Despite the bitter cold, it is a glorious day.  The sun shines brightly, and, if not for the chilling wind, you could be forgiven for thinking it was summer at its best.

Decked out as I am, the cold isn’t really bothering me.  The only part of my body exposed to the elements is my face and the sensation of the wind on it is more invigorating than painful.  Reaching my destination, I sit down on the park bench and just watch the world go by.

The part of the world that I can see around me seems happy.  The cold doesn’t appear to be impacting negatively on it and everywhere I look I can see smiling faces.  The light shining on the Thames makes the river look even more majestic than normal and, for the first time, I realise that I’ve missed London.

I’m not yet sure whether that was all I missed while I was away.  I hope to have this clearer in my mind before my meeting with Malone in a little less than an hour.  Perhaps inanely, I’m half-hoping that this particular park bench might be able to help me make up my mind.

The park bench is situated alongside a wide walkway that runs along the Thames.  A strip of cafes and speciality shops are behind it and, whilst it is within walking distance of headquarters, it is also just far enough away from it in order to forget about the looming spectre of work.

It’s a truly lovely spot.  Never too crowded and usually free of the disruptive force that is known as ‘the London Tourist’.  The bench always reminds me of good times, like a favoured toy or a playhouse recalled from childhood.  Sam and I have spent numerous hours, far too many to count, sitting here and talking about anything and everything.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

Suddenly I feel the chill in the air and hug my trench coat tighter around me.  It was, I’d hazard a guess, less than eight weeks ago that we were last here, yet it feels far longer than that.

Sighing, I realise that I’ve been staring at my gloved hands, and force myself to look up.  Everywhere around me I see happiness.  Uncomplicated and innocent.  Pure joy that surrounds people like an aura.

A Golden Retriever is taking a small girl for a walk to my left and I don’t know who looks happier; the child or the dog.  The dog is positively grinning from ear to ear and I find that I’m almost envious of it.  To my right there is another park bench and sitting on it are an elderly couple. Although they are both feeding the pigeons that have settled at their feet from small, brown paper bags in their lap, they are still managing to hold each other’s free hand.

The couple can’t be a day under eighty years old.  The woman is a tiny, stooped thing that looks as though a gust of wind would blow her over and the man doesn’t look that much better.  Yet, physical frailty aside, they both look content.  More than that, they look in love.

I look at them and can’t see myself.

Their blissful, contented happiness will never be for me.  I no longer even hope to attain it.  Actually, I don’t even know what I hope to attain anymore.

I don’t know what I want.

The old woman catches me staring at her and smiles at me shyly.  I smile back briefly before turning my attention elsewhere and focussing on the Thames.

I wonder what she saw when she looked at me.

I know what she didn’t see.  She didn’t see the dark circles under my eyes, as they are hidden by my sunglasses.  Nor did she see the ever-present gun hidden under my coat or the many ‘souvenirs’ of my job that litter my body.

I wonder what she did see.

I mustn’t appear as broken as I feel or otherwise she wouldn’t have smiled at me.  Maybe she saw something under the layers of black clothing that made her feel safe…

Maybe…

I wonder…

I need something if I’m going to carry on.  Sometimes, particularly recently, I think that I’m getting too old for this.  Too old, and I’m only just thirty years of age.  I can hardly even remember my youth anymore and can but assume it was pleasant.  It was so long ago.

All I can remember clearly is the -- to put it a simplistic way -- never-ending battle between the forces of good and evil.  The battle that seems eternal.  Countless forces of evil have been brought down, yet there are probably still triple that out there.  I don’t know if I’m still willing to pay the cost of waging the war.

The cost of the last battle is immeasurable.  A blood bath that will never truly leave me; that lingers, not only in my dreams but my waking moments as well.  We were like sitting ducks.  The proverbial lambs to the slaughter…

CI5 will be paying the price for a long time to come.  I doubt whether they will ever be able to replace what they lost.  Three highly trained, specialist agents dead, one confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life and two others that somehow managed to survive relatively unscathed. Well, to put it another way, two were actually able to open their eyes in the ambulance and feel their limbs were still intact.

I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones and, thankfully, Sam was the other.

Not wanting to see bruised, limping proof, of their failures, we were effectively banished on enforced sick leave while CI5 licked its wounds.

Too stunned by what had happened, we both retreated into ourselves.  Sam disappeared to the Lake District and, after skulking around the house for a couple of miserable days, I retreated ho… America.  I was going to say, I went *home*, but I no longer feel any tie to the country of my birth.

My time in America was spent in a daze.  I called in on my remaining relatives and tried desperately to find what I was searching for.  I needed a reason; a reason for why I do what I do, but couldn’t find it in my family.

I returned home in time for my meeting with Malone without even knowing whether I still wanted to stay in CI5.

I still don’t know.

If something doesn’t happen soon, then I imagine I’ll be walking into Malone’s office and asking him to wait a moment while I flip a coin that decides my fate.  I’m sure he’d just love that…

"Here."  An exceptionally familiar brown-paper bag suddenly materialises over my shoulder and drops into my lap.  "Cheer up and have some lunch."

The McDonald’s bag isn’t the only familiar thing.  I didn’t really think that I’d missed Sam that much until I hear his voice and immediately begin to feel better than I have in ages.

Sam walks around the bench and takes a seat next to me.  I note that he is still walking with a slight limp, but other than that he looks a hell of a lot better than when I last saw him.

