Joe had a new favourite pastime, watching Alex sleep. It would all stop, when his new brother got over his double whammy of TB and the shit drugs he was on to cure him. The protective big brother had read up on those drugs, whose side effects were numerous and debilitating. Alex had already had one trip to hospital over vomiting caused by his antibiotics. The three day unplanned hiatus also made it more likely Alex could develop drug resistant strain of this killer disease. Not that the illness had much of an impact on the family.

His mom and dad still worked hard, that had not changed, but they made sure to incorporate time for Joe as if to compensate for the disruption caused by the newcomer and his baggage. Only, Alex was easy, happy to be at home or at the farm, following orders like he was conditioned to in Russia. Joe was positive that Alex had grown up looking after himself as neither his uncle or that housekeeper had been traditional caregivers in any sense, one neglectful and machiavellian and the other barely managing as best she could. The biggest disruption so far had been the absence of Connie and the fact the big bad Widow Canterbury was filling in. Grandmother was scary, with eyes in the back of her head and a woman that believed sparing the rod, spoiled the child. It was still Joe's suspicion it had been her hand behind sending him to get corrected at Point Blanc Academy. Joe could not wait for the return of the bad tempered Cuban American and her truly excellent quesadillas. Roll on the end of her sick leave, due back at the end of August. For the first time in his life, Joe had a reason to pray and pray hard. Keep Alex safe, get him well and please please please send Grandmother back to Pennsylvania, or better still outer Mongolia.

He looked at the darkening sky through the train window. They would be home for ten. His mother was sipping her diet pepsi and reading a new novel. Still on holiday mode, so not working! Who was this woman? Joe could not point fingers as he had not even opened the Computing Magazine he had purchased at Pennsylvania Station, which was also unheard of. He wondered if any prayers for Alex would be answered, considering his brother considered religion to be phooey and both of them were not good boys to begin with.

…..

Alex looked in the full length mirror in his closet. Stood naked to inspect all faults and blemishes. He could see he had put on weight, grown a bit, looked healthier overall. He would run with Dad tomorrow morning, more jog than the marathons he'd accomplished in Russia on the treadmill or circuits around the base. He had reconnected with friends, he knew he could trust the guys from Point Blanc; but there was a shadow of a doubt. He had enjoyed time with Paul, but he was unsure about dating. What was he meant to do, feel, be comfortable with? He let out a breath and then started on his katas to quieten the emotional storm. He had to keep his reflexes sharp, had to be fit for fight or flight; to protect the Canterbury's. He did repartitions for forty minutes then collapsed on the bed exhausted. He wrote in his journal, keeping a record of the exercise and his confusion. He would rather hurt Paul's feelings than exploit them. The plan came first, get well, get blacklisted, network, make more friends. He had more than an hours' worth of questions for Luke tomorrow.

Charles was surprised to see Alex waiting by the kitchen door at 5:30. The soldier could see he was ready to run. "Wanting to stretch those legs?" His son nodded. The General did his stretches and watched Alex do the same. "I run around a two mile circuit, sometimes once, sometimes several times. Moderate, fast then full pelt. So, today I'll vary my route to one with no hills. Only 20 minutes for you though, easy. No over straining yourself. If you see any bogies let me know."

Alex was back all too soon and going through a brief cool down watched by his father. He then spoke for the first time "I want to run and run, like I did in Russia. It was the only time I was sort of free to think and escape the claustrophobia of my father or my guardian. Winters there suck, except for skiing. I might need extra sessions with Luke. I'm not as settled in as you guys think." Alex bit his thumb nail. "I know there is no punishment for failure, but I don't know how to think or feel anymore. Without the strict controls, I feel rudderless; like I'm floundering. I snuck out to Paul's room and Mimi was OK with it because I went to talk. It's confusing and I know it's me that has the problems, because I had no freedom at all before and you just want me happy and healthy. I don't know what happiness is. I was a lonely kid growing up, no one ever considered my happiness before as it wasn't a prioity. Fuck… sorry, finish your run. I need to write another ten or so pages in my journal and put a dollar in the potty mouth jar."

