Lethe - Part 1 of 1

Chris' first words are a shock. After a week by his bed, fearing he's never going to wake up again, when he finally does... He doesn't even... His eyes hold no recognition.

"Sam. Sam Curtis, your partner."

"My... partner?"

"In CI5."

"But of course... What is CI5?"

"Umm... I think I'll call for a nurse."

Smart, Curtis, very smart.

"I'm in a hospital?"

"Yes, we flew you back to London after the..."

"London? That would be in Britain."

"Yes..."

I don't know what I'm thinking. That he's forgotten past few years or something... And then for the final shock:

"Who am I again?"

* * *

Sam Curtis' eyes seem shocked after my question, but his face is impassive enough. He looks like he hasn't slept or shaved for a week though.

"You're Chris Keel. Where the heck is that nurse?"

"Chris Keel..."

Nope, doesn't feel like anything. I had vaguely hoped that a name - persons have names, right? - would immediately restore - or create - some sense of identity for me, but... nothing. Just words.

Words in a void filled with pain.

Pain I see in the other man's eyes as well. Who is he, really?

* * *

"Yes, sir. Complete amnesia. Due to the head wound, apparently."

"What do the doctors say?"

"That he may wake up tomorrow morning with a total recall, or may never remember his old self again."

"I see."

We stand in the corridor in the hospital. I left Chris' room reluctantly, but this is hardly a conversation to have by his bed. Even though he is sleeping again.

Malone's face is impassive, and it's impossible to say what he thinks. What he feels. If, indeed, he feels anything.

Hell, of course he does. If Chris never recovers, he's just lost a great operative, and that is waste of resources.

I risk coming out with my plans.

"His other injuries do not require hospital care for much longer, so I thought... if anything helps, the psychologists said, it's familiar surroundings, so when he gets out I intend to take care of him in his own home. He would hate a nursing home, sir."

"I see." Our boss repeats.

It's still impossible to say what he's thinking, but at least he hasn't bit my head off yet, so I continue.

"I cannot, of course, remain on active duty while I take care of him."

He just stares at me, and then says something that really surprises me.

"You expect to get family leave?"

I stiffen. It's the first time he refers to my personal relationship with Chris after that one day, months ago, when we followed CI5 regulations to inform our superior of "any serious relationship".

"I fully appreciate our relationship cannot be classed as an official commitment like a marriage, sir," I answer quietly, "a normal holiday will do."

"Oh, you have been granted all the rights the married agents do, Mr Curtis."

What?

"Sir?"

"The fact the state does not acknowledge your relationship as 'official', Mr Curtis, does not prevent me, or the organisation, from doing so. You are on leave as long as Mr Keel needs you."

I just stare at him numbly. I find it hard to process the information he has just landed me with.

He looks at me now with what seems almost like a kind and compassionate (must be my imagination) look in his eyes.

"I would appreciate you keeping me, and the rest of the staff, informed of his progress."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

* * *

The pain is not so big an issue any more.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing though.

It leaves me more time to think.

Now that I no longer sleep in a drugged state most of the time all I can do is try and process all the information Sam Curtis is feeding me.

He seems to be around constantly. Like he has nothing else to do than to sit by my bed in the hospital.

Don't get me wrong, I am grateful. I'm so fucking lost and alone (heck, not even *myself* for a company) that something - someone - constant in my life is a relief.

He seems like a nice guy. He tells me we're friends too, and not just colleagues.

Oh, yes, colleagues. In this thing called "CI5". Criminal Investigation 5, or something to that effect. International organization. Which probably explains why I'm in, too. I'm American, currently living in London.

My name is Christopher Keel. I'm 28 years old. My parents are dead. (Must be a good thing... Would be hellish for them to see me like this. I assume I have no one special in my life, since Sam is the only one around all the time.) I used to be in the US Navy. I'm a pilot.

And now I'm some kind of a secret agent in "CI5". Or at least that's the picture I got from the description. Dodging bullets, running in front of explosions, that sort of thing.

And apparently, that's how I ended up in this situation. Mission gone sour, a building exploding around us.

Sam hasn't gone into details. Well, I think I fell asleep when he was speaking. I did that a lot when I was still drowsy with sedatives most of the time.

