He left Sophia still sleeping in the morning. They hadn't made love. She hadn't expected it and had only offered him the comfort of her body against his. He fell asleep holding her.

He'd woken more than once, thinking he heard his pager, but must have been dreaming again. It stayed silent and dark on the night stand.

Before he left, he used her telephone to call the hospital for a progress report. Jahni was still improving slowly, they said, remained stable, and that's all they could say.

That possibility of Jahni being woken that evening still gnawed at Madari as he drove to the barracks. He felt as if his future hung in limbo until then.

Jahni's memory wasn't the only thing that could be damaged by such an injury of course. That might be intact, he might still be himself, but with some other kind of long term effect. Something that would see him invalided out of the Army. What then? Well if he needed care, Madari would see to that. He'd leave the Army himself and turn nurse if he had to.

But if it was something that left him invalided out, still himself and otherwise fit, no nursing care needed... oh, then the future could be very different.

Madari had decided long ago he would give up his career to be with Jahni, if they could make it happen. Give it up willingly, not be thrown out in disgrace. Jahni hadn't been ready to give his up though, and Madari understood that. Jahni could have a brilliant future in the Army. But if that career ended due to injury, then everything would change.

He drove past a signpost that pointed the way to the airport. Their future wouldn't be here, if things turned out that way. If Jahni wanted it too, they could leave, go to Europe or America and make a life together there. A flat in London, perhaps. Or an airy beach house in LA. Fantasy images came into his head of them sharing their lives in those settings.

If Jahni wanted it, Madari would take him wherever he wanted to go.

~~~~

After stopping off at a café for breakfast, Madari arrived at the barracks and gave orders to call the men from the mission, for a debriefing session. They gathered in the briefing room, still rather subdued. Kadry and Hurun were there too, still bandaged, but released from the infirmary. He spoke to them individually as the rest of the men got coffee and took their seats, then addressed the group once everyone settled.

"Good morning, gentlemen. I hope you've all had a chance to rest now."

A man raised a hand. "Is there any more news on Captain Jahni, sir?"

"He's making steady progress. If any of you want to visit the hospital today, please feel free. He's still unconscious, but that's part of his treatment, and I'm sure he'll be pleased to hear that you visited, once he's conscious again."

They nodded, looking pleased. The men liked Jahni, though he pushed them hard in their training and expected the very best from all of them. They respected his achievement, completing the SAS training. Madari had plans to send more of the men to do that training, but Jahni would always be the one who did it first.

"All right, let's begin," Madari said, finishing his coffee. "We'll review the operation from the start."

No point in just concentrating on where it had gone wrong, he knew that. They'd get there soon enough. The men were still inexperienced and they needed to review every detail of their operations to make sure they did better every time.

He allowed them a lot of freedom in mission briefings and debriefings. Nothing was off limits. If the men had found their job made harder because of something Madari, or any officer, had done, then they must speak up about it. The officers didn't always like it. Some of them had complained to Madari that they didn't appreciate being criticised in public. But Madari told them to get used to it.

He'd learnt the value of such frank discussions at the camp, with his civilians turned guerrillas, who didn't have the Army training not to question an officer. And the lesson had been reinforced by his own and Jahni's consultations with the SAS, who held similar sessions. All input had equal value and anyone could be told they were wrong.

Hannibal and the A-Team did the same. At times it had surprised him to see Face, Murdock or BA question Hannibal, and he'd put it down to how long they'd been out of the formal structure of the Army. But Hannibal had told him they'd done it since Vietnam and he encouraged it. Only honest opinions were worth anything.

And as much as they questioned him while they made plans, he'd seen them fighting and there the questioning stopped. Those men fought as if they had one mind between the four of them, while remaining individuals with their own strengths and specialties. A remarkable unit. He'd learnt a lot from them.

The debriefing lasted until lunchtime. Madari had turned his pager to its vibrate setting during the morning, but still he checked it for calls as soon as they left the briefing room, in case it had gone off in his pocket without him noticing. After lunch he checked it once more, then double-checked it was set to vibrate and put it back into his pocket. Foolish, he thought. Rahama knew he was here, he'd call, or send a runner. But still, just in case.

They restarted the session, finally getting on to the subject of the man who'd blown himself up. His actions baffled most of the men.

"Who would do that? Why?"

"He preferred death to capture?" A man suggested. Madari understood that. He'd have preferred that during the guerrilla campaign. But then he'd have been tortured again, which wouldn't have happened to this man.

"I'd rather be in jail than dead," one of the men said. "It can't just be that."

"They think it makes them martyrs," Madari said. "To die and take the enemy with them."

"Fellow Muslims are enemies?"

"We weren't there to bring them birthday gifts, you know," Kadry said and a chuckle went around the room, breaking the tension a little.

"I think we will see this more often," Madari said. "The fanatics are choosing this method more and more often in other countries. We have to face up to militants here adopting those tactics." He looked around at the men. "How do we deal with a man who is not simply not afraid to die in battle, but actually wants to die?"

"Give him what he wants before he can do it to you," Kadry said, with a fierce grin. A rumble of approval stirred around the room.

"And if the bomb he holds has a dead man's switch?" Madari said, sobering them up. "The man in this case may have had that. In that case simply shooting him is no use. He has a fail-safe for that eventuality."

"Fail-safe?" A man said, not asking the meaning, but questioning the usage.

"Fail-deadly," another said.

"Right," Madari said, "let's look at the strategies for the various scenarios."

The men sat forward in their chairs, all eager to give their ideas. Madari paused to drink some water.

"I still say men who blow themselves up to kill others are fools," Hurun said.

"They think they are fighting a holy war," one of the officers said.

"Nothing I've ever been taught justifies that." Hurun scowled and folded his arms. "They're fools."

Madari agreed with him, though didn't want to continue the discussion of that. They had more pressing matters to deal with. But it sickened him to think a man could claim a religious motive for such an act. He could lose Jahni thanks to an act of religious obsession.

He slipped a hand into his pocket for a moment, touching the plastic body of the pager. Then he took a deep breath and brought the men's attention back to him.

"Right, strategies, yes, Corporal?" He gestured towards a man who'd raised his hand. That made his cuff fall back from his wrist and he quickly pulled it back down, covering his wristband.

He really shouldn't be wearing it with his uniform.

