SIGNS OF LIFE

Part 1:

By Moviegirl  littlesister1023@hotmail.com
 

A MARVELOUSLY-CRAFTED TERRY THORNE STORY TAKING UP RIGHT AT THE ENDING OF PROOF OF LIFE

Terry Thorne could neatly divide his life into two distinct and separate time periods: B.A. and A.A. The first, Before Alice, was the time when his life was perfectly in control. The job was rewarding, both financially and personally. He felt like he was doing something important, something not everyone could do. He was saving lives, and keeping families together.

Of course, that almost always meant leaving his family behind; sacrifices for the greater good, he always told himself. Even when he came home from God-Knows-Where-I-Don't-Even-Remember-Anymore and found his wife's half of the closet cleaned out and his son's room empty, he maintained the stoic façade so carefully cultivated first in his youth, then in the Army. By God, if eighteen years of Carson Thorne's belt buckle and fists didn't toughen you up to life's little heartaches, three years in the Australian Army and ten years in the British Special Forces sure as hell would.

So when Angela left him and took little Henry with her, Terry Thorne merely sat on the edge of his bed and calmly read the terse note she'd left for him: My lawyer will call you. I'm sorry. A. "You mean Daddy's lawyer," he'd snorted aloud. He then had himself a decent cry - five minutes, no more - blew his nose, took a shower, and got blind, shit-faced drunk all by himself in his nice, now sparsely-furnished home.

The divorce freed him, in a way. Less responsibility, nobody left to be concerned if he got shot, or captured, or killed. Henry might be a little upset, Terry hoped...but hell, Angela was already on her third husband by the time the boy was shipped off to his grandfather's alma mater boarding school. He'd probably think the bloody headmaster was his father, for Christ's sake.

Terry visited with Henry, and vice versa, as often as he could arrange. If there was one thing during this B.A. period of his life that could be considered a chink in the considerable armor of Terrence Thorne, it was his son. Their meetings were always cordial, always pleasant, and it tore Terry's heart in two every time. What a very proper little boy Henry was; what a very proper young man he'd become in boarding school. Terry knew he probably should've objected more strenuously to Angela's decision to send the boy away to school, but who was he to dictate the child's future? If he'd spent three weeks total with him through his entire life, that was a lot. So now, Terry visited his very proper young teenage son, and they shook hands and discussed rugby scores, and how sorry he was, son, that he couldn't make the game like he'd promised. Collateral damage for the greater good, he'd told himself. The boy called him "Sir," and Terry never hated one tiny word so much in his life.

And then came Alice. How easily she had flown under his radar and invaded that impenetrable fortress around his heart, with her curling blond hair and saucer-sized eyes. What a total fool he'd made of himself, forsaking his career with Luthan Risk, all for what? A woman? A married woman, no less, one he knew would go right back to her husband as soon as he was found.

To make matters worse, Terry never - not once - even entertained the thought that it would be quite all right if perhaps Peter Bowman didn't come back alive. No, Terry's sense of honor dictated that yet again, the greater good was paramount, and his own feelings and happiness must take a back seat. But something was different this time; this time, there was no stoic façade. The wall he was so good at erecting didn't come up as he watched Alice and her newly-rescued husband being driven away. Oh, he tried, no doubt about that; a million thoughts flashed through his mind as the car became smaller and smaller in his sight. He tried to convince himself that it didn't matter. He told himself it was for the best. Dino had even suggested they go into business together, and that didn't sound like a bad idea - kind of exciting, even.

So, why didn't that convince his heart to stop breaking?

He hadn't had much time to ponder the question, because as he turned to head back down the mountain, his vision blurred, and a searing pain in his head drove him to his knees. He tried shaking it off, which only made it worse. He was vaguely aware of Dino's sudden reappearance beside him, and his voice saying, "Holy shit! T, talk to me! C'mon, big guy, say something." But he couldn't see him, and now Terry Thorne had two emotions warring within him: heartbreak, and abject terror.

He managed to say one strangled word - "Help" - before the darkness swallowed him whole. Keeling over into Dino's arms, Terry entered the second half of his life - After Alice.

When he awoke, he heard voices and snippets of conversation - "Small bleeder," "Blunt trauma from the explosion," "Trying medication first" - but still couldn't see. He took a deep breath to quell the fear that had bubbled up again inside of him, but before he could say anything, he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and a soft English-accented voice tell him, "Lie still, Mr. Thorne. Everything's quite all right." As though reading his mind, the voice continued, "Don't be alarmed. Your eyes are bandaged. They suffered some flash burns from the explosion you experienced. Can you try and tell me how you feel?"

"Tired," he rasped. "Head hurts."

The voice chuckled. "Well, that's certainly to be expected. The force of the explosion caused a tiny bleed in your brain. Now I know that sounds rather awful, but we're giving you medication as we speak that should clear it right up. You'll be right as rain in no time."

"My eyes?"

"They should take a little while to heal; we'll give it about two weeks with the bandages on, and we'll see then, shall we?"

Terry swallowed and replied, "And just who are we, anyway? And where the hell am I?"

A different, harsher voice answered, "St. Mary's Hospital. You're in London, Mr. Thorne."

"London? Bloody hell!" The last thing he remembered, he was in Tecala. "How'd I get O.S.?"

"I don't understand," the harsher voice said flatly.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice. "Overseas. Don't mind him, English is his second language. Hey, nice of you to join the party, buddy." A strong hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Dino," Terry croaked. "How long've I been out?"

