Alex had seen the posts on Sabina's website regarding their belief meeting. So everyone now had confirmation that Alex was alive, but still suffering from untreated paranoid depression. He thought 'thanks for that assessment, Sab'. Reading the one sided conversation, Alex had been laying down the law. His life had settled back into a different but comfortable routine. He was sat surfing the net in the relative comfort of Tooting Library having booked his two hour slot on the public access computers. The ex-spy lived by the adage paranoia was justified if you had supposed friends out to get you. He was not dancing to anyones tune but his own. In the long run the bank had done the most damage, backing Alex against a wall and playing right into Scorpia's hands. His training from Ian, MI6 and Scorpia stated because the Bank was looking for a homeless ex-handyman, he had to reinvent himself just enough to stay in the shadows. Of course they would expect him to do just that; so, he was not going to change his modus operandi, too much.

He wondered just how many of his ex-lovers Sabina had talked to and just how much of his life on the streets she knew about. From her friends list, it included several of his past employers and three girlfriends who had posted good luck, best wishes, get well and 'contact us if you need anything Alex'. He then started looking at the rooms to let on the various university and college notice boards. He could fake it as an unemployed college drop out, reading modern languages and looking for a decent job and digs after a family row. Small white lies with enough truth to get a foothold into a temporary version of normal life that students frequented.

Two days ago, the blond haired man had gotten a shave and a decent haircut, paid for a shower and changed into semi smart shirt, jeans, boots and jacket within 2 hours of leaving Sabina. He had also binned all the clothing he had been wearing that day. He had checked into a b&b using a stolen driving licence as ID, helped by the fact the manager was the type just to go through the motions of checking in. He felt much better with the goal of taking his life in a new tangent. He might even try and settle down, it was possible if he kept everything in his partner's name. Meeting Sabina again had also been a bucket of cold water on his unresolved feelings for her. She was in the past and he had been a fool to think of her as anything other than a friend. He had never been in the running for any more than that.

He had spent two evenings reviewing his supposed 'love' life and could honestly say he was in denial over a lot of things. He had stamped down on his confusion over Yassen, by latching onto Sabina. She was easy to love as a nice, kind, beautiful member of the right sex. He had blinded himself to the fact he had thought the Russian Assassin had been fit and very beautiful as well. He had used his hate to bury his attraction to dangerous and deadly Yassen. He had been friends with a few escorts and rent boys but had, quite wisely, steered clear of that avenue of work. He had also been very careful with his handful of sexual partners, most had reminded him of Jack, so he could add an Oedipal complex on to his list of mental health problems. He was thankful that if Yassen was his type he was highly unlikely to find his equal in west London It had been a revelation when his uncle's murderer had stated he loved Alex, as the man had lain dying on Air Force One. It all seemed to point to the fact Alex needed a serious about of head shrinking. It was easier just to remain celibate and not enter into the minefield of interpersonal relationships.

….

A rented room was sorted by Monday, two student nurses needed to sub-let the third room in their flat, as the original flatmate had left them in the lurch by dropping out and doing home. The two could not cover the shortfall in the monthly expenses and Alex paid three months rent in advance and everything worked out. He had a room next year as well. The pair were working through the summer. The room was in a flat in the rougher end of Tooting. As Alex returned with his newly bought bedding, it turned out Alex knew the landlord, so along with a roof over his head the odd-jobber was going a bit of work for Mr. Shah in his spare time. Life was looking up. The students were busy and easy going. Alex kept to his room and timetabled his use of kitchen and bathroom around the others lectures and work schedules.

On Wednesday morning, his flatmate Christian had approved Alex's outfit for his interview. The clothes were just a bit casual, so it did not appear that this would be barman, really really really needed the job.

….

At first glance, the Dog and Duck looked like any other well kept freehouse Alex had worked in. The advert stated the owner required a barman to work full time on weekends, 5PM to 12AM on Fridays, 11AM-12AM Saturday and 11:AM to 11PM on Sundays. The hourly rat offered was well above the normal rate and the owner/manager stated he was more than happy when Alex had stated on the phone he preferred cash in hand. The place was immaculate from the outside. Nice beer garden, clean windows, hanging baskets with a variety of flowering bulbs outside and the paintwork looked like it had just been done. It looked up-market. Neil, the owner was Australian by birth and was having a problem keeping staff.

"So, Alex. You have great references. I have to warn you three of our bar staff have been attacked after work. Two were seriously injured, the police think its gang related, but we think its an attempt to get us to move on. We have had a problem with graffiti in the past but that stopped when we installed cameras."

"So, which Streatham crew is attempting to freeze you out?" Alex had a basic knowledge of the drug dealing, gangs and their territories. It sounded like a dispute had escalated into open warfare for such a violent attacks on the barmen working in the gay pub with no direct link to the local estates, gangs or criminal underworld.

"We did sack a guy eight months ago, almost called the police in. We caught him dealing. We do not want that sort of reputation." Neil spoke in the plural as he owned the pub with his partner, Craig. "This is our home and we would sack any member of staff who sold or was caught using at work."

"I guess this guy grassed you out to his dealer. Sounds like you've been blamed for your ex-employee loosing money or ditching his supply. Or they might be putting the frighteners on your bar staff to start supplying here. I can look after myself and I can run really fast. I hate pushers and their ilk, since a friend of mine at school got hooked and they ruined his life. It also helps I walk home towards Tooting not Streatham nor do need to head for the Tube." Alex, if he got the job, would get a bike.

It was that strange calm as Alex settled back into normal life. He had a steady job, earning enough to cover his living expenses. Maybe he could relax a bit and make some friends.

…..

Edward knew Alex had asked Sabina to back off, leave him to his chosen life. Alex had spent the last two years in one place, subletting a room in a private house, working and possibly being as happy as the ex-spy could be considering the psychological damage his foster son had suffered. He could rationalise that Alex had cut himself off as an act of survival, his foster son was still running and hiding and there were signs that his control was faltering, someone had gotten under Alex's skin. The description of Alex from the Vicar and now Sabina was a man brought low by a big personal upheaval, possibly grief. The journalist thought the ex-teen spy was still too fragile for any personal betrayal. If Alex could love and accept being loved, there was a chance he could heal.