Hand signals and brief whispered exchanges of conversation made Alex's desire for Yassen grow. He was a moth drawn to a flame. However, hormones were not enough to override his underlying foreboding of his planned escape. The truth was, here in prison he was safe, alive and very protected. Only, he did not trust MI6 and their altruistic excuses given for placing him here. The same prison as his uncle's murderer, what were they expecting to happen? What had the analyst's predicted? They probably expected him to go postal and try to top Cossack, like he was stupid enough to antagonise a man who made death and pain his life's work.

With two days until the supply run, the teenager dutifully got up for breakfast, drank three mugs of tea and then went back to bed, to huddle under a pile of blankets until it was time for lunch. Attendance at meals was mandatory, no other activity was. The only thing Alex enjoyed at the moment was going outside, where he was closely followed by his own bodyguard to make sure he kept away from the cliffs.

At ten, Snake knocked on the open door, bringing with him a tray of tea and a packet of biscuits. "Bad day, Cub?"

The teenager emerged from his nest with his blond hair flattened on one side, making him look his age. "Yeah, well. Nightmares last night. Only I can't go out for a run or have a bath here. That sort of thing helps a bit. Liz used to make me camomile tea. The therapist told me to keep a detailed journal of the night terrors and their triggers. It was about Julius and that school last night." The young man shivered and rolled over in his bed, face to the wall. He mumbled to his guest, "nice thought Snake, but I'll pass until lunch."

"He was seeing a therapist in San Francisco. He's got classic PTSD and depression and is quite happy to wallow. Its not as if we can get him on medication or modify meal plans to be a bit more teen friendly. I feel like I'm the bad guy here, cause I get to go home and then he'll loose all familiarity. Next rotation won't give a fuck if Cub crawls into bed with that killer. We have history, we were both a Brecon when the squirt stuck out all the hazing. None of the others were. Orders state he refused treatment. In a month, I bet it'll be his funeral."

Cobra ate the chocolate digestive. Then added his sage advice. "Its like Otter all over again. He stated he was fine and dandy after that FUBAR in Fallujah, then goes on leave and shoots himself. We can only be there, offer help. Keep trying to get threw to him Snake, but don't expect the kid to trust you. Cub's in no man's land here. Not one of us and not one of them. Might be easier for him if he threw in his lot with that Cossack."

….

Alex had observed all his guards, ranging from Cobra and Snake, the annoying mother hens, to the trigger happy Dino and Rizzo: who followed every move the teenager made with both eyes and weapons. The routine changed during supply runs, as their was an hour when all exterior doors were locked. Before that, full team exercise including a security sweep of all areas starting at breakfast. Then all inmates had to go to their cells. Tomorrow the only guards inside were the two youngest and most likely to panic.

At lunch, Alex sat with Cossack and he mumbled in Spanish. "I'm going for an intervention tomorrow, just before lockdown. You need to be in my cell at 10:37 and play saviour, so we both get into sickbay. Its going to look real, it has to look real. I have tried to calculate the margins of error. If it goes wrong, don't hesitate get out of here." Alex's depression has not been playacting. He had been aware of the psychological damage since he first crossed paths with Julius. He was not the full basket as the saying went. Snake, Rat and Cobra had lost friends due to PTSD, they knew the real deal and were concerned for the kid that wasn't their team mate. He'd been diagnosed with depression in San Francisco. Four sessions of psychotherapy had barely touched on the hurt and alienation caused by MI6. Surely, they would have known he'd react badly to imprisonment. If the escape attempts failed, he'd never leave high security detention. Alex knew he wasn't most things: not a schoolkid, not MI6's anything nor SCORPIA's, not happy, not healthy, not well adjusted. He pushed his plate of uneaten food at Yassen and shrugged "Do you want it? I'm not hungry. Never liked army food and its not like I need the calories since I'm doing sweet FA."

"Eat the vegetables" ordered the man in the same tone he had once stated he killed lots of people, off hand and casual but meaning the opposite.

As the fifteen year old ate the awful rations, he pondered his plan of shocking the most complacent here. Alex had gotten the idea for his diversion from Yassen, who could move room to room avoiding the cameras, when he wanted to be unnoticed. Alex knew the camera bracket in the corner of his cell would take his weight. During his last trip outside he had procured a 2m length of rope, just the business for his slight of hand. He was planning drama rather than a real hang mans fracture. Ian's masterplan of training had included free diving; Alex knew he could last about six minutes without a breath, if he prepared properly. Under the blankets, he had been practicing. The corner position of the wall bracket in his cell meant he could brace his weight against the wall with his feet. He just had to get in the zone, to be motionless, like a corpse and suppress his natural instincts to fight for life.

…..

Three weeks of nothing since Alex's last text to Edward stating that Mrs. Jones was the Queen Bitch of the Universe. Sabina's father had a sinking feeling he had precipitated this estrangement when the journalist and his wife had applied to adopt Alex through the family court in California. Before the assessment from the Department of Children's and Family Services had been lodged, the said bitch had immediately recalled her ward to London. He had no idea where Alex could be, as he was not at Brookland and Chelsea and Kensington Social Services were not returning his calls. His numerous emails and phone messages to Mrs. Jones were being ignored. After a summer with their foster son, it was like Alex no longer existed. His daughter was getting righteously angry as was his wife. He had a nagging doubt about the teenager, who had thanked him for the sessions with the psychologist as he was not coping and needed help to reconnect with normal and that they had been the first people to look out for his health and wellbeing since Ian passed. Now, the same people that had blackmailed, neglected and abused him controlled his future. Summing up the little he did know, things were not going to end well.