Now, like I said, I spend more time in the real world.

And listen to Sam Curtis telling me about this person I used to be.

* * *

It's Chris' last day in the hospital. It's so weird not to hear him complain about it all the time. The real Chris, my Chris, hates hospitals.

Apparently, he got a bit of an aversion to them after his wedding - half of his family dead, rest in the hospital, and most of them not making it out again.

Added to that, of course, the fact that a normal healthy person does not like being confined to a place where others are sick. Physical injuries like bullet wounds don't count as illness...

I'm avoiding the subject, I know. But it just hurts so much.

To see Chris looking like he used to (his physical injuries amount to few bruises and burns - and the deep head wound, of course, but even that is healing) but not being the person I once knew.

Oh, there are similarities. His taste in music is still the same. Classical music has kept him sane and occupied here.

I have even found traces of his sense of humour.

And he can charm the nurses even in his sedated state. Which makes me jealous, of course, because he doesn't remember me, doesn't remember us.

Doesn't seem to remember it's even a possibility.

If he ever recovers - without his memories - to a functioning human being, does that mean I have to seduce him again?

I have to check my thoughts, I cannot let nothing of this out, for he's picking my brains again.

"This Malone... what's he like as a boss?"

"Demanding. Bastard. Not big in thank-yous, but when he remembers to throw few words of appreciation around, it's really rewarding because you know you really have deserved it then."

"He doesn't always show it but he does have a sense of humour." I add thinking of a certain cocktail we once left on his desk. Chris' idea of course, which he took quite well, all things considered.

Then I remember what he said about our situation in CI5, and smile:

"You'd think he's stuffy, uncaring, and conservative, but he seems to have some open-minded ideas, and deep understanding..." Like recognising our relationship for a lifetime commitment. "And kindness." Or just using his resources for best possible outcome, but I still think I saw compassion in his eyes.

"He tries to be fair, and he is doing one heck of a job in running the organisation."

"You admire him."

Observant, Mr Keel.

"Yes, I do. Sometimes."

Backup comes in while I'm still speaking.

"Knock, knock. Heard you're getting out, Chris."

"Yeah. They don't want me eating their food and vegetating in their beds for any longer."

"Sorry to leave?"

She sounds surprised. She hasn't been around as much as me - obviously - so it's still hard for her to behave around this person that is and is not Chris.

"Nah. Sam tells me I have a cozy home - and a bigger TV - for myself."

"Not to mention a nice view" she grins, and sits down on the other side of the bed from me.

Chris' face goes blank and he looks at me for an explanation. I like it, actually, the fact that he instinctively relies on *me* for that information. Well, I'm his own personal dictionary, I then remind myself half-bitterly.

"You live next to a graveyard."

"I do?"

"Yeah. You say the neighbours are quiet."

"Peachy. Must be cheap."

* * *

Tina Backus. Our co-worker. Not a total loss. Cute, and seemingly efficient.

And she has no idea how to behave around me.

Well, since I have no idea what kind of a relationship I had with her... and I am talking about friendship here, I somehow don't feel like there's ever been anything else. And don't ask me how I know. I just - feel it.

She's speaking to Sam, now.

"Heard you're on leave, too."

"Yeah, sort of. I'm Chris' appointed nurse, with Malone's approval. Or order..."

"I'm not paying you, am I?" I try humor. I somehow "feel" that's what's expected from me. And I find it hard *not* to say something like that. Maybe that's part of "me".

"Well, I sure as hell am not paying you rent or anything."

"Live-in nurse?"

"You have a very comfortable sofa, I seem to recall."

I try to analyze my feelings and realize I'm feeling relieved. I *had* been worried about being left alone. He's been around all the time in the hospital, and I'd kinda got used to having him around.

And since I'm still totally lost, I don't think I could handle being alone.

"Well, at least you'd get some sleep," Backup says. "I swear, every time I visited you during your first week here Sam was by your bed. The nurses told me he refused to leave, even to sleep," she explains to me.

"Or shave?" I ask innocently, remembering his face as it was when I first woke up.

"I did shower."

"Could have fooled me..."