Charles Canterbury reached out and touched the soft blond hair, then pulling his son into a hug. "Sounds like teenage angst, son. You've had a rough road to get here, but boundaries are for crossing, curfews for breaking and being a rebel is kind of cool. I'll make mistakes, so will Mimi, but trust me it's OK. You are family, we have grown to love you; so has Joe in his own bull headed, big brother way. Now get inside, write your essay to bug the doc with and I'll cook us an early breakfast. I can run extra tomorrow."

…

Joe was full on snoring above his younger brother. All Alex could think was bunk beds and having insomnia sucked. Alex stood up and pulled on a t-shirt, a track suit and his trainers. He opened the screen on the window, stood on the porch roof, clipped the screen back into place and then climbed down to go for a proper run in the cool predawn grey. He ran down towards Harrisburg, three miles until the junction with the main road. There he saw a dirty SUV with Belinda's dad behind the wheel. He waved and the car window was lowered, the guy drawled "This is one hard place to find. Could not find it yesterday and I thought it was best not to ask directions considering you were grabbed last month. Started early not to get spotted by the nosy neighbours. Get in and I'll give you a ride back."

The car was full of books, maps, coffee cups and snack wrappers. Alex could see the guy had been to Miami, Washington, Virginia and New York, possibly several times. They pulled up to the nineteenth century farm house and Alex went straight into the kitchen at the rear. He put the coffee pot on, pulled out the tupperware of snacks baked specially for the new family addition. Left from yesterday were half a dozen lemon and poppy seed muffins. One sweet thing Alex actually liked. The old guy came in and sat at the table, taking in the details, looking at the hand built units from the sixties at a guess, various icknacks from generations lived in this house, hand made curtains, a refrigerator from the seventies and a stove from the sixties. All Lived in, loved.

"Are your grandparents up?" The man asked, wondering why the house seemed so quiet.

"Up and gone. Showing their prize bull off to a potential buyer over in New Jersey, be back around nine tonight. We have a neat stack of pack-ups with labels and instructions. So, how'd ya like your coffee, Mr. Troy."

"Black." The man realised he might have overstepped his bounds coming here, disturbing a kid who had only recently returned home, if he'd done his background recon correctly. "Two months since you returned. Feel like home yet?"

"Yes and no. Part of me thinks I'll always feel like an outsider. I'm not as jumpy. I have on good authority that I won't be snatched again. The CIA have been playing hard ball, I assume. It was in the papers that Blunt got the sack. No pension, no knighthood, nothing. My heart bleeds."

"Blunt?"

Alex paused, to tell or not to tell. Not like confessing all to grieving ex-cop was going to do any harm. "Blackmailing bastard who ran MI6 Special Operations. The man responsible for my two years and three months in hell." Alex stood by the coffee machine waiting for it to finish; pouring two cups out, he put down one in front of the ex-cop before sitting down himself. "So, the truth. Belinda was cut from the same cloth as the men in suits denying she ever worked for the CIA. She knew I was not there voluntarily, but was still happy enough playing happy families, with no back up. I was left high and dry when it all went wrong." Alex sighed. "She did not deserve to die, but Sarov and Conrad were nuclear terrorists. I… I was there when Sarov chose to see reason and disarmed a very dirty bomb in Murmansk. Your daughter was playing a high stakes game to prevent a nuclear catastrophe. My freedom and their lives were worth that cost. We stopped that bomb going off and millions dying. I was willing to spend my life, to die, in a gulag to stop Sarov, to save my friends. If you want proof, go to Moscow and get an interview with Andrei Alexandrov or Boris Kiriyenko." Alex drank from his cooling cup of Viennese blend and ate a muffin from the box. Without Fran there, there was no need for napkins, forks or plates.

Sonny had not expected that, was he mistaken thinking the russians were sort of allies now, "A bomb in Murmansk?"

"The submarine base was a graveyard to the Red Banner Fleet nuclear submarines. Tones of decommissioned fissile material sitting there. The cloud of fallout would have taken out most of Europe. Sarov got his goal, destabilising the administration in Russia. Kiriyenko was forced to step down and hard liners with FSB backing took over. Democracy on paper, but Russia learned its lesson. If it had been your daughter who stopped the bomb in Russia, she would have disappeared. I only survived because I was fourteen, but they still interrogated me for a month and I spent the next year playing moderating influence on Sarov during his house arrest. When he died, they tried integrating me into school, there, but I saw no way out. I tried to kill myself. It took them another eight months to send me back cause the Brits denied I existed."