"You've been in the land of nod for about five days, my friend. Swooned like a girl right into my arms, and we haven't heard bupkis from you since." Dino couldn't see Terry's eyes, but he could see his throat working, trying to keep things under control. "Hey, it's okay, man. Don't worry. You're gonna be fine. I got you outta Tecala on a medevac flight - no way in hell I was letting those hacks treat you."

"Thanks, mate. When can I get out of here?"

"Well," the mysterious harsh voice said, "I should think in two or three days, we should be able to send you home. Provided, of course, you have someone to look after you."

"I don't need looking after," Terry barked back, regretting it instantly as his head pounded.

"Yeah, you do, T," Dino said softly. "Just for awhile, until the bandages come off your eyes. What, you're going to go home by yourself and bump into the furniture? I'll bet these guys can arrange a nurse or something. A leggy, lovely, well-endowed…"

"I might be blind, Dino, but I get the picture," Terry laughed, but his smile faded quickly. "I hate this."

As the words left his mouth, Terry heard a very unexpected voice say, "I'll look after him. I can do it."

"Henry?"

"Now then, Mr. Thorne, let's just have a look at those eyes of yours," Dr. Catherine Aubrey said pleasantly. She had been called in on a consult that morning, and was having her first look at St. Mary's "celebrity" patient, the handsome adventurer who'd been injured rescuing a man from the mountains of South America. Normally, her cases as an ophthalmologist ran more toward children who'd squirted glue in their eyes, not retinal flash burns from mortar fire, and she relished the change of pace.

"All right, I'm going to touch your face now. Don't want you to be startled," she continued.

The man under the bandages smiled. "No worries, Doctor. Takes more than that to startle me," Terry replied. He then proceeded to flinch when her fingertips grazed his face. "However, you did neglect to tell me your hands are freezing."

Dr. Aubrey laughed. "Sorry. I think it's a professional hazard. Between the hands and the stethoscopes…" Still chuckling, she carefully removed the bandages from around Terry's eyes. "Keep your eyes closed, please," she instructed him as the last of the gauze fell away, leaving only the small patches over each eye. She gently pressed the skin around each eye with her thumbs. "Hmmm," she intoned, "So far, so good. All right, as I said, keep your eyes closed, and I'll get these last bits off."

Terry sighed in relief and tipped his head back slightly as the last of the gauze was removed. "Christ, that feels good," he said.

Dr. Aubrey smiled. "Nothing like a bit of fresh air, eh?"

"It gets a bit hot under there."

"I'm sure it does." She tipped his head back toward her. "I'm going to wipe them with a moistened pad now, Mr. Thorne." She very carefully wiped the sensitive skin on and around his eyelids, then tossed the pads in the trash. "Now, very slowly, open your eyes. I've dimmed the lights, but let me know if it bothers you at all. All right?"

"Okey dokey," Terry said, trying to sound nonchalant as his stomach turned over. He took a deep breath and did as she asked.

Catherine Aubrey held her breath as she watched her new patient's eyelids flutter slightly, marveling in the back of her mind at the long lashes. I pay how much for mascara, and this chap has them for free, she mused silently. As they opened, Terry blinked, and his eyes watered at first, but they remained open. "Super," she chirped.

Terry snorted, "Oh, yeah, bloody marvelous. Stings like a bas - it stings."

"That's all right, Mr. Thorne. It does sting like a bastard," Catherine said lightly. "Now, can you see anything?"

Terry blinked a few more times and squinted. "Matter of fact, yeah," he declared, still trying to sound unconcerned as he rejoiced inside. "It's all blurry, but yeah."

"That's marvelous. Can you make out shapes?"

"A bit. I think there's a chair over there in the corner."

"It's a dustbin, actually, but at least you see that it's there. What else?"

"Hmmm…" A smile crossed Terry's face as he pointed over her shoulder. "That looks like a painting on the wall - I have no bloody clue what of, though. That's the telephone there, I think…" He looked straight at her. "And your eyes are a very pretty shade of brown, Doctor."

Catherine blushed. "They should've warned me about you." They both laughed, and she continued her examination of his eyes. "You're progressing well ahead of schedule, Mr. Thorne. I think you should be able to have the bandages off permanently by some time next week. How are the headaches?"

"Gone, pretty much. Get a little dizzy now and again, but I've been flat on my back for so long, I reckon I'm just not used to being upright," Terry joked.

"So long? You've only been here for eight days, and five of those you were unconscious! Give yourself a break, why don't you?" Terry merely raised an eyebrow at her. "Hmm. Somehow I didn't think you were the type who would. Anyway, I don't see why we shouldn't let you go home tomorrow. I understand your son is going to be staying with you?"

"Not that I had any say in the matter, but yes," Terry said tersely as Catherine re-bandaged his eyes.

"Come now, I'm sure your son can't wait to give his Dad a little TLC. He did volunteer, didn't he?" Catherine scolded him. Securing a last small piece of tape on the bandage, she patted his cheek gently. "All done."

"Thanks," Terry said softly.

"Mr. Thorne, everything all right? Do you feel unwell?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. It's…it's a long story. Let's just say I don't think having my kid looking after me is exactly quality time, y'know?"

"I'm sure everything will be just fine. Now, let's get you back to your room. You have to get ready to go home tomorrow!"

"Yeah," Terry sighed in resignation. "Home."

* * *

Dino had arranged for a car to pick Terry and Henry up at the hospital and drive them home to Terry's apartment. One more cursory exam by Dr. Catherine Aubrey, and he was ready to go. He sat in his wheelchair - which he had argued for twenty minutes that he did not need, thanks very much - and signed the discharge papers as he half-listened to her laundry list of do's and don't's. "…and if you experience any pain beyond what I've outlined as normal, please don't hesitate to call me. Here's my card." Catherine took Terry's hand and pressed the small card into it.