~~~~

"Dr Choudhary decided to wait until the morning."

"I see."

"A few more hours, just to be on the safe side." The doctor finished writing a note on Jahni's chart and hung it back on the foot of the bed. "If you have any other questions, please come and ask me. I'm on duty all evening."

The young doctor left and Madari sat down beside Jahni's bed. The execution had been postponed. Now he had until morning before he would find out if this was still Jahni, or a stranger.

A nurse came in then, checking equipment and tubes. She adjusted the ventilator tube that still made Madari want to gag even to see it. Her businesslike, yet gentle movements fascinated Madari. Did Jahni react to the touch at all? It seemed not. Not a flicker from his eyelashes. Nothing registered on the steadily beeping monitors.

"Don't worry, sir," she said to Madari. "We're taking good care of him."

"I... yes, of course. I know. Thank you."

"Have to give him a shave soon." Her fingers briefly touched the stubble on his chin. "Hard to do that with the vent, but if he's off that tomorrow, we'll get him tidied up." Her fingers stroked briefly through his hair, sweeping it off his face.

Madari found it strange to see a woman touch a man she didn't know that way. Her job gave her permission he supposed. The touches were more like a mother with a child and made him think of the touch of his own mother's hands. As always, more painful memories mixed with those tender ones. Memories of watching her slowly fade away after his father died.

Always a quiet woman, she became almost silent. Even Faris could offer her no consolation in her grief. She drifted away from him, from all of them. He often saw the pained looks on the faces of his grandparents when they watched her sitting in the garden, one of Razaq's books always in her hands.

By the time she died, when Faris had just turned fifteen, she seemed to have become a ghost already. The doctors couldn't even say what she died from. Ahmed found her in the garden, apparently asleep. But not asleep. The doctor guessed at a stroke and marked the death certificate with that.