* * *

Backup leaves soon. It felt almost like the old days, the banter that always passed for a conversation for us, but I could tell it was a real effort for Chris. He doesn't *remember* the old days, after all.

I tell him about it, though.

"So we get along well."

"Yeah. We work well together, too. We three, I mean. You already know we two are a legendary pair. We don't file in unsolved cases."

"We're good, huh."

"We're the best."

"What if... what if I never become the person I was again?"

Like I hadn't thought of that myself. The answer is 'I don't know'. Don't know if I could handle it, even if he could. For at least he doesn't remember how it used to be. (And that is *exactly* the problem. Sharp as ever, Curtis.)

"You will. You have to."

* * *

"I'll go and shop for food and stuff for tomorrow, okay? I'll be back on the morning to drive you home."

Home. By the graveyard. With a comfy sofa and a big TV. "Home."

"OK. I try to sleep 'til then."

"Do that. Good night."

He hesitates for a second after standing up, as if he's going to say something more, and his hand comes up as if to touch me, but then he sighs and walks to the door.

A thought hits me.

"What kind of food?"

"Real food, Chris. Healthy, nutritious stuff that will restore you. But if you're really good I might consider offering it in the form of a pizza. Real, self-made pizza, not the fast food order-in kind of crap you usually live on."

"Oh."

So I like fast food. Well, I think I like *anything* that is not hospital food. I tell him that.

"Maybe I should take advantage of your state and claim you you eat frogs' legs and simply adore wine." He chuckles.

"I don't?"

"I'm not telling you."

I stick out my tongue, feeling like a five-year-old, but obviously that's natural for "me", too, for he just laughs and walks away.

I like his laugh. He doesn't look so sad and worried when he laughs.

Sad and worried. Over me. For me.

Is he the only person in my life to feel so?

OK, the Malone person visited and did the "Hope you'll be well soon, Mr Keel", and "Backup" visits and stuffs my room with chocolate, and "Spencer" and "Richards" have also popped by, but they are all from work.

Don't I have any outside work relationships?

Well, I can understand my relatives and old friends being back in the States, but... why do I have this feeling there was "someone" in my life back then when I was a person?

And that thought reminds me I'm alone in my room again, and...

I don't *like* being alone. I don't like it being dark. My mind's a black hole. I want to see my surroundings.

I want to sleep. Time moves so much faster when one does. I don't want to be alone. I want the morning to come, and Sam to be here again.

* * *

I don't even visit my own apartment on a way. Why should I? I have everything I need at Chris'. But I guess I have to do something about that. It might freak him out to find out about our relationship by discovering my clothes in his wardrobe. Or my toothbrush in his mug. Or my aftershave in his... You get the picture.

I wonder briefly if I should remove the tube of lubricant from the drawer of his bedside table but decide that would be paranoid. I just clean up the most obvious marks of my frequent presence in his flat.

And clean up a bit in general. Throw away the remains of a pizza that he obviously left on his table nearly three weeks ago when we left to be blown up.

Stuff my clothes into a suitcase under his bed, and fill the closet with his clothes I pick up from the door.

I feel like being back in the closet myself.

Well we are, to the public, but... from each other?

Then, having nothing better to do, I retreat to the kitchen, and make creative use of the supplies I bought from Tesco earlier. Food that is easy to warm in the oven or microwave oven when we get back from the hospital.

I even find myself making a chocolate cake. Jesus Christ, he doesn't need the evidence of my belongings all around the place to deduce there's something I'm not telling him.

Why haven't I? I mean, that would be normal, wouldn't it? To tell him about us.

But... He couldn't remember *anything*. All he remembers are general ideas of what people are normally like. So he was almost shocked to find out what he did for a living.

Not the greatest time to learn you are bisexual, too, and in a relationship with a man. Right?

And it hurts me... I haven't been without him in ages, and now this.

After midnight I finally clean up the kitchen and go to sleep. And not on the couch either. Following nights I'll have to, but tonight I want to sleep in his, *our*, bed, and pretend everything is okay.

* * *

I stand by the mirror and stare at the vision in front of me. I have seen myself, of course, but this is different. I'm not bruised and in pyjamas, but by outward perusal a normal person.