"Take me three hours to read it, but righto, Doctor," Terry joked, then handed it to Henry, who was standing silently behind the wheelchair. "On second thought, maybe you should hold onto this, Henry."

Henry nodded and said, "Yes, sir."

Terry tried not to sigh too audibly, then tilted his head back toward Catherine. "Listen, Doctor, thanks very much for your help. I know I'm not exactly patient of the year material…"

"Not at all," Catherine grinned. "You were fine. Matter of fact, you remind me a little of my husband."

Terry laughed briefly. "Figures. All the good ones are married, aren't they?"

Catherine was very glad that Terry couldn't see her blush. "You're a very dangerous man, Mr. Thorne."

"It's Terry, please. Unless you think Mr. Aubrey wouldn't like it."

"It's Mr. Wells, actually. Aubrey's my maiden name. And you are quite a bit like him, Terry. You're both fish out of water." She took his silence as encouragement to continue. "He's American. Small-town lawman from Arizona. I met him when I was in the States on holiday, one thing led to another, and he followed me back here."

"Good Lord, you married yourself a cowboy!" Terry exclaimed, teasing her a little.

"Another way you remind me of him. Accent's a little different, but you're definitely a cowboy, too. I shudder to think of the mischief you and my husband could get into," she chuckled. "Well, off you go. You'll remember everything I told you, won't you? No offense, but I do not want to see you back here." Catherine Aubrey took Terry's hand again, and shook it warmly. "Godspeed, Mr. Thorne."

Terry covered her hand with his other one. "Same to you, Doctor. And to your cowboy." He grinned. "Onward, Henry," he intoned, pointing in front of him.

Henry leaned down to speak softly in his father's ear. He gently grasped Terry's wrist and moved his hand so it pointed to his right. "Actually, sir, it's this way," he said, trying to hide his amusement.

"Oh, bollocks," Terry grumbled, then burst out laughing. "All right then, what would Mr. Wells say? Thataway!"

As Henry wheeled his father toward the elevator, a woman leaned over the nurses' station and sighed to Catherine, "I want one of those."

"I already have one. And it's quite a handful," she said, smiling.

* * *

"There's a note here on the table, sir," Henry said to Terry as he closed and locked the door to the apartment behind him.

"Really?" Terry said suspiciously, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. "Handwritten?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was it posted?"

"No. Just your first name on it, and the name 'Helen Keller' written underneath."

Terry laughed heartily. "Bloody Dino," he said. "Go on and read it."

Henry opened the envelope and read the note. "'Hey, Terry - Cleaned the place up and made sure you wouldn't trip over anything. Not that you would've before. You're way too neat. I think you're gay.'" Henry's eyebrows raised.

Still laughing, Terry said, "Go on. That's just his sense of humor, son."

Henry continued: "'Stocked the refrigerator. Sorry, buddy, no VB's, you're still on meds. On the top shelf, dairy's at three o'clock, soda and juices at one, cold cuts at nine. Cheese is in the drawer below nine o'clock, and the big soda bottles are on the bottom shelf. Shitload of frozen stuff in the freezer (duh). Every female employee of Luthan Risk sent over a casserole, so you're set for food until the apocalypse. I'll come by tomorrow to make sure you're not doing anything stupid. Hi, Henry. Dino.'"

Henry put the note down on the table.

"He's a good friend," Terry said softly. "Thanks, Henry." He felt Henry's hands on his shoulders. "Okay, point me in the right direction. Living room's this way, I reckon." He turned slightly to his left.

"Shouldn't you go to bed, sir?"

"Shouldn't you stop calling me 'sir,' Henry?" he said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. At his son's silence, he said, "I'm sorry, son, but can't you call me, I don't know, Dad, or Father or something?"

"Um…" Terry could almost hear Henry's feet shuffling nervously on the floor. "Michael asked me to call him Dad."

Stunned, Terry choked out, "And do you?" No answer. "Henry? Look, it's all right if you do. I know Michael's spent a lot more time with you than I have, so if you want to call him…" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I haven't decided, I suppose," Henry replied honestly. "I haven't decided."

Terry smiled encouragingly and reached out to cup his son's cheek. "It's all right. Look, call me whatever you like, okay?" He felt Henry nod. "Okay. Living room," he said brightly, and Henry led him.

The rest of Terry's first day home was spent reacquainting himself with his apartment, and learning to navigate in the dark. He was exhausted by six, and was dozing on the sofa when the smell of dinner wafted in from the kitchen. He felt Henry's hand on his arm. "It's time for dinner, sir…um…it's time for dinner."

He scrubbed his hand through his hair and yawned. "Right."

They ate in silence for about fifteen minutes; then, Terry put his fork down, and said, "So, how's school?"

"Fine. We're on holiday until the beginning of the month."

"Grades are good, I reckon?"

"Yes."

"How's football?"

"It's all right."

Terry sighed. I can negotiate with terrorists, but I can't have a conversation with my own son. Somewhere, Dad, you old bastard, you're laughing your arse off.

"I'll bet you had a lot of other things you could've been doing on your holiday. Thanks for staying with me, Henry."

"You're welcome."

Terry slammed his fork down. "Goddammit, Henry, will you stop being so bloody polite with me? I'm your father. Talk to me."

"Don't know what to say," Henry said softly, and continued eating. "I'm not used to having this much time. I keep waiting for you to say you have to go." His voice became a little louder. "But I suppose you can't go anywhere right now. You're a captive audience, aren't you?" The boy rose, and stormed off into the guestroom, slamming the door behind him.

