"Mom, he's Anakin Skywalker!"

"Boys, leave Captain West alone, or so help me God," Brooke shouted.

"It's fine, ma'am, really."

Shane lifted his head at the Australian accent. She had men coming halfway around the world to speak with her. Well, Brooke had certainly gained a reputation as the woman to talk to after the President had chosen her as his own psychiatrist. Her life certainly had to be interesting now.

"How'd you lose it?"

"Did you fight a Sith Lord?"

"Did you do some Indiana Jones thing?"

"Are you ex-military?"

"Dude, he's a Captain. Duh."

"Boys," Brooke shouted at the top of her lungs. "Do your homework! Now!"

"Yes, Mom!"

Brooke sighed, moving to sit down on the couch again. If they could just leave the man alone for ten more minutes, her session with Shane would be finished. Jack had decided to hang around so he could talk to her later, and after Shane, her sessions for the day were done. "I'm sorry, Shane. They're a little . . . overexcited by my new client."

Shane chuckled. "I wouldn't have guessed," he said, a smile spreading across his face. Things had only gotten better after Ostrov Zmey. It wasn't that he'd forgotten Libby, but allowing himself to move on and be human,had helped. Spending time with Veronique certainly distracted him, and the occasional kiss she planted was almost a sign of things to come. Almost.

It was down to him now, and whether he was ready or not to step into a romantic relationship. That was part of the reason why he was still attending therapy. Surprisingly it'd actually done him some good, something he hadn't thought possible.

"Are you still having dreams?"

Dreams, not nightmares. Even Shane had noticed how she never referred to them as nightmares anymore. They were just recurring dreams that wouldn't leave him alone. He nodded once, drawing his knees up against his chest and resting his head on them. "Yeah, on occasion. I - The other night I dreamt of the cliff."

"The cliff where you tried to commit suicide?"

"No, the cliff I threw those red uranium spheres off to stop Calderon," he joked. He sighed, sinking into the couch and letting his body relax. "Yeah, that cliff . . . I dreamt we went over the cliff, that instead of killing myself, I killed Gena too."

"You still feel guilty over Libby's death."

He shook his head. It wasn't that at all, yet it was. He still felt a lot of things. He hated himself for allowing it to happen, he hated Aloysius for not saving her, for surviving when it should've been his head on the chopping block. He hated Mother for stopping the bullet. He hated himself for falling in love with another woman. "Veronique and I went on a date last week," Shane said, changing the subject.

"You can end the session at any time, Shane, you know that. You have my number if you ever need it."

He nodded, rubbing his eyes before he yawned. "I'm sorry, I'm just not talkative today. I couldn't sleep at all last night. The medication helps, but last night just wasn't a good one. I checked the doors twice, and the windows."

"Calderon gets in peoples' heads, it's what he does, Shane. The CIA taught him and trained him. You can't just blame yourself. There were a lot of people who could've seen Ostrov Zmey coming but didn't, and there were a lot of people who chose to ignore it."

Someone had authorised the operation. Calderon wouldn't have just acted on his own accord. Someone had greenlit it, and told him to wipe out half the world. Shane slid off the couch, heading for the stairs that led up to reality. "Thanks, Doc," he said, yells sounding from the boys.

"Shane! Shane, you gotta meet Jack, he's just like Gena!"

"I'm sorry, Captain," Brooke apologised again. "Weren't you told to do your homework?"

"We did it."

"Go get me your homework then," Brooke said, smirking when the twins ran off. "Captain Schofield, this is Captain West Jr."

"Captain," Shane nodded, extending his hand.

He shook the American's hand. "Call me Jack."

"Shane."

"US Army?" Jack queried.

Shane smiled. "Jarhead, actually. You?"

"Former SAS."

Interesting. "You want to grab a drink?" Shane offered, heading for the door. The man had a high-tech prosthetic arm, something he hadn't seen before. It had to be a custom design. Thank God Mother wasn't here, or she'd have started drooling over it and started wanting an improved leg of her own.

"Sure. You know of any places around here that don't sell crap?"

"One or two."