My partner sure has taste in clothes. Well, ultimately, me, I assume I bought these after all, but he brought them, explaining: "You can change to something more comfortable as soon as we get in, but I thought you might want to look stylish on the way..."

True. I feel like a ... person. Back to that word.

I have to admit I look good in black. The jeans are used and comfy, the shirt - black polo shirt - also. I obviously have used these a lot. Half-long black coat and black leather shoes complete the picture.

Sam is standing behind me, face hard to read. Suddenly he raises his hand to my hair, combing it up with his fingers.

"There," he says when he's finished, "now you look more like yourself."

Oh. Well, it suits "me".

"Thanks. Shall we go?"

I thank the nurses on the way out, not missing the admiring glances that follow us out.

Well, at least I look like a human.

I hate to admit it, but the short walk to the car is enough to exhaust me, and being up makes the headache worse. I'm never fully free of it without drugs.

I'm grateful for a chance to just sit down and lie back on the seat.

"Your car?"

"CI5's. We use this a lot."

"Oh."

"Chris?"

"Yes?"

"Do you remember things like driving a car and stuff?"

"I... I don't know. We've been going through things like that with the shrinks, you know, general stuff about world. Like how I remember the fact that London is the capital of Great Britain, but don't remember ever living in here. Stuff."

"Yeah, you've told me. Just came to my mind."

He must see me wince or something, for he asks, voice filled with concern:

"You okay? Headache?"

"Yeah... Just be glad to lie down and get a pill or something."

"Won't be long."

I want to ask him about the place we're going to, my supposed home.

"Home is where the heart is." The saying just appears in my head for no reason at all, and I shuffle nervously.

I have a beginning of an idea. Suspicion, you might call it, but... Sam's voice cuts into my thoughts:

"We're here."

* * *

I give Chris the keys as we walk to the door. Don't want to make him feel too dependant. He hesitates a moment before opening the lock.

Once inside he pauses and takes a good look around. I start to climb the stairs, and he follows, still looking around.

"Nice view, indeed. How do those plants stay alive in a job like ours?"

"You know, I've always wondered that. You want that painkiller now?"

"I just... I wanna look around if that's okay."

"Your house."

I go to the kitchen, to get him a drink with the meds, and hear him walking around.

"Who's this?" he asks.

I turn around and see he's holding a photo of himself with Teresa. One more thing I haven't managed to tell him.

"She was your wife... You'd better sit down before I go into more details."

"My wife! You never told me I've been married."

"Like I said... not the kind of a story you should've heard first. Sit down, drink this, take the pills, and I'll tell you."

He sits down obediently, still clutching the photo, looking at her, fighting to remember by the look of his eyes.

"How long were we married?"

"For... two, three hours. She... uh... there's no easy way of saying this. She was killed in your wedding, five years ago."

His expression doesn't change. Well, he cannot remember her, or his own pain, so what did I expect.

"How James Bondian," he just says.

"What?"

"You know, the only woman he ever married, Theresa, was machine gunned down after their wedding."

I wonder how he remembers these things, but nothing personal. *That* should cut so close to the bone, that...

"Well... She was, too. Machine gunned down. As was the rest of your family..."

"What?"

"Your parents, your siblings, Colin and Alexandra, your nephew, Teresa's parents, few of your friends... I'm sorry, Chris, but you had to know."

"It's okay. It's not like I remembered any of them... No wonder I seem to have no one else worried about me but my colleagues - and you."

There was a strange stress on the word "you". Surely he hasn't noticed anything?

"And no wonder there seems to be no one special in my life. Might be hard to form a lasting relationship after that much pain..."

I must have made a sudden movement, or a sound of some sort, for he turns to me and frowns.

"Right?"

"Yeah", I mutter. It would be a perfect moment to tell him, that...

But the painkiller is starting to work, and he's nodding off.

"Wanna sleep?"

"Yeah, I think I'd better..." suddenly he grins "You can make the pizza while I take a nap."

Love and tenderness suddenly overflow and I feel like hugging him. That was so - old-Chris-like, that... But I just grin back, and tell him he's all stomach.

He laughs and says he's starting to feel it, and retreats to bedroom.