Henry didn't come out for the rest of the evening. Terry managed to clear the table and make his way to the sink, but the dishes would have to wait to be washed. He navigated his way to the bathroom, managed a quick shower, and got ready for bed.

He groaned in relief when he removed the bandages from his eyes. He was told he could leave them off at night, and nearly kissed Doctor Aubrey when she told him. "Bet her cowboy wouldn't have liked that," he whispered aloud wistfully as he lay down and pulled the covers over himself. The guestroom was just down the hall, so Terry called through the wall, "Good night, Henry." He received no reply, sighed, and rolled onto his side.

He lay awake for hours, and was just falling asleep, when he was jarred to wakefulness by a scream. "Dad! No! Noooooooooooooo!"

Henry. "Oh, God," Terry murmured, panicked. Was someone in the apartment? Where was his gun? He jumped instinctively out of bed; everything was a darkened blur around him, and he felt dizzy. Grabbing blindly for the bedpost, he staggered, tripping and nearly falling twice along the way, from his room. Groping frantically along the wall, he called, "Henry! Henry, are you all right? What's happening?" He stopped when he felt the doorway to the guestroom beneath his hand, then fumbled for the knob, and threw the door open, his child's screams continuing to assault his ears.

He felt no other presence in the room; he would've known if there was someone else there. It was just instinct. No, Henry was alone, having a nightmare that terrified the father nearly as much as it seemed to be terrifying the son.

Terry nearly fell on top of Henry as he rushed over to the bed, just catching himself in time. He then grasped the boy's heaving shoulders and shook him lightly. "Henry, it's me. It's Dad. C'mon, son, wake up. It's all right. It's a bad dream is all. C'mon."

"No!" The boy shrieked, bolting to a seated position and nearly knocking his father off the bed. He grabbed Terry's arms in a vise-like grip, and his eyes finally opened. "Dad?" he said shakily as Terry began to stroke his sweaty red hair. "Dad?"

Terry smiled, his eyes filling with grateful, stinging tears. "What's left of him, yeah," he said soothingly to the blurry blob in front of him. "It's all right now."

"You were...I could reach you…" Henry sobbed, barely getting any air. "You were falling….I put out my hand, and you fell. I didn't help you. I couldn't help you. And I was so close, Dad. I was right there. You wouldn't take my hand. And I lost you. I lost you for good and all." He dissolved in tears.

Terry pulled him into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, son. It's all right. I'm sorry." He rocked Henry in his arms, kissing the boy's hair. "I'm sorry," he kept whispering.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Henry sobbed, echoing his father. "Please don't leave me. I'm sorry."

"Shh. I'm not goin' anywhere, mate." He drew back to look in his son's tear-streaked, puffy face. "Could hardly find the door, now, could I?" They both laughed nervously, breaking some of the tension. He kissed Henry on the forehead. "Right pair we make, eh?" They laughed again, and he pulled Henry back into his arms. "We're gonna be okay, Henry. We're gonna be just fine."

"Hal," the boy sniffed into his father's chest.

"Eh?"

Henry pulled back slightly, wiping his arm across his eyes. "My mates call me Hal." He smiled shyly at Terry.

"Oh," Terry said with a strange sense of wonder. "All right. Hal." He was silent for a moment, studying his son's face. "Does…does Michael call you Hal?"

The shy smile turned into a full-blown grin. "He calls me Henry…Dad."

* * *

Terry and Henry spent the next three weeks getting to know each other, and Terry found himself both delighted and saddened by the young man his son was turning out to be. He was delighted by Henry's sweetness and innocence, but also by his slightly wicked sense of humor; it made him deliriously happy find that Henry really did have a bit of the old man in him, after all.

The reminder that he had missed so many years of his child's development saddened him, however. While his son was still a work in progress, Henry was also very set in his ways about a lot of things. Not in bad ways, but Terry couldn't help but wonder what his influence on the boy could have been. He shook off such worries whenever the boy would bound into the living room, a big smile on his face.

"Dad, I've got a terrific idea," he'd said one day.

"I shudder to think," Terry replied, poker-faced.

"Well, I thought maybe we could go to the cinema tonight." At his father's arched eyebrow, he continued, "I know. You're still having a spot of trouble focusing and all, but I thought maybe if I told you what was happening on the screen…"

"Oh, that'll endear us to the other folks in the theater, now won't it?" Terry said.

"We'll go to a picture that's been out for a while. Won't have as many people in it. That way I can explain the action to you, but we won't bother anyone." "

"How about this instead? I have a feeling that might not go too well, so how about we rent something, and you can do the same thing. Deal?"

The boy's face brightened. "Super!"

They fell into a comfortable, happy routine. As Terry's eyesight improved, he relied less on Henry physically, but found himself more and more attached to the boy emotionally. He'd watch the news and wonder how a particular news story would affect the boy's life. He'd start making dinner, and try to decide what was most nutritious for a rapidly growing teenager. Terry Thorne shook his head and smiled; he was turning into a Daddy, and he loved every minute of it.

That only made it even harder for him when the day came to send Henry back to school. He was helping the boy pack up his belongings the night before, when Henry turned to him and said, "Maybe I could talk to Mum, see if I could transfer to a different school."

"Hal, I'd love nothing more than to have you closer by, but I don't want you upending your life for me. You like school, don't you?" The boy nodded. "You have lots of good mates there?" Another nod. "Well, then I think that's decided then. I'll probably be going back to work soon, and - "

Henry's face froze in a panic. "Dad, you're not going back to K&R, are you?"