Cruel gossip said that she had taken poison and Faris heard stories of an incident in the local marketplace. They said that his grandmother had slapped another woman in the face. He could believe that. But he'd never believed his mother had taken her own life.

His grandparents took him and moved away from that house after that. Its walls were too soaked through with sadness.

Madari wondered if he had it in him to fade away from grief. He hadn't done so over his parent's deaths, or his grandparents. But still, even a child had awareness in him that he would probably see his parents and grandparents die. Different for a husband, wife, or... lover.

The nurse had gone, he noticed, his attention coming back to the hospital room. He hoped she hadn't spoken to him and been ignored. But perhaps nurses were used to visitors who were somewhat distracted.

That word he'd just thought of. Lover. Why think of that? Jahni wasn't his lover. Even the... incident, had been only that; one incident, a single indiscretion. A kiss. Well, several kisses. But not sex. Could two people be called lovers if they didn't have a sexual relationship? If in their hearts, they were bound to each other?

He reached for Jahni's hand. No, he's not my lover. He is my friend. And that is not a lesser title.

"Hello, Faris."

Sophia stood at the door. Of course, she knew where to find him again. For a moment he resented that she found him so predictable and he even resented that she had come here. He wanted to sit quietly with his friend, perhaps for the last time, if his fears were realised tomorrow. But he got control of himself and stood, to offer her his chair.

"Thank you for coming," he said. "I know Kahil will appreciate it."

"I came for you, Faris," she said, looking up at him, surprise on her face. "Of course, I wish Kahil well, but he doesn't know I'm here."

"Then I appreciate it," he said. She raised her hand and he took it, stood holding it while he watched Kahil. That might be a lie, what he'd just said. He appreciated her support, but right now, he didn't know that he appreciated her company.

In fact, lately, he had begun to wonder if he had run out of things to say to her. They had talked so much in the early days of their relationship, especially when Jahni was away. Now, he seemed to have used up all of his - he smiled - all of his best material. And there was so much he couldn't talk to her about, that he could share with Jahni. Memories of the campaign, or of their friends who were gone. Work of course, soldiering. Things a woman could never understand.

She'd brought some food again, a light picnic supper and they went to the waiting room to eat it. The nurse who had been looking after Jahni earlier brought them two cups of coffee. Real coffee, not from the vending machine.

"Thank you," Sophia said. "That's very kind."

"We were making some anyway. And anything for friends of Batman." She walked away, chuckling.

"Batman?" Sophia said, looking at Madari, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, ah, he has a tattoo, a Batman symbol. He got it while he was in England."

"Aren't tattoos forbidden for Muslims?"

"Yes, but..." He stopped. Jahni's lack of faith was his own business. "I expect he was drunk at the time." Damn, no, that's worse, the arch of her eyebrows, her surprise told him that. He shrugged and gave a weak smile. "You know, young people."

"Isn't he almost thirty?"

"Twenty-seven," Madari corrected, as if that made Jahni a headstrong youngster. Madari quickly started to concentrate on his food to escape the conversation.

He ate his fill quickly and stood up, ready to return to Jahni's room. Sophia had not finished her food or her coffee and the look in her eyes made him sit down again. And it made him feel that resentment again. She wasn't doing it deliberately to keep him from Jahni's side, she only expected him to act like a normal man should. But an ungracious and un-gentlemanly part of him wanted her gone.

After a moment, she put down her coffee and looked at him for a while, as if assessing him. Her gaze made him nervous, her expression so much more serious than he was used to.

"Do you know, Faris, that people call me a fool for being with you?"

"If you tell me who those people are, I could have them killed for you." He gave a nervous smile, and then dropped it quickly, as the joke hit the floor like a lead weight.

"These people tell me about certain rumours about you. I discounted those rumours a long time ago. But sometimes, I wonder."

Madari felt suddenly paralysed in his chair. They had never spoken of the rumours before of course. He couldn't discuss such matters with a woman, not even this woman. What would she ask next? The fear of that gripped him.

"Some people tell me I should consider Kahil my rival. Are they right? Can I consider Kahil a rival for your... affection?"