So much for my healthy salads.

* * *

My bedroom. Double bed. Another photo of my dead wife on the bedside table. I look young and happy in the picture. Uniform. Guess I really was in the navy.

Closets filled with clothes. I put on a T-shirt and loose pants before crawling into the bed.

I feel sleepy, but curiosity takes over and I open up a drawer of the table next to me. Junk, mostly, but I find more photos.

Looks like a party. An office party, I deduce from the desks and computers on the background, and from the smiling faces of the people I know to be my co-workers.

Richards, Spencer, Backup. Sam and me. There's a picture of us, smiling to the camera, raising our beer bottles, hands 'drunken mate' -like around each other's shoulders.

I'm grinning. I'm happy. I'm with Sam. I'm *me*. Somehow that picture unsettles me more than the one with me and my wife. It's old, this is recent.

The person in the picture is who I am now, who I'm supposed to be. Someone these people knew, someone who spent time with them, drinking, partying, working.

I want to be that person again. I want that - closeness - from these pictures.

With these thoughts I fall asleep.

* * *

Chris is asleep.

I peek in and see the photos that have dropped from his hand. So he did search the drawers. Hmmm.

I collect them, and cover him with a blanket.

He looks good enough to eat. Most of the burns and bruises are gone and he looks like his old self. He looks like *my* Chris.

And all I want to do is to get into the bed, curl around him, and enjoy his warmth next to me.

I miss him. I miss him so much.

* * *

I wake up, wondering where I am, and as I open my eyes I see Sam standing next to me.

He checks his face as soon as he notices I'm watching, but before that I saw *something* in his eyes again. Sorrow? Pain?

"Pizza ready?"

He smiles: "Now that sounds like you. Yes. If you're ready to get up, wash your hands like a good little boy and come to the kitchen."

"Yes, mom."

As we sit down and eat the pizza (it tastes heavenly, but then again, after hospital food, anything would) I frown as I realize something.

"Sam, tell me about yourself."

He looks up with a start.

"I just realized I've been treating you like my own personal databank. Got used to you always being there for me. But you are more than that... You are a person. And obviously a person who means a lot in my life, so... Who are you?"

He smiles slightly. "What do you want to know?"

"What did you do before CI5, your family, your tastes, I don't know, what do we do when we hang around outside work, that sort of stuff."

"OK. I came to CI5 from MI6."

"Back to James Bond, then."

"His life was way more interesting. My parents are alive and live in Birmingham nowadays. I don't meet them that often. They have... troubles relating to what I am. I have no siblings. You used to inform me I'm an intellectual snob, wine where you go for beer, theatre instead of your movies... Only thing where you beat me is music."

"What do we do, if we're so different?"

"Oh, we're not that different, and I don't just mean the job... We have a similar sense of humour, for a start, and... I don't know. We just hang around. Kill time. Relax. Discuss life, universe, and everything."

* * *

Not to mention cuddling on the sofa, fucking each others' brains out, and all that.

But I can hardly tell him that. Or the other couple-like activities we've been doing.

Like hunting for a house. Yeah, we'd been toying with the idea of moving to a place that isn't *mine* or *his* but *ours*.

But I can't tell him that, either. I shall. If he doesn't get his memory back I have to. I won't lose him, either way. I refuse to.

So I tell him something else.

"You try to make me appreciate finer points of ice hockey, too, and I get my revenge making you watch F1."

"Like you don't see enough fast cars in the job?"

I swallow.

"That's what you keep saying", I say silently.

"I do?"

* * *

Whopee, something of the old me has survived, then.

We sit side by side on the sofa, and Sam's watching me with that look again.

Make or break time.

"There's something you're not telling me."

He looks guilty. Bingo. Maybe I'm crazy, but I'm almost sure of this, now.

I raise my hand, and run my fingers lightly on his cheek.

"Sam..."

Instinctively it seems he leans a bit closer, and we kiss.

"I knew it! We were... we were lovers, too, weren't we?"

He looks at me hesitantly.

"Yeah..."

I smile. It feels so right.

"I knew it," I repeat.