"It's my job, mate. It's what I do."

"You could've been killed last time! You were blinded! How could you go back?" Henry's words came out in a rush. "Besides, I thought you said you don't work for Luthan Risk anymore."

"I don't. But Dino and I are thinking about going into business together. We'd be doing mostly security consultations, that sort of thing. But if a K&R job came up, we'd take that too. Hal, this will be safer, I promise. But I can't change who I am, any more than I would try to change you."

Henry's look softened. "I don't want you to change. You're rather cool the way you are."

"Oh, rather cool, am I?" Terry smiled, terribly pleased. My kid thinks I'm cool, he thought to himself. Not too bloody shabby.

The next morning, Terry helped his son carry his bags down to the waiting taxi. "Now, you're sure you don't want me to come with you to the train station?"

"No, that's all right. I don't want to make a spectacle out of myself. A lot of the chaps will be there, heading to school, and their dads won't be there either. All right, Dad?" He looked at Terry hopefully; he had no desire to hurt his father's feelings, but a chap's got to keep up appearances.

Terry tried to hide his disappointment. "No worries, mate. I understand completely. So, give the old man a goodbye hug right here, whaddya say?" Henry gave his father a huge, affectionate hug. "Gonna miss you," Terry whispered, shocked by the emotion that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

"Me too," Henry replied. He straightened up, and hoisted his bag up on his shoulder. "Take good care of yourself, Dad. I don't have another holiday for at least four months, so I can't come back to take care of the old man," he grinned sarcastically.

"I'll try my best," Terry replied dryly. The cabdriver honked. "All right, all right. Get your arse in gear, now. Call me anytime if you need anything."

Another back-thumping, male-bonding hug, and Henry threw his bags into the back seat, climbed in, and shut the door. As the cab pulled away from the curb, he stuck his head out the window and gave a thumbs-up. "She'll be apples, Dad. No worries!" he called.

Laughing and waving, Terry watched as the cab drove out of sight, then turned to go back up to his apartment. "No worries," he said softly, a smile lighting his face.

The phone was ringing when he got back in, and he rushed to answer it.

"Terry Thorne."

"Hey! Stevie Wonder! What's shakin?"

"G'day, Dino. Just getting Hal off to school."

"Ah, Prince Hal has left the building. And now his poor old dad is left with nothing but a stash of hidden girly magazines, fond memories, and a nasty case of empty nest syndrome."

"Whaddya want, you old bastard?" Terry said pleasantly.

"Ah, my question is, what do you want? I'm assuming that since the Prince has gone back to school, he's okay with leaving you by yourself. Soooo…that must mean you're back at a hundred percent."

"Feeling fine, thanks. What's up?"

"I have a job for us, T. And quite the cushy, lucrative little job it is, too. I'll be by in, say, twenty minutes?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"None whatsoever. Later, Terrence." Dino hung up, leaving Terry shaking his head.

* * *

Dino removed the bottle cap from his beer with his teeth, spitting it into his hand. "So, ya look good. Fatherhood agrees with you, Terry."

"Dino, you saw me last week. Quit stalling, and tell me what this job is you're so excited about."

"Ever heard of Collier Fisk, Inc.?"

"The tobacco company? Yeah."

"What do you know about all this hubbub about the big companies adding extra chemicals to increase the addictive nature of the cigarettes?" Dino leaned forward in his seat, cradling the beer bottle between his palms.

"Not much. Saw that movie with Al Pacino and that chubby fella. That's about it. Why?"

"Well, Collier Fisk is trying to position itself as the good-guy tobacco company."

Terry quirked an eyebrow at Dino. "That'd seem to be a bit of an oxymoron, judging by people's attitudes. I hate the bastards myself. Just can't kick the habit."

"Check this out, T. They're actually doing research on developing a hybrid kind of non-addictive tobacco."

Taken aback, Terry said, "Is that even possible?"

"Seems that it might be. They've got a bunch of scientists workin' day and night on it. And one of them in particular seems to be getting pretty close to getting it right." Dino leaned back and picked up a folder that sat next to him. He handed it to Terry. "Terrence Thorne, meet Dr. D. Rose O'Connell, the golden girl of Collier Fisk Research and Development."

Terry opened the folder and saw a photo of a woman approximately his age, maybe a little younger, with a pleasant, roundish face, long dark hair, and hazel eyes. "What's the 'D' stand for?"

"No idea, but listen to me. Seems some of the rival companies have gotten wind that Dr. D. Rose is getting close to the Holy Grail, and are none too pleased. She's been getting some nasty death threats. Even a couple of smoke bombs lobbed at her house, a bullet in her mailbox, that kind of thing."

"So?"

"So, are you being dense deliberately, or do I have to take you back to the hospital to check for brain damage? Collier Fisk wants to hire us to investigate the threats, assess the possible damage, and protect the cargo."

Terry stood quickly, dropping the folder on the couch. "Uh-uh. No bloody way. We don't do babysitting jobs. I thought we discussed this, Dino. We're going to do security consulting, some K&R…"

"We never discussed bodyguard duty, T. And look, no offense, but you've been out to pasture for a while. This might be just what you need to dip the proverbial toe back in the waters. Easy money, man. We sit around and watch Dr. D. Rose, or whatever the hell she calls herself, make sure nobody punches her ticket, pick up a nice fat paycheck, and establish D and T Security and Risk as the guys that fight on the side of the angels."

"I dunno, Dino. I don't like the idea of being some scientist's babysitter."

