Thanks for reviews of the first chapters! I have been a bit tired in the evenings this week, so I took the opportunity to finish this one during my lunch break when head is still fresh.

Chapter 4

The reason why I usually returned from work to an empty home, was my own doing, even if at least to some part involuntary. Or home - it was a flat, the place where I cooked for myself, watched some telly, slept, but I think it takes something more to define a place like a home.

Me, Rebecca and Sam once had a home, until my PTSD screwed things up. I somehow had the naïve thought that I was immune to that shit, that I was able to distance myself from the things I experienced on tour so that they would not affect me deeply, but they did. Gradually, more and more. The emotional distance itself turned out to be part of the problem. Shutting off my emotions when I was in service might initially have been a good idea, but eventually it made me shut them off all the time. Or bury them. It made me numb, careless, unloving. When I finally could not help feelings bubbling up from where they had been repressed deep inside me, they came out as anger, wrath, desperation – even violence. Not ever hurting any person physically, but I had tantrums and on more than one occasion threw things around me, like a bottle of beer that I crashed into pieces against a wall and the beer poured down the wall like a sad brown waterfall, making Rebecca look at me like I was insane. So first, I made sure Rebecca had no reason to love me anymore, then I scared her off with my foul temperament and one day I woke up to a wife filing for divorce and asking for full custody of our son, and my career dangling on a thin thread because I risked being declared unfit for service. That was when I finally realised it was time to get counselling and to leave the army. Scrape up the remainders of my life and try to make something good of it again.

It was strange, we had many fights before, especially where I yelled at her, but when she left it was without a bang. She just told me she had had enough, that she did not love me anymore and did not feel safe for her or Sam in my presence, and I sadly realised she was right and let her go without protest. I did not fight for her. I did not miss her, but I missed him immensely and that was when it hit me I had royally fucked up and had to get a grip of my life. It took time though, hours and hours of seeing a therapist, even more time doing my own soul searching and connect to my true feelings again and deal with them, admit that I was damaged goods who needed healing. Rebecka never cut me off from Sam entirely, but during the first year after the divorce I only met him together with her, in public places. When my condition improved, she finally let him come and stay with me for weekends or go with me and visit my parents. That was how still things were. It was a step in the right direction and being with him made me immensely happy. It was the only thing that really meant something. Rebecka and I had a polite truce where we both wanted what was best for Sam, but I did not want her back and she definitely did not want me, so we mutually agreed on never trying that path without even having to talk about it. One day I might look for someone else, but I had not been ready to yet even though I was feeling fine now. My goal was to have a good relationship with Sam, be a good father that he would have contact with and maybe even look up to. That was all that mattered to me.

Beside the therapy, leaving the army had been a step on my journey to get well. I was done with it, I wanted to be close to Sam, so despite that I was proud of the work I had done there I was not sad to leave. Through an ex-colleague, I was tipped off about the possibility to change career and join a special branch of the police which focused on protection of VIPs, like politicians and the royal family. I thought it seemed like a job that would be as good as any other and so I ended up as a Special Protection Officer. I quite liked the job. Liked the colleagues, found the clients interesting. The things I got to hear because everyone thinks of the bodyguard as part of the furniture. Some of those guys in power are seriously fucked up with huge egos and a desire for power rather than a wish to do what is good for the people. There was the other kind too, the ones who never put themselves first and those I admired greatly. I still had to find out which type the Home Secretary was. A few weeks in on the job I had not figured out her character yet, but I found her intriguing.

Since I started working for Ms. Dawes, I paid more attention to what was said about her in the news. I had of course heard things about her before, or her political work, but then she was not a real person to me – now it was different. She was mentioned frequently, as the hot topic of national security was within the remit of the Home Office. People were scared. The common man on the street was scared, which meant that politicians were scared too because if they failed to make people feel safe they might find themselves kicked from their position by the next election or even sooner. It seemed like after the latest attack, the PM, probably in an attempt to seem resolute, was considering enhancing surveillance power through a Regulation of Investigatory Powers Bill, the so-called RIPA-18, but according to the news the Home Secretary wanted a more moderate solution. It was rumoured that this debate on national security has the potential to split the government in those that thought it would be justified to increase surveillance of all citizens to increase the safety for all, and those who thought it would impinge on normal people's privacy.