"How?" he asks, looking a bit nervous, and I move closer to him, and rest my head on his shoulder. I need his warmth. I need this closeness. Need to confirm that regardless of the blackness I'm not alone. This confirmation I get as his arms go around me and pull me a little closer.

"I could see it in your eyes sometimes. The pain when I couldn't recognize you. The sorrow... the longing. And I could feel it inside me..."

Before committing myself further I raise my head to look at him.

"How serious we were?"

He swallows, still looking nervous, but determined. And his eyes are filled with light and warmth and tenderness now that he doesn't need to hide it. I guess I know the answer before he even vocalizes it.

"I love you."

I smile broadly.

"Thank you. I... I can't of course speak for the guy I was, but... ever since I woke up... My world was dark and scary and *empty* place... But when you were around I felt... less lost. Less lonely. As if things made sense after all, that there was hope... I can only assume I loved you too."

"You did."

"I do," I whisper, "whether I have my memories or not, it cannot chance my feelings."

And we kiss again, and I truly feel like coming home.

* * *

"When you were around I felt less lost, less lonely." I wonder if Chris has ever said anything that beautiful to me.

I don't sleep on the sofa, after all.

Sex is out of the question, of course, it being one of the "strenuous exercises" his doctor forbid him, but sleeping next to him after so long feels good.

He hesitated when he asked me to, but I just smiled.

"Anything. Anything for you."

He smiled at my soppiness but didn't comment, just wrapped himself around me happily.

And I hugged him back.

* * *

Lying next to Sam feels so natural, like my body remembers what my mind doesn't, and I start asking questions again.

"How... how long have we been together?"

"A year."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I hear him sigh.

"I thought it might be too much of a shock. And then when I hadn't told you it became harder every day to do."

"Yeah... You might be right... Tell me, how did we... I mean... I presume I'm bisexual, from the fact I've been married and all..."

"Yeah. You are, just like me. We'd both had relationships with both genders in the past... Then I fell for you the first time I saw you. Took a little longer for you," he laughs.

"Who knows?"

"Not public information, but Malone does. It says in the CI5 rules that every serious relationship must be reported to the powers that be. You know, when the emotional commitment is of the magnitude it can effect your life considerably. If he was surprised he didn't show it. And I only recently found out how seriously he took us."

"What do you mean?"

"We told him we're 'very serious'. He translated it, quite correctly, as 'lifetime commitment'. I'm on family leave while you're on sick leave. It's a right reserved to agents married or with kids..."

"Neat."

"Yeah. He said that even though the state does not acknowledge our relationship as 'official' with the rights and responsibilities of a marriage, it didn't prevent him from doing so..."

"That why you said he was 'observant' and 'kind'?"

"Yeah."

"Why are we living in two addresses, then?" I grin.

"Because we haven't found a place we both like, yet."

This amazes me.

"We're looking? Isn't that kind of a coming out?"

"Do you mind?"

"I'm the wrong guy to answer that kind of questions", I mutter, suddenly depressed.

"No. You're you. I notice it every day. You're you, you just don't have your memories. It's funny, actually, because you still seem to be that same person shaped by those memories..."

"I... thank you, Sam. For everything."

"Anything, love."

* * *

Falling asleep next to Chris feels so good... but the waking up part is less nice, be that it's ever so familiar.

I wake up to his scream.

"Wake up, Chris, you're safe, I'm here, everything is all right..." I whisper the usual litany even though I know from experience he is still too out of it to really understand.

"Sam..."

"I'm here."

"Nightmare..."

"Yeah. Want to tell me about it?"

"I was lost... Everything was dark... I was trying to find my mirror image, or shadow, or something... other me. ... It was all very abstract, but then it became more concrete... We were in this building... and suddenly I saw something... something I knew meant danger, and I was just so worried you could get hurt, get killed... I yelled something, and tried to get you out, and..."

I inhale sharply, and he notices that.

"What?"

"The building, what was it like?"

"I don't know... warehouse-like... abandoned... It smelled of vinegar. Why?"

"It was real! We were there! It was the place where we got blown up! Anything else?"

"No..."

"You sure?" I demand, more intently than I should and the violence of his answer shocks me.

"Yes!"

