Bodie sounded stunned.
After a lengthy silence, Doyle said, “I’m sorry I haven’t called…”
“That’s O.K.” muttered Bodie, “How are you?”
“O.K.” Doyle replied, awkwardly, “Actually,” he continued presently, “today is the first time, in a long time, that…” he paused, struggling to explain “…that I’ve felt… like I want to… know people… things… friends…” He sighed. “For so long… I’ve wanted to… run away from everything…” He paused, briefly, giving a deep sigh, before saying, “I guess I’m tired of running… Does that make sense?”
“Yeah.” Bodie said, quietly.
“How are you?” Doyle asked.
Bodie sighed. “I’m O.K.” he said.
After another lengthy silence, Doyle said, “Do you… er… do you… want to come over for a beer, later…? Unless you have other plans, of course…”
Bodie wasn’t in the mood for socialising, but he couldn’t refuse in case Doyle took it the wrong way.
“Why don’t you come here?” he suggested as a compromise, “You remember the way?”
“It’s not been that long!” scoffed Doyle.
“It feels like it.” muttered Bodie, his mind on how long it had taken him to recover from his injuries only to have his goal, of returning to the squad, snatched away from him.
“O.K.” said Doyle, presently, “When?”
“Whenever. Now, if you like, I’m not doing anything.” said Bodie. And a few beers might help to numb his disappointment, he reflected.
“Alright. I’m on my way.” said Doyle.
Bodie hung up and sat staring moodily at the phone. He supposed he should be pleased that Doyle was finally beginning to take an interest in life again, but he was still too choked, about the Physical, to be pleased about anything.
He knew he should phone Cowley, and tell him the news but, after the exhibition he’d made of himself at the camp, breaking down in front of him, Cowley was the last person he wanted to speak to at the moment.
He stood up, wincing at aches and pains in his legs and back, and went into the bedroom where he put some strapping on his left leg, to support it, before donning a pair of jogging pants and a sweatshirt.
The doorbell rang a short time later and Bodie answered it, to see Doyle, clad in jeans and a pea green shirt with a green body warmer over it, his hands stuffed into its pockets. He’d gained a little weight in his face, but his tousled curls were just as unruly as ever.
“Hello, Bodie.” he said, giving him a sheepish smile.
“Hi.” replied Bodie, studying him. He looked the same as when he’d last seen him and yet, at the same time, he seemed completely different.
“Come in.” Bodie stepped away from the door to let him inside, and then followed him into the lounge.
“We were beginning to think we’d never hear from you again.” he said, as he went into the kitchen to fetch two cans of beer, while Doyle sat down on the sofa.
Doyle shrugged, as Bodie handed him a can before moving to sit in an armchair opposite.
“I know. I’m sorry.” he said, as he pulled the ring pull on the can.
“It’s O.K.” said Bodie.
Doyle studied Bodie over the rim of the can as he sipped the beer. There was a faint two inch scar on the left side of his forehead, just along the hairline, but, other than that, Doyle could see no outward signs of the injuries he’d sustained in the crash. He had been so drugged up at the time that he couldn’t recall, now, exactly what injuries Bodie had received. He knew he’d sustained a serious head injury, and he remembered seeing his arm in a cast, when he’d gone to see him at the hospital with Cowley and Al Parker, and he vaguely remembered them saying something about leg injuries, but, other than that, he couldn’t recall.
“So,” he said presently, “how’s things?” Who’ve you been partnered with since I’ve been gone?”
Bodie stared fixedly at his beer can, a nerve twitching in his jaw.
“No-one.” he ground out, finally. “I’m off the squad.”
“Huh?” Doyle looked confused.
“I haven’t worked since the crash. ” Bodie said, quietly.
Doyle’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “You haven’t?”
Bodie shook his head, refusing to look at him. “I did a lot of damage to my legs.” he said presently, “I was on crutches until a few months ago.”
Doyle’s mouth formed a surprised ‘O’. If they’d told him any of this, he didn’t remember.
“So, when do you think you’ll be ready to go back?” he asked.
Bodie closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t know if I will.” he croaked.
“Why not?”
Bodie swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat, and shrugged.
“I’ve been training for months, trying to get fit.” he croaked. He took a trembling breath before saying, “I took the physical this morning.” He shook his head, “I failed.” He broke off, abruptly, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, screwing them tightly shut as he fought back tears.