What they did not say on the news, but I heard Ms. Dawes say herself, was that she thought the RIPA-18 would be dangerous and interfering with the privacy of the citizens. We were in the car with Rob McDonald on the way to a TV studio, when I overheard them talking about it. I had learned by now that McDonald's role was as a Special Advisor to Ms. Dawes. I also knew that he disliked me, and that he very much would like to not only give special advice to the Home Secretary, but also special treatment in bed. I could not blame him, up close she was both beautiful in her own special way, and charismatic. Of course, he had said none of those things, but it was quite easy to read him. I doubted that he had had any real success getting anywhere near her bed, which for some reason amused me and I got the feeling that even though he was always very amiable around her, he otherwise had a somewhat short fuse because of sexual frustration. I had a feeling I would be hard for me to resist from comments that might trigger him . He was just that type of small man thinking a bit to highly of himself, compensating for lack of height by trying to seem powerful in other ways, which I enjoy teasing the most. Best thing is that guys like him are provoked just by the height of me, which means I can keep annoying him all the time without having to do anything.

This day, Ms. Dawes was going to be interviewed about the current threat level and the plans to implement the RIPA-18. In the rear mirror I saw her lean her head back to the seat and take a deep breath, like she was preparing herself for something she was not looking forward to.

"I don't know how I'm going to be able to defend this regulation, Rob."

"You have to, otherwise it will be seen as undermining, or even backstabbing, the PM. You need to support him fully."

"I know… It is just that I think it is dangerous. I think it gives us powers that we should not have, to interfere with lives of regular citizens. Like this Big Brother surveillance in manner of 'Nineteen Eighty-Four."

"1984?"

She rolled her eyes and I could not help but filling in.

"Futuristic dystopian novel by George Orwell, considered to be one of the best English-language novels of modern times."

"Thank you Mister-know-it-all. Why don't you mind your own business in the front seat and we'll mind ours back here", McDonald said sourly.

But I saw in the mirror that as she turned towards the window, she was smiling.

Once we arrived at the BBC studios, we had to wait for a while before the news program would start and Chantal went to fetch some coffee. A studio man looked in.

"Home Secretary, in two minutes I'll take you to the studio", he informed.

"Thank you."

McDonald said;

"I bet the PM pulled out of this interview because he knew you would do a much better job.

"Sounds like a reason not to pull out to me. He wants this regulation, but he knows it will be controversial, so he lets me do the dirty-work of defending it."

I thought to myself that it must be demanding to live a life as a cynic, always thinking that people around you may have ulterior motives, and even worse that you were probably right.

Chantal came hasting back into the room, carrying paper mugs of coffee for Ms. Dawes and McDonald. Somehow, she got stuck with one of her high heels on the edge of the carpet and almost tripped, in the fall splashed coffee all over Ms. Dawes. She immediately got to her feet, trying to wipe the brown fluid away with her bare hands but without being very successful.

"Fuck, fuckity, fuck!", she exclaimed, which was understandable as she was going on national television in a minute. A coffee stained blouse was not really what you wished for when you want to make a calm and composed impression.

Chantal's reaction did not help, she burst into fits of laughter which made me roll my eyes. That girl was not acting very professional for being the PA to the Home Secretary. Ms. Dawes words made me want to laugh too because they seemed so misplaced coming from a polished politician, but I had learned long ago to put a lid on unwanted emotions and this was a good time to use that skill.

"Shut up!", McDonald hissed to Chantal, palpably distressed and not helping the situation either.

Chantal then said she was sorry, but I do not think her apology convinced anyone in the room.

"Give her your blouse", McDonald told her.

She giggled again;

"It will never fit."

And she was right. She was even thinner than Ms. Dawes, her look fashionable but bordering to anorectic and her blouse would be too tight. My own shirt would suit better. As soon as the thought formed inside my head, I started loosening my tie while they continued bickering over what to do. As I stepped forward and Ms. Dawes saw what I was doing, her eyes widened.

"What are you doing?"

"Fresh from the dry cleaner this morning. Best option you have Ma'am."

"It will look too large on me", she said helplessly.

"I think it will be okay under you jacket. And isn't 'boyfriend fit' trendy? Not that I'm... I mean the larger size... You know what I mean."

What was I babbling about? I shut my mouth and wriggled off the white shirt and handed to her. For a second, she just looked at me where I was standing only in a white tank top with the ballistic vest over, feeling quite naked under her gaze, then she took the shirt.

"Thank you" and looking at the two others added; "I'm glad someone is using their brain and taking action. Don't stand around gawping. Chantal, fuck off and organise Sergeant James a new shirt."

"And you", now turned to McDonald who had made no move to turn away when she had to change clothes. "Please give me some privacy."

"Oh, of course" he said embarrassed that he had not thought about that himself and quickly left the room too, but not before he gave me a jealous look for being allowed to stay.

I turned my back to her and occupied myself putting on my jacket again but was very aware of the froufrou sound of her taking off her jacket followed by her blouse. Naturally, I did not sneak-peak but part of me wanted to. Felt curious what she looked like in only her bra. I shook my head to myself, feeling pervy. She certainly was not for me to look at, or even think of without clothes, but there was something oddly sensual about us both standing there, back to back, removing and putting on clothes, my shirt now on her, even if I was sure that feeling was one-sided on my end.