"Okay, look. How about this? We'll go to Collier Fisk's offices and see the guy in charge. He'll fill us in on the particulars, and if you still think this is a big nothing, then okay. We'll find something else. But I'm tellin' ya, Terry, this is a perfect first job for us. Minimal risk, minimal work, maximum payout." Dino rose, drained the last of his beer, and slapped Terry on the back as he picked up his jacket.

Terry walked him to the door. "All right, Dino. Let's call - "

As Dino opened the door, he said, "Nine-thirty tomorrow, Collier Fisk building on Canary Wharf. Herbert Fisk will be waiting for you. And dress nice." He pranced out the door without letting Terry get a word in edgewise.

Sighing, Terry closed the door behind him, then walked back over to the couch and picked up the folder. He looked at the photo inside. "Well, Dr. O'Connell, looks like we're going to get better acquainted. God help us both."

* * *

Intellectually, she knew that beating her forehead against the computer screen wasn't going to do any good, but Dr. D. Rose O'Connell didn't think it could hurt at that point. Soft growls, interrupted only occasionally by a chant of "Stupid, stupid, stupid," were the only sounds to be heard in the cavernous laboratory.

"Oh, yeah, Dee, that'll help a hell of a lot." Dee O'Connell looked up and smiled wanly at the figure in the doorway. "Why do you do that?"

"'Cause it feel so good when I stop," Dee replied flatly. "Chris, why can't I get this last equation? One last teeny, tiny equation, and that's another huge obstacle out of our way." She removed her glasses and tossed them haphazardly onto the table.

Dr. Christine Dunne took a seat at her computer station. "Because, pal o'mine, you're trying too hard to solve it. Sometimes you just have to..." She waved her hands as though doing a magic trick. "Let it happen."

Dee rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Master Po," she answered snidely.

"Ooh, who's a testy girl this evening? Dee, seriously...you're working too hard."

"Said the pot. So, what are you doing here at seven o'clock at night? Don't you have a nice, warm hubby to cuddle up with?"

"Yup," Chris grinned. "But you gotta prime 'em, Dee. Keep them waiting, get them really missing you, you know?"

"Oh. So, what's the real reason?"

"He's stuck at the office," Chris shrugged. "So, I figured I'd check up on you, see if you might actually have plans this evening. But of course, your plans consist of driving yourself nuts and banging your head against your monitor screen. You're a wild woman."

"Look who's talking, you old married lady. What were your plans, pray tell?" Dee leaned back in her chair.

"Okay, okay, point taken. I rented some movies. We were going to make some popcorn, kick back, and maybe Mr. Hubby was going to get very lucky tonight," Chris smirked.

"You rented Dances With Wolves again, didn't you?" Dee sighed, shaking her head in amusement. "Jesus, Chris...why don't you just buy the damn thing on DVD?"

"This way, it seems like an occasion," Chris replied.

"An occasion every other week?" Dee laughed.

"Go ahead, you. Mock me. See if I care. It's a perfectly fair arrangement. I get to watch my movie, and the hubby, well..."

Dee wiped her eyes, trying to control herself. Putting a mock-serious face on, she intoned, "Good trade."

Both women burst into laughter, until Chris looked up and saw the man standing in the doorway. "Speaking of getting lucky," she said under her breath. "Oh, my."

Chris gestured to her friend to look up. Dee's breath caught in her throat when she saw the broad-shouldered man in the charcoal-gray doubled-breasted suit, crisp white shirt, and a dark blue tie that accentuated his blue-green eyes. "Excuse me," the man said in a soft, deep, Australian-accented voice. He nodded toward Dee. "Dr. O'Connell?"

Dee gathered her wits quickly. "Yes, I'm Dr. O'Connell. Who's asking?"

The man stepped into the room and walked over to her. Handing her a business card, he said, "Terrence Thorne. How do you do. I've been hired by Collier Fisk as a security consultant to look into some problems at the facility. If we could talk in private?"

Dee's face turned stony. "Anything you have to say, you can say in front of my colleague here. Dr. Christine Dunne, this is..." She looked down at the business card, even though she knew what his name was. "Terrence Thorne."

Terry offered his hand to Chris, who shook it warmly. "Hi there," she said happily. "Are there security problems here, Mr. Thorne?"

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor. And yes, there may be. In my meeting with Mr. Fisk this morning - "

"Herbert Fisk?" Dee interrupted him tersely. "He's a paranoid old man, Mr. Thorne. He sees a threat around every corner."

"He also says that you've been receiving death threats," Terry replied calmly.

"Death threats?" Chris gasped. "Dee, you didn't say anything."

"That's because they were nothing. No big deal. Look, Mr. Thorne, I work in a controversial field. Tobacco R and D doesn't exactly endear you to certain special interest groups. It was just some crank calls."

"And?" Terry leaned casually against the table behind him and folded his arms.

"Yeah, Dee. And?" Chris echoed, glaring at her.

"Okay, okay. And a few nasty letters." At their silent urging she continued, "And some e-mails."

"What about the bullet in your postal box?" Terry asked.

"What?" Chris yelled. "What bullet?"

"Jeez, it was just somebody who's seen too many movies. God, give me a break, will you?" Dee rose from her seat angrily. "It's not a big deal. Nothing's happened."

"Not yet, at least," Terry corrected her. "Doctor O'Connell, I know it must be terribly frightening for you, but you have to understand that this sort of thing doesn't just go away. It doesn't just stop. It escalates, and it sounds like it's already gotten to a fairly serious level."

"Dee, did you call the police?" Chris asked.