I hug him closer, whispering:

"Sorry... I'm so sorry... I just... I want you back!"

He hugs me back equally tightly.

"I know. I want me back, too. I want to come back."

After staying like that for a while I give him a painkiller for the dreadful headache the nightmare gave him, and he falls asleep.

I lie awake, holding him, thinking.

"Saw something that meant danger." So I had been right. We had survived only because Chris saw something, and got us out in time. And then he protected me with his own body during the explosion, and took the blow in the head from flying debris.

But what did he see? Would it give us a clue to what happened, why we were blown up in a supposedly non-violent not dangerous reconnaissance mission?

It was like someone knew we were coming.

But the place was empty.

Still the chance of solving the case is not the one that gives me hope. No. Chris remembered something. Something that happened before his amnesia.

Before he drank from the Lethe, if you're in a poetic mood.

Watching him sleep next to me, I might be. He looks beautiful. And he's mine. Memories or not, he's mine. And he remembered something, albeit in a dream, but still.

There is hope.

* * *

I was half expecting to wake up with all of my memories restored after the dream. It gave Sam hope. Hell, it gave *me* hope.

But nothing.

I was going to say that I woke up to same empty darkness as before, but that's not entirely true.

I may not have my memories, but I have Sam. I may not *remember* loving him, or our relationship, but I *feel* it.

And he's sleeping next to me. And in his arms I can feel safe. I could just lie here all day, and drink in the sight in front of me. But I can't. My headache is back, and I have to get up to get some pain relief before it grows too bad and I start whimpering and wake up Sam.

Sam. The man I have known for two weeks. But my body remembers him. My heart remembers him. Near him I can believe I'll make it.

* * *

A week has passed since that night. Chris has the same nightmare every night, but it never shows anything more, and it doesn't help his memory return.

His headaches are easing, though, and he can spend more time on his feet. So we have resumed our quest for a house.

"How much do we have money? Do they pay anything decent for saving the world?"

"No, but since we don't really have any time for what passes as *life* we don't spend that much either... So I have reasonable savings, and you told me you fully intend to use Teresa's life insurance money on this... Said you had never dared to touch it, but this... This was *worth* using the money in."

"I understand. Life out of dead, and all that."

One day, being in the neighbourhood, I decide on a whim to take him to the Headquarters. Who knows, it might actually help him remember something. And seeing some familiar faces wouldn't be too bad.

Unless, of course, they're in the middle of some difficult mission and busy as hell or out of country...

Nope, the mood seems almost mellow when we walk in.

"Sam!" Backup exclaims, and jumps up from her chair. She rushes to hug me and Chris.

"How are you doing?" she asks him.

"Physically just fine, emotionally just fine, but I still can't remember a thing. So Sam is getting so desperate as to drag me to work." But he grins as he says that.

Everyone gathers around us, to congratulate Chris on how healthy he looks, and to ask how we are doing.

Malone's door opens and I'm sure he's going to order people back to work, and bite our heads off for showing them in here, but he surprises me, yet again.

"Mr Keel, how are you doing?"

"Better, sir, but not quite myself yet."

"His memory hasn't returned," I explain quietly.

"So I take it you're not here to work", he says with a glint of humour in his eyes.

"No, sir."

"How are you coping, Mr Curtis?"

"Not ready to quit nursing to return to work either, sir."

Suddenly Chris goes pale. He just stares at the door. I follow his gaze, but all I see is one of our fellow agents, Sebastian, there. Admittedly, he looks funky seeing us.

"Sam..." Chris' word is a cry for help. He's holding his head as if it's exploding, and almost falls to the floor before I grab him.

"Chris, what is it?"

I ease him to the floor, and he sits there, holding me close, burying his head on my shoulder. I don't care what we look like. I don't care what people think. Chris needs me, and he is obviously in great pain.

My other hand is buried in his hair, pulling him closer to me, the other one is in my pocket, looking for his painkillers. Backup obviously sees me pulling them out, for she offers me a glass of water.

"Chris... here, take these."

He raises his head, and what I see in his eyes takes my breath away. He gets up, refusing the pills. His face is black with fury.

"You bastard!!!" he growls to Sebastian. "You sold us!!!"