His tongue seemed frozen. He couldn't answer that. He should walk out of here now and never see her again. A woman shouldn't ask these questions.

"Sophia." His voice sounded distant in his ears, as if he stood across the room and heard himself talking. "I cannot talk about such things with you."

"You share my bed, Faris Madari."

He did. He shared that, and yet they shared so little else. For the first time he saw just how superficial their relationship was. The sex made it appear intimate, but it wasn't. They talked for hours, but of things that were inconsequential.

Because she was a shield, he had to admit. A shield against those rumours she asked about now. Did he owe her an honest answer because of that? But he hadn't even told his new psychiatrist this yet. He'd mentioned he was in love with someone he couldn't be with, but hadn't specified beyond that. The doctor thought he meant a married woman and for now, Madari let him go on believing that. Would he ever have the courage to admit the truth?

His silence stretched so long that at last Sophia stopped waiting and began to pack away the supper things. If he let her leave now, without an answer, he'd never see her again, he knew that.

"Yes." He whispered it.

She stopped packing the things and sat in silence for a long time. He watched her, waited. He knew what her next question would be.

"And have you --?"

"I promised to be faithful to you."

"That's not what I was asking."

No, he knew that. He rested his elbows on his knees and clenched his hands together, his forehead resting on them, unable to look at her now. He couldn't tell her this. He couldn't tell anyone.

After a moment he again heard the sounds of her packing up and guessed at once that his silence had given her an answer, but the wrong answer.

"No!" He said it too loud, looking up, and lowered his voice before he went on. "No. We have..." Now his voice became a whisper. "Kissed. Nothing else."

"Since you and I met?" Her face had gone pale now, her eyes pained, and he wondered if she regretted starting this conversation. Ignorance is bliss, the saying went.

"Yes. But this happened only once. And I promise you, it will never happen again."

"Just as you promised to be faithful to me."

The words made him wince. Her tone had only a hint of reproach in it, but still, it felt like a slap.

"I wasn't myself." A feeble answer, he thought, and she seemed to think so too. She swept the remaining supper remnants carelessly into her basket.

"I never understand what people mean by 'I wasn't myself'. Who else were you? Did a demon possess you? Were you hypnotised?" She dumped the basket on the floor.

"Sophia..."

"I am starting to worry about how little I know about you."

"Sophia, you now know something only one other person in the world knows." He glanced in the direction of the ward. If Jahni awoke with his memory gone, she would be the only person who knew. "Some people may suspect, but only you know. I've trusted you with knowledge that could destroy me. If I've made a mistake doing that, then I don't know you as well as I thought I did." He dropped his gaze from hers, still ashamed of the accusation in her eyes. Liar. Unfaithful. Deviant. "It will not happen again."

"And is that because of your promise to me? Or fear of the consequences? For you and for him?"

"I've made a new promise." He didn't look up at her. "There's nothing else I can say."

She didn't answer for a while, and then she stood, picking up the food basket and her small bag.

"I will have to think about this."

"Of course," Madari said, rising too, but not moving towards her.

"That may take me a few days."

"I understand."

"But, please, let me know about Kahil. About his injuries I mean. When he comes around."

"Of course," he said again and saw her smile.

"He may be my rival, but I am quite fond of him. Whatever he thinks of me."

"He likes you!"

She laughed at that, at the hasty, defensive answer. "If you think that, then I wonder if you know him as well as you think. Goodnight, Faris."

Sophia walked out of the room and he wondered if this might be the last time he saw her. That thought made him sink back down into his seat. To lose them both, if she left him and Jahni forgot him. What meaning did his life have then? Who cared if he lived or died?

He chided himself for such morbid thoughts. His work had meaning. And he had friends. Rahama. Even Hannibal. Good men he could rely on. Still, without Jahni or Sophia, his life would feel hollow. A dread he hadn't felt since the days leading up to Ahmed's death gripped him.

Trying to shake it off, he walked back to Jahni's room. Nothing had changed. Jahni lay exactly as before, the ventilator and the monitors the only sound and movement in the room. He's in limbo, Madari thought. Both of us are. Until he wakes. A moment of waking that could be the same as a moment of death.