Doyle was stunned. He had no idea that Bodie had suffered such debilitating injuries.
“But you can try again?” he asked.
Bodie’s shoulders lifted in a small shrug, obviously unconvinced of succeeding.
Doyle shook his head to himself. Jesus, where had he been while all this had been happening?
“I’m sorry, Bodie, I had no idea.” he said quietly.
Making a visible effort to collect himself, Bodie drew in a long breath and squared his shoulders before removing is hand and waving his apology aside.
“You’ve had enough problems of your own to handle.” he said, in a deliberately casual tone, “Another beer?” he enquired, getting to his feet.
“Please.” said Doyle, watching him as he walked out to the kitchen with just the faintest hint of a limp, wondering how he could have gone all this time without making an effort to find out how Bodie was. But, for months, they’d kept him on such strong medication he hadn’t been able to think straight and, later, he’d been so wrapped up his own problems, he realised now, so afraid of getting emotionally involved with anyone or anything, that, shamefully, he’d chosen to assume, since nobody had said anything to the contrary, that Bodie had made a full recovery from his injures and gone back to work, rather than find out the facts for himself.
When Bodie came back with the beer Doyle said, “I was so… out of it, I don’t remember what they told me, other than you’d sustained a serious head injury. Do you remember much about it?”
Bodie shook his head, as he handed Doyle the can of beer. “Not really.” he said, sitting down again, “At first, I couldn’t remember anything from about forty eight hours beforehand, who I was with, what we were working on…” Bodie sighed. “But, a few things have come back to me over time, and Cowley filled me in on the rest…” he paused, remembering.
“We were chasing two drug dealers, and they turned off into a side street… Taylor was driving, and we were a fair way behind… by the time we turned into the street, there was no sign of them. Then, suddenly, they shot out of a cul-de-sac… it was nearly dark and their lights were off… by the time I spotted them, it was too late… they rammed into us and sent us careering across the road…” Bodie sighed and shook his head, Doyle forgotten, as he relived those terrifying moments, “The car hit the curb and took off…” he continued presently, “… I think we clipped another car and it flipped us over… I remember being thrown sideways… and hitting my head on the door frame, then…” he shook his head, “…nothing, until I woke up in the hospital six days later.” He took a sip of his beer, “Mind you, from what Cowley told me, I’m glad I was out of it. I gather we crashed into a brick wall and were trapped upside down by our legs. Cowley said it took forty minutes to cut me out of the wreckage…” he trailed off, his mind on his leg injuries and his failed physical earlier in the day.
“Yeah, it was probably a blessing.” Doyle’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Taylor was killed.” he said quietly.
Doyle nodded. He did remember Cowley telling him that at the hospital, although he didn’t remember his violent reaction to the news, pushing Cowley and yelling that he hated him.
Bodie sighed. “If only I’d made him change places and let me drive… maybe he’d still be alive.” he muttered.
“You don’t know that.” said Doyle, “It’s just as probable that you’d have both been killed. It sounds like you were lucky to survive as it was.”
Bodie shrugged, dismissively.
They were silent for several moments, before Bodie, wanting to get off the subject, said.
“So, what about you?”
“What about me?” said Doyle, taking a sip of his drink, “You probably know more about what’s been happening to me than I do.” he said, with a note of bitterness in his voice.
Bodie shrugged. “What made you decide to call? Al Parker led us to believe that you’d shown no interest in contacting us.”
Doyle sighed and nodded, thoughtfully. “It wasn’t so much… disinterest… I guess I just… blocked everything from my mind. When I moved to the clinic… they deliberately tried to draw my mind away from work. It wasn’t mentioned… even when I was being counselled about everything that happened, nothing was ever mentioned about day to day events, or any suggestion made about coming back to the squad in the future, and… gradually, it became a more and more unreal memory… it didn’t seem like I’d ever been here… and, for a long time… I guess that’s how I wanted to feel… it was easier, not to remember…” He sighed, “Then, today, I decided to go to the gym… I hadn’t been there since…” he trailed off momentarily, thinking about Julia, before saying, “… and I ran into David Bryant. Do you remember him?”
Bodie nodded.
“He asked how you were… and I realised… I had no idea… and, suddenly, I wanted to know… wanted to talk… I mean really talk… to someone close to me.” He shook his head, “I’ve spent so long avoiding any kind of emotional relationships… I suddenly realised how… empty I feel… in here…” He placed a fist against his heart.