Immediately the agents closest to Sebastian move in, cutting his way to the door.

"Mr Keel?" Malone looks unruffled, as always.

But Chris is talking to me.

"In the nightmare... I told you I saw something that denoted danger... Something that made me hurry you out..."

Even as my mind concentrates on listening to him I realise with some part of my brain that my hand is still around him, and I let it drop.

"It was a note. That arrogant bastard had left us a note telling us it was him that took us down... But he, or who ever wired the place, had calculated it wrong. We had time to save ourselves thus warned..."

Sebastian tries to get out of it, and laughs:

"You really did hurt your head bad," he looks around the room "Surely you don't believe what he says? He did suffer a major head injury, after all, and Curtis saw nothing..."

"'Bye-bye, you smug pretty-boys, bet you didn't see this coming!' And signed, too. How stupid can one get?"

As he finishes Sebastian loses it, and destroys his last chance of convincing us Chris is wrong. He bolts to the door, but doesn't get far. He fights back, of course, but with a room full of CI5's finest, what chances does he have?

I don't join in the fight, though, as I see Chris swaying on his feet again, and quickly extend my arm to balance him.

"I might wanna take that pill now..."

* * *

I stand in the middle of CI5 HQ nerve center, Sam's hand around me (just to keep me standing...), watching my co-workers battle Sebastian - and let the memories rush into my mind.

They hit me like a drug, like an orgasm. Uncontrollable. Overwhelming. And my head is killing me.

I turn to look at Sam. Sam, who stayed by me through all this. Sam, who can now stop hurting. I am back. He doesn't need to do the strong anymore. I'm back.

God, I love the sound of that!

I grin, I know I'm grinning like a lunatic, and I don't care. I feel like... I don't know.

"I'm back!" I declare to the world at large, and in a sudden rush of joy hug Sam.

"I'm back," I laugh, and proceed by hugging Backup and Spencer.

But I draw the line at Malone.

The old bastard is actually smiling, too. And he's the one who says it aloud:

"Welcome back, Mr Keel."

* * *

Chris is hugging me in public and I don't care. I feel like laughing, too. He's back! My Chris is back!

He hugs Backup and Spencer, too, so I guess we're safe. Then he beams at Malone, who welcomes him back. I intend to do just that, but preferably in privacy.

Malone gets serious soon, of course, and demands a full report from Chris.

"Still on sick leave, sir."

"Don't be cheeky," Malone retorts, but for once with humour. "We still need your official testimony to charge Mr Sebastian."

"No problem, Sam can type it for me tonight."

The little... He is going to enjoy this as long as he can. But since Chris back is Chris pure joy, beaming his way around the office, I'm willing to forgive him.

* * *

"Stop the car."

"Why? We just left."

"Just stop the car."

"Okay. We're stopped. What now?"

"We're no longer in the middle of everyone, and I can kiss you!"

And I do. God, it's sweet. I've missed him so much. And he kisses me back with equal passion. And in public, too!

"God, I've missed you so much." He whispers, hugging me close.

"You can prove me how much as soon as we get home."

"I thought you had a headache", he grins. Bastard.

"That's why I've got painkillers."

I swear he drives to my place faster than I've ever seen. And with his driving, that really is something.

* * *

As we reach his apartment Chris starts to look beaten up.

"I'm sorry, Sam... I may have been too over-enthusiastic..." he looks rueful, and I hug him.

"It's okay. Sex can wait. I'm just so happy that you're back..."

He holds me tight, and answers: "Me too."

He pulls back a bit, and looks at me straight in the eyes, all serious.

"How can I ever thank you enough for what you've done? How can I ever... You never left me. You never lost faith. You..."

"You don't have to. I couldn't not have left you on your own, even if I'd tried..."

"You pulled me back from somewhere dark and scary and lonely..."

"I wanted you back," I say simply, reminding him that I had my selfish reasons as well. He just grins.

"You got me back. And after this, I don't think I'll ever let you go..."

We kiss again. Tenderly, though, he's still exhausted.

"We need to find that apartment... I don't want to wake up any morning without you."

"Me neither. And I really mean it. I don't ever want to wake up without 'me' again."

The End

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