….

Joe stood in the doorway, listening to the old guy reminisce about his daughter. The situation was completely strange, except this was Alex and the ex-spy excelled at strange.

Alex stood up and went to the stove "Pancakes, J?"

"Sure, I seem to recall we both endured the talk on staying in, not getting into trouble and not inviting strangers to breakfast." Joe was sure Alex would be grounded for the rest of the summer, only his brother was the king of acceptable excuses, after sleeping with that ratfink Paul and getting away with it because of his issues.

"Joe this is Mr. Troy. My brother, he's not party to spooky stuff, mostly. So no more questions about Cuba." The cook poured batter onto the hotplate and made the third breakfast in silence.

Joe pulled the OJ out of the refrigerator, got a glass and sat down to stare at the stranger; as his brother cooked up a storm. The curious teenager asked "CIA?"

"No, thank Christ. Detective, serious crimes in Chicago, retired. My daughter made that dubious choice of being a spy. Died in 2001. Alexander was kind enough to tell me what happened to Belinda and that it mattered. Your brother needs looking after, make sure those bastards leave him alone. I should be going. Thanks for the breakfast. If you need anything, a place to stay, a helping hand, even a reference. Don't hesitate to call. Mi casa su casa, OK bud." With that the old guy, filled up his travel mug with coffee, took the offered remaining muffins and left.

There was silence as Alex served up and Joe shovelled pancake into his mouth, pondering how this guy had found Alex here.

Skillet wiped down, dishwasher loaded and his third mug of coffee poured, the teenage spy sat down and let the tension bleed out of him. He had kind of hated Troy and Turner then, probably he still did, also Byrne, Blunt, Crawley and Jones, even Ian, but not Yassen or the Russians. How screwed up was he?

Joe was stood next to him, trying to rub circles on his back. "Its OK, Sasha baby. That weird guys gone. No one to hurt you. Its safe, ish, I guess." The older brother was at a loss dealing with a full meltdown. He guessed Alex was finally confronting all the crap and felt safe enough to let his guard down. "Fuck, staying in. Let's go into York. Get pizza or burger. Go see a stupid girly film or a comedy with no violence or spies or assassin-dudes."

In the barn was the ancient Ford, bought for him to practice driving around. With their pooled allowance, they had enough money for junk food, cinema tickets, gas for the car they were about to borrow. Alex got the thing started after the wreck initially failed to turn over. Joe had his junior driver's licence, having taken his test last December. He still felt strange not driving with mom or dad, like he was stealing cars again. Sweaty palms and the great feeling of rebellion, it had been over two years since his arrest.

…..

Alex smiled thinking of the stupidity of that Pirate film. They were nearly home when flashing blue caused the pair to pull over.

"Joe, Sasha?" Queried the County Sheriff.

"Yeah?"

"Your neighbour reported you guys missing at lunch, but I see you went to the movies." The Sheriff was smiling, like he knew all the answers and the folly that overprotectiveness and teenage boys did not compute, considering Joe had a rebellious streak a mile wide.

"How much trouble are we in?" asked Joe, worried about planned parties and outings when they got back to DC, with the certainty of being grounded forever if he dared get arrested again.

"None, really. Just glad it's a false alarm. It's the holidays, this is your car Joe, you were still in the vicinity. You're both over 16. It's not like I called in the State Troopers or the Feds. You know my two boys, Joe. Those guys hate being cooped up and treating them like little kids drives them crazy as well. I'll ring Mitch and tell him you just drove into York to see a movie, no sweat."

"Think we got away with it?", the older teenager asked his smirking passenger.

"No, Mitch will tell on us. Just blame me and mention you needed to cheer me up and we'll only be on extra chores, not facing the wrath of the parents." Alex felt good for the first time in weeks. An adventure, but not the life-threatening kind, just being normal teenagers. He was functioning within normal parameters. This was what life was meant to be like.