“I was afraid to let myself get involved with anyone… afraid of… losing someone else… of getting hurt again… but, I realise now that… without being involved with people… you don’t have a life… not one worth living anyway.” He sighed heavily, “I’m scared… of… losing someone else… but, I’m more scared of having nothing to care about…” he trailed off, looking as though he was trying to make sense, himself, of what he had just said.
“Does that make any sense?” he asked presently.
Bodie nodded. “Perfect sense.” He smiled, Al Parker had performed a miracle.
“What about… the job?” Bodie ventured presently, hoping he wasn’t treading on dangerous ground.
Doyle’s expression clouded. “I don’t know.” He thought for a moment and then shook his head, “I don’t want to think about that yet.” he said, gazing pensively at his lap. He looked up at Bodie suddenly, “You won’t tell Cowley you’ve seen me, will you?” he said, looking anguished at the thought, “I’m not ready yet… you know?” he trailed off, looking sheepish, unable to explain his feelings. Contacting Bodie was one thing, their friendship went much deeper than work, but Cowley was another thing altogether.
Bodie took a sip of his beer. “Before you arrived, I was thinking that I ought to phone him and let him know – he’s very worried about you – but…” he paused momentarily, an odd look in his eyes that Doyle couldn’t decipher, “…I don’t particularly want to talk to Cowley just now.” he said, petulantly. He looked at Doyle now, “If you don’t want me to tell him, I won’t.” he told him.
“Thanks.” Doyle smiled, gratefully.
They were silent for a moment before Bodie asked, “So, what’ve you been doing with yourself since you left the clinic?”
Doyle shrugged. “Not a lot. I’ve been painting, and reading, and I’ve started doing some jogging – I’ve got so unfit.” He shook his head, “Nothing much, really.” He sighed, “Until today… it seemed enough.” He shrugged, “Now, I realise I’ve just been marking time.”
Bodie said nothing. Doyle might not be ready to think about coming back to CI5 yet, but it was obvious that he wanted to do something more than just sit around painting.
“Are you training with Slim?” Doyle asked presently.
Bodie shook his head. “No. I got in touch with an old army buddy of mine. He used to train the Para’s. He worked out a specialised programme for me, and he’s been supervising me.”
“I could use some fitness training.” Doyle said now, “How about we do some training together?”
Bodie thought for a moment. “Sure,” he said presently, “why not?”
And so, Doyle joined Bodie for his training sessions. Paul Walker worked out an all round fitness programme for him, since he had no special requirements, and, after a couple of weeks, he began to join Bodie on his endurance training. Bodie was doing a lot of weight bearing exercises, cross country running carrying a load, and agility exercises.
Doyle kept up with Bodie on the weight bearing and agility exercises, but when he went out with him on a cross country run he soon fell way behind Bodie, even without the burden of a backpack which Paul Walker had suggested Doyle wait a while before using until he had built up his strength.
By the time Doyle finished the run, Bodie was stretched out having a leg massage from Paul Walker. He’d begun doing the runs without any strapping on his leg and it ached badly after all the exertion.
Panting, Doyle flopped down onto the grass by them. Bodie was laying back on his elbows, his eyes closed, his face screwed up in discomfort as Paul Walker worked on his leg.
Kneeling, Walker had Bodie’s foot up on his thigh so that his leg was raised at about a thirty degree angle. He’d pulled the leg of Bodie’s track suit up, in order to massage his calf muscle, and Doyle was able to see, for the first time, the scars of the devastating injuries he’d suffered. It was obvious they’d had to do extensive repairwork. Scars traced a crazy paving pattern from his knee right the way down to his ankle and Doyle could see that he’d been extremely lucky not to have lost the leg altogether. To have reached the current level of fitness he had was, in Doyle’s opinion, nothing short of miraculous although he knew Bodie wouldn’t see it that way.
Paul Walker looked at Doyle, as he massaged Bodie’s leg. “You O.K?” he asked.
Doyle nodded, still too out of breath to speak. Walker smirked. He could sense that Doyle was miffed that, even minus a backpack, and Bodie’s weak leg, he hadn’t been able to keep up with Bodie. But, Bodie had been training for weeks. He had no doubt that Doyle would soon catch up.
​
* * *
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