He stood for a long time at the foot of the bed, holding the rail and watching. Jahni's chest rose and fell as the ventilator pushed air into his lungs. Electrodes taped to the skin picked up his heart rate.

Under the hospital lights and in this condition, his skin looked pasty. He wasn't naturally very dark, had much paler skin than Madari. But he had soon topped up his tan after coming home from Britain, giving his skin a golden-brown glow. Now that glow had turned sickly. The dark bristles of the stubble the nurse had mentioned stood out stark on his face and neck.

In his mind, he saw Jahni once again in the bombed house, unrecognisable under the dust and blood and camo paint.

Not himself. Neither at that moment or this one. Kahil Jahni was strong, healthy, handsome, not this wan ghost.

Madari thought of the final briefing session before the mission. Jahni had led that session, preparing the men, breaking the tension with a joke. Filling them with confidence with his own self-assurance. And he thought of how the evening sunlight had poured through the window and shone on his hair. And of how beautiful he was when he laughed.

~~~~

He had to go home that night, since he couldn't go to Sophia's. He could have stayed at the barracks, but he needed to go home. He needed fresh clothes, he needed to check his house, check the horses. The man from the village came every day of course, but still, he felt neglectful.

He slept uneasily, listening for the pager, and in the morning he woke early even by his personal standards. For over an hour he drifted around the house, drinking coffee, unable to settle, knowing he'd look like a fool if he arrived at the hospital at 0600.

At last, he could stand it no longer and set out. If they thought it strange, he'd just say he'd decided to call in on the way to barracks, which was true, and that soldiers rose early, which was also true. Truths to hide another truth, which nobody there could hear.

The road stayed empty almost all the way into the city. A good thing, because the swerve he made when his pager beeped would have caused an accident on a more crowded road.

He slammed on the brakes, stopped half off the road and pulled the pager from his pocket. It had beeped only once and it usually gave three chirps for a message. He stared in horror at the dark display. No power. The batteries were dead. Had it beeped to alert him of its low power? Or had it been a message, but the alarm and the display light had sucked the last of the power from the batteries?

Batteries! He had put spare batteries in his pocket. But when he felt in there, he found nothing. Damn! Sophia's servant had ironed the jacket, and must have taken the batteries out, then forgotten to return them afterwards.

Madari swore in five different languages, then he put his car in gear and roared away, his foot heavy on the accelerator.

~~~~

He arrived at ICU to find Jahni gone. A nurse gave him directions to another ward and Madari, conscious of his uniform, trying to maintain his dignity, walked there, fighting the urge to sprint.

He found a Royal Guard soldier on watch at the door of the ward. The man came to attention.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning. Captain Jahni is here?"

"Yes, sir. They moved him here a couple of hours ago. He's awake, sir."

"Have you - um - spoken to him?"

"No, sir."

Madari didn't think this man knew Jahni personally anyway, so even if he'd spoken to him, he wouldn't know if Jahni was still himself

"Thank you. You may take a break. Return in an hour, please."

"Thank you, sir."

He left, and Madari pushed open the doors and walked in. He wanted to stride confidently through the ward, but his steps slowed as he spotted Jahni, at the far end of the room. In just a few seconds he'd know, and fear gripped him tight.

Jahni was sitting up, conscious, a nurse at his side, helping him to some food. Just a few more steps, a few more seconds. The rest of the ward, the sight and sound of it faded, growing blurred and muffled. He forgot everything else, even Sophia.

The future held its breath.

The nurse beside Jahni noticed Madari, conspicuous of course in his uniform, and pointed, making Jahni turn.

Jahni smiled. He raised a hand and waved. Madari's heart pounded. Hope surged but still not certainty. It could just be the uniform he recognised, not Madari's face.

The last few steps came in a rush, because now he had to know, he had to end this unbearable tension. He reached the bed and stopped, breathing fast, not trusting himself to speak.

The look, the eyes, no longer blank, recognition there. But of the uniform or the face? Tell me, please!

Jahni reached out, still smiling and took Madari's hand, not in a handshake, but the touch of a friend, fingers curled together.

"Hello, Faris."