I feel the first real smile cross over my face in a long time.  "Sam, good to see you."

He smiles back.  "Ditto.  I was coming here to…  to think before seeing Malone, saw you sitting there looking miserable and decided I’d better buy you something to eat before you decide to take a bite out of Malone."

"It’s that obvious?"

"To me, yeah."

Fair enough.  If anyone knows me then it’s Sam.  Taking my gloves off, I get the hamburger out of the bag and prepare to eat.  Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam mirroring my actions and can’t resist having a go at him. "What’s this?  Eating McDonald’s now?  You feeling okay?"

"Well, seeing as, in the not too distant past, I realised that the odds of us dying together are somewhat large, I decided that if we’re not killed by bullets then the heart attack that is bound to get you is the next best option…"  Sam smirks at me over his burger.

"Hmph… You so called connoisseurs think you’re so great.  You wouldn’t know good food if it jumped out of its take-away container and bit you on the nose!"  I banter back, but at the same time see more truth in Sam’s words then perhaps he even meant.

Dying together…

Partners…

What if he’s had the same doubts as me?

A gnawing sense of unease settles over me momentarily.  If Sam no longer wishes to be in CI5 then I know my decision will be made for me.  Without him as my partner then I’m certainly not going to carry on alone. Strangely, I feel relieved at this possible loss of choice.  I certainly haven’t been able to make my mind up so far, so why shouldn’t someone else make it for me?

We eat in comfortable silence as the parade of life continues around us. The old couple, having finished feeding the pigeons, get up from the bench and walk slowly by.  Up close, the woman has a kind looking face and she smiles at me again.

I smile back, oddly pleased with how she reacts to me.  For some reason, I see hope when I look at her.

The couple shuffle along the path, hand in hand, and I’m about to turn my attention back to Sam when I notice a badly dressed youth jogging towards them.  Nearing the couple, the youth speeds up and, passing them, grabs the woman’s handbag.  She stumbles, cries out and slumps against her husband as she relinquishes the bag.

In a split second the happy tableau I’d been witnessing turns to apathy. Blank faces watch the bag snatch but no-one reacts.  Life feels suspended around me.  I want to scream at them -- do something!  Make a difference! -- but realise I’d be wasting my breath as they’d all continue to turn around and pretend that they’re elsewhere.

"Unbelievable," I mutter to Sam, who’s also witnessing the spectacle.

"Tell me about it," he replies and I feel him tense next to me as the youth nears us.

Needless to say, the youth doesn’t know what hit him.  One minute he’s sprinting along the path and the next his chin is being intimately introduced to the concrete as I sit on him.  Actually, I’m hardly even aware that I’ve moved as my actions were entirely reflexive.

Same old, same old.  Good versus bad.  Perhaps I’m simply predestined to this way of life…

Sam phones the Met -- who, surprise, surprise, are never around when they’re needed -- on his mobile and, grabbing the handbag off my ‘cushion’, he jogs slowly towards the old couple.  Reaching them, he guides them towards a nearby bench and they sink down on it, the gratitude evident in their faces.

The youth struggles vainly beneath me but has no real chance against my strength.  I don’t bother sharing with him what little I think of him as I doubt I’d be able to stop if I started.  Instead, I ignore the peculiar looks I’m getting, concentrate on restraining him and watch Sam with the old couple.  He’s kneeling in front of them and patting the old lady on the knee.

My faith in human nature is slightly restored as a waitress comes out of a café with two cups of tea, which she hands to the couple before quickly returning to her job.

Everyone else carries on as if nothing happened.

I’m as fascinated by this as I am disgusted.  How could they not help?

I don’t understand it.

Two PCs finally appear and, clambering off the youth, I hand him over to them.  Sam wanders over and glowers at the two constables.  "Some things never change."

I laugh and agree.  "And how exactly does this surprise you?"

One of the PCs glares at each of us in turn.  "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just that we always seem to be doing your job for you," Sam responds blithely, flashing a smirk at me.

The PCs hackles visibly rise.  "And you are *who* exactly?"

Sam grins at him.  "Sam Curtis, CI5."

"Chris Keel…"

Am I?  Aren’t I?  Am I?  Aren’t I?  Sam didn’t hesitate…

"…CI5."

A heavy weight immediately feels as though it has been lifted from my shoulders.  How could I even think of quitting?  I need to be able to serve a purpose; to be able to help -- protect -- those that need assistance.  It’s my role in life.

The PCs, speechless at this bombshell, grunt and don’t say another word. One carts the youth towards the Panda whilst the other heads towards the old couple in order to take their statement.

"I don’t think they appreciated our help," I comment drily.

"They never do.  Mr and Mrs Naylor do though.  They said we’ve restored their faith in humanity."

As far as fulfilling a purpose goes, I can’t argue with that…

"I want to be able to talk to them after PC Plod’s done his bit."

"We’ll be late for Malone."

"Malone can wait.  He hasn’t seen us for five weeks, another hour won’t hurt him."

"You do of course realise that in this case I very much doubt that absence will have made the heart grow fonder."

"He’ll be *delighted* to see us."

"Oh, *yeah*…"

"Yeah…  I’m really looking forward to getting to stock-take bullets or whatever lame detail he lumps us with for keeping him waiting."

"Absolutely," Sam laughs, "Oh well, I’ll be there."

I smile broadly.  "And I’ll be right there next to you."

It’s worth it, whatever the cost.

It’s who I am.