"No, of course not. I'm a big girl, Chris. I can handle a few crank calls and letters. Besides, the police here are just like the police back home in the States, aren't they, Mr. Thorne? I could go to them, and they'd tell me they couldn't do anything until somebody actually tried something."

"That's correct," Terry replied.

There was something very comforting to Dee about Terry's solid, soft-spoken demeanor, not to mention the gentle, protective look in his eyes. It only served to irritate her more. "So, what am I supposed to do?" she sighed.

"Your employers at Collier Fisk have decided it might be best to provide you with a private security detail while the threats are properly investigated."

Chris brightened at his statement as the wheels in her head started turning. "Private security as in you, Mr. Thorne?"

Terry smiled and nodded. "That's right, Doctor. And please, call me Terry. I think we'll be seeing quite a bit of each other."

"That's a hardship I think I can endure, Terry," she replied. "And I'm Chris."

"Um, excuse me," Dee said sharply. "What if I refuse?"

"I'm afraid that's not an option," Terry said simply. "Your employers are well within their rights to protect the work you're doing, which as you know, is their intellectual property. And if protecting the work means guarding you around the clock, then I'm sorry, but you really don't have a choice."

Terry might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull. "I do not need a babysitter!" Dee hollered at him. "I will not have some hired goon following me around everywhere I go, you understand?"

"I understand," Terry replied in an icy-calm voice. "Of course, that would constitute a breach of the contract you signed with Collier Fisk four years ago, and leave you subject to immediate termination and confiscation of all of your research materials." As Dee's mouth dropped open, Terry couldn't help but smile a bit smugly. "Didn't read the fine print, did ya? You always have to read the fine print."

"Mr. Thorne, could you excuse us for a minute?" Chris said, trying to break the sudden tension in the air. She dragged Dee aside and whispered, "You idiot, what's wrong with you? Somebody's threatened to kill you!"

"Yeah, threatened is the operative word here. Nothing's happened."

"Yet. He said yet. What, you want to wait until someone takes a shot at you or something?"

Dee looked over Chris's shoulder at Terry Thorne, who was calmly looking around the lab. "Look at him, would you? So cool, so Mr. Johnny Handsome Secret Agent Man."

"He sure as hell is handsome," Chris smiled. "And if I'm going to have my body guarded, girlfriend, I'd want that fine-lookin' body guarding it." She could see Dee was unmoved, so her tone turned serious. "Listen, Dee. You're my friend. And I don't want to see anything happen to you."

"I appreciate that, Chris, really. But..."

"But I also don't want to see anything happen to me," Chris interrupted. "I'm always right next to you around here. We go to lunch together. You're always over at my house. If somebody tries to kill you, what's to stop them from hitting me, too? Or instead?"

Dee's face fell. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I hadn't thought of that." Chris patted her on the back, and she called, "So, when does this baby-sitting detail start?"

Terry tried to hide his irritation at her words, and cheerfully replied, "Well, I wouldn't exactly categorize it as baby-sitting, Doctor. I'll be escorting you to your residence, and setting up a security perimeter. My associate and I will start investigating the threats, assessing the level of escalation, and basically making sure you have twenty-four hour protection. So, I'd really call it..."

"Baby-sitting," Dee snapped. "Okay. Fine. Since there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it, fine. Let's go, Mary Poppins. But I'm driving." She grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. "Need a lift home, Chris?"

Chris looked at Terry, and said, "Sure, if it's all right with Terry."

"Fine with me." Terry gestured toward the door. "Doctors?" As Dee stomped out ahead of them, he leaned into Chris and whispered, "She always like this?"

Her eyebrows raised. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, honey. She gets worse."

Sighing, Terry held the door for the ladies, looked heavenwards and muttered, "Bloody hell."

Chris squeezed his arm on the way out. "Let's hope not," was all she said.

* * *

Dee didn't say a word the entire ride home, glaring at Chris and Terry as they carried on a friendly conversation. Terry took a quick glance at the wallet-sized photo Chris held over his shoulder, and turned his eyes back on the road. "They're fine-looking blokes," he said pleasantly. "How old are they?"

"Six and eight, and they're holy terrors. Don't let the angelic smiles fool you," she laughed. "I promised them a trip to Friendly's if they'd smile."

Terry smiled a little sadly. He'd missed all of that with Henry. It was hard to remind himself that that particular fence was rapidly being mended. "Friendly's? What's that?" He executed a smooth left turn, and looked suspiciously in the rearview mirror.

Chris followed his gaze out the rear window over her shoulder. "Um, it's a diner. Known mostly for its ice cream, though. Big-ass sundaes that'll fill you up for a week. Y'know, you English folks just don't know how to make decent ice cream."

"Don't blame me," Terry joked. "I'm an Aussie."

"Ooh," Chris squealed. "Fair dinkum and all that. Right, mate?" she teased him.

"Damn Paul Hogan to hell," Terry muttered, shaking his head and looking back at Chris. He frowned when he looked in the rearview again.

"What's wrong?" Dee asked.

"Dunno," Terry answered. "Most likely nothing." He reached down and hit a button on the car phone built into the dash.

"Yeah. Talk," an American voice said.

"Dino, it's me, mate. Do me a favor?"

"Sure, Terry. What?"

"Call your guys and have a plate run for me. Five-two-zed-fourteen."

"Five-two-ZEE-fourteen," Dino repeated. Okay, T. You want me to call you back on this line, or your cell?"

"Cell. Thanks, mate."

"Back at ya in about ten." A click, and the line was dead.

"Dino? You work with a guy named Dino?" Dee asked grumpily.

"Dean Riley. Nickname Dino. Is there a problem, Doctor?"

"No, no problem. I'll just keep waiting to hear from Frank and Sammy, that's all."

"Dee…" Chris said, a tone of warning in her voice.

"Sorry. Mr. Thorne?"

"Yes?" A quick right turn.

"How'd you know the license number of the car behind us?"

"I read it."

"Backwards?"

"Backwards," Terry replied calmly as he made a tire-screeching left turn into a dark alley, turned off the engine, and killed the lights. "Shh," he whispered softly.

Chris and Dee held their breaths as the lights of a passing vehicle illuminated the car's interior. Chris watched as the other car passed, and whispered, "I'll be damned. Five-two-zee-fourteen. You're good, Thorne."

"Cheers, Dunne," Terry replied as the other car continued on its way. "Okey dokey," he said happily as he turned the key in the ignition and snapped on the lights again. "Got us a bit turned around. What street again, Chris?"

"Loxton Court, thanks. Just make a left at the end of the alley, and a right at the light." She and Dee jumped when they heard Terry's cell phone ring in his jacket pocket. Chris picked up the jacket, which sat on the back seat next to her. "Terry?"

"Would you answer it for me, please?" Terry asked as he maneuvered down the narrow alley.

Chris shrugged, and answered. "Um, Terry Thorne's line."

"Sheesh, just started a case, and already he has women by the score," the recognizable voice joked. "Hey. This is Dino. Who's this? Dr. O'Connell?"

"Nope. The other one. Dr. Dunne. Chris."

"Hey, Chris. Seen an ugly Australian around? Big guy. Looks like a gorilla, only not as well-mannered."

"Oh, I don't know. I think he's kind of cute." She looked at Terry, who was rolling his eyes as he pulled up in front of Chris's house. "Let me put him on."

"Hey, maybe I'll see you around, Dr. Chris," Dino's voice said flirtatiously.

"Sure, you can come to my place for dinner. My husband makes a mean Yorkshire pudding, and the kids would love to try out their brownie recipe on somebody new."

Terry gave her a thumbs-up sign.

"Uh, well, it was nice talking to you," Dino said abruptly.

"Uh-huh," Chris laughed as she handed the phone to Terry. "Thanks," she said softly to Terry.

"No worries," Terry replied. "I'll walk you up."

"That's okay," she said. "See the guy at the window? That's my husband. He must've just gotten in ahead of me. He always knows when I'm coming. Don't ask me how. He just knows."

"That's nice," Terry said wistfully. "Well, good night, Chris."

"Good night. Nice meeting you. See you around." As she got out of the car, she leaned into Dee's side window. "Be nice," she growled, then turned, waved to her husband happily, and bounded up the stairs and out of sight.

"Dino, what've you got, mate?" Terry asked.

"Clean as a whistle, my man," Dino replied. "Belongs to a nice elderly couple from Tottenham Court. Whatsa matter, big fella? Some little old lady had you spooked?"

"Better safe than sorry. Thanks, mate."

"Yeah, no problem. So, how you getting on with Dr. O'Connell?"

"Uh, I'll get back to you on that, all right? Cheers," Terry said abruptly, and turned off the cell. Pulling out from the curb, he turned to Dee. "Hampshire Street, correct?"

"Yes," she replied, and was silent for the rest of the trip.

* * *

"Hang on a minute," Terry said, stepping in front of Dee as she tried to enter her apartment.

She exhaled loudly, but allowed him to pass. "For crying out loud," she moaned as she watched him slowly, carefully open the door. "I just want to go inside, take a bath, and go to bed."

"In a minute," Terry repeated. "Stay here." He walked into the apartment, and looked around. The elegantly furnished living room was quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of the curtains stirring in the breeze coming through the open windows.

"Did you leave your windows open?" Terry asked Dee.

"Yes. I always do."

"I'm afraid you'll have to stop doing that," he said, motioning for her to come inside. "You can have them open if I'm here, or Dino, but otherwise, no go."

"Do you have any idea how stuffy it gets in this place?"

"I will, soon," he replied evenly, stepping into the foyer to check the other rooms. "Okay, all clear. Have a seat, Doctor. Relax."

"Easier said than done with you skulking around," she said, flopping dramatically onto the couch, and sorting through the mail she taken from her box in the lobby of her building. Tossing aside the envelopes, which she knew contained bills, she found herself fascinated by the small box that had arrived with the rest of the mail. Dee figured her new baby-sitter would make a federal case out of it, so she carefully concealed it beneath her jacket.

The box was about six inches long and three inches wide; Dee shook it, but heard no sound. "I love a surprise," she whispered as she started to open it.

Terry was just closing the bedroom door behind him and stepping into the hall when he heard her. "Mr. Thorne!!!" she screamed, and Terry pulled his gun from its belt clip, and ran into the living room.

Dee stood staring down at the open box on the couch. After a quick look around, Terry lowered his gun, and said softly, "Doctor? Doctor O'Connell, what's wrong?" He stepped closer; Dee didn't even acknowledge his presence. "It's all right, Dee, just step away from it. I've got it." Terry gently placed his hands on her arms and pulled her away from the couch. Stepping in front of her, effectively blocking her view of the box, he reached down and picked it up.

"Shit," he whispered as he looked down at the dead rat that lay in the box, its head severed. Reaching into the box, he pulled a nametag out that had been used to impale the animal to the bottom of the box; the nametag read: Dr. D. R. O'Connell.

Dee's small voice broke his concentration. "Somehow, Mary Poppins, I don't think a spoonful of sugar is gonna solve this."

"Too right," Terry said quietly.

ON TO PART 2

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