Alex woke with a start, it took him a moment to realise he was alone. He relaxed back into the bed and went over every aspect of the dream, as he had dreamt Yassen was in his room, stroking his face. Not a nightmare, as the teenager was painfully hard and had no means to relieve himself, not with two splinted hands. Barely able to lift a glass of water never mind turn on a tap or wank himself stupid. He swore out loud in frustration in Japanese, a language he knew neither Mimi, Charlie or Joe spoke. He then laughed, slightly hysterically at his complete folly, aroused by a murderer and terrorist. None of the bastards last week had turned him on, not like Cossack; who was far more deadly. A man who should fuel nightmares not wet dreams.
The Russian was more enemy than friend, nonetheless one who had recused Dima and himself from the Grief clone. As the the former antagonists were holed up in that grim apartment in Moscow, they had bonded during Alex's prolonged periods of insomnia. The young Russian had slept deeply as the two others conversed. The assassin had spoken briefly of his work and his training with Alex's father. John Rider had been a deadly accurate assassin and a gifted torturer, a favourite of Dr. Three. Alex had been both horrified and fascinated by the description of the expert on pain and the psychology of interrogation.
The sixteen year old then closed his eyes and exhaled. At fourteen, he had lived through weeks of interrogation by the FSB and their dedicated medical personnel. He shivered and swore again as he could not write up his journal for Dr. Majors. The illuminated clock said it was 4:11AM. He was not allowed to get his dressings wet, so a shower was out of the question, as was going for a run or any form of physical exercise. Two to three weeks needed for his hands to heal seemed like an eternity.
The teenager crept downstairs for a snack, knowing there was leftover Chinese takeaway in the refrigerator. An egg roll would solve a multitude of ills. The microwave seemed horrifically loud as it heated through the snack. He bit into, savouring the salty and greasy delight. Here he was eating in the middle of the night when he had barely eaten two mouthfuls last night. Faced with Jack's favourite take out, he suddenly felt out of place; a coward. He had been in America for weeks, but he had made no attempt to track down the woman who had been the closest thing to a parent to a lonely and neglected boy. Three bites of his snack and his stomach felt like lead. He knew he could not talk to her, not draw her back into his life of lies and legends.
Joe, an always ravenous teenager, came into the kitchen after the smell of food drifted upstairs, and fancying a snack himself. He had put in an all-nighter on-line, corresponding across the globe, discussing hacking and conspiracy theories. He knew he'd get to sleep in, as all were concentrating on getting Alex to resettle into the family routine. He walked into the kitchen to see Alex barfing into the sink. Thinking his brother was ill, he turned around to get a responsible adult to deal with the mess and possibly the need to get Alex back to hospital.
Alex grumbled as he was forced into the car by Charlie, not from pain, but sheer pigheadedness. "I'm fine! I just should not have eaten the egg roll."
"You barely ate last night and you have a temperature of 101 degrees; which is definitely not fine. I agree and egg roll at 4AM is not your best idea, maybe next time you need a snack but feel a bit off, eat rice cakes."
Going in the car was a bad idea, luckily the General had come prepared as Alex vomited into a bag rather than over himself or the carpet. Waiting to see the doctor in the Emergency Room, Alex prayed he was not going to be readmitted, he loathed hospitals. He preferred Ian's attitude of get up, stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with it. Then came the embarrassment of Charlie helping him strip to put on a gown for the teenager to get his vital signs measured, blood taken and answer a million questions. The doctor pondered the results, after an hour another doctor arrived and stated that the sickness was a reaction to the antibiotics, a change of medication was needed. Alex had forgotten all about the list of possible side effects, but it could have been worse, he could have turned yellow with jaundice. With his new tablet regime from the pharmacy, the advice to drink plenty of fluids, take Tylenol to help with the fever and eat soft bland foods to help with his upset stomach. Alex was back being an invalid and he already hated every minute of it. It was going to take all his self control to remain neutral and calm.
…..
Alex stopped himself mid rant and turned to face his therapist. "Fuck! I'm sorry, Luke. I got caught in the moment. Here I am ranting at you and the shit storm has nothing to do with you."
The forty three year old smiled and put down his pen. "You are allowed to be angry. I'm being paid whether you're polite or venting. Sometimes getting the emotions out is cathartic. I would stop you if I thought you were out of line."
Like a mantra, Alex explained his position, "Anger is loosing control. I've spent the best part of two years hiding my emotions, bottling up the pain, hurt, fear, anger and hate. It's like I'm trying to be Jedi but succeeding in being Sith. I find I work things through while I do my katas. Rationalise and compartmentalise. So, it's OK to be completely pissed off by being useless at the moment. Not allowed to do anything strenuous. I feel a lot better with my new meds. Not so tired and lethargic. I have a decent appetite again. Not Chinese food though, that makes me want to vomit even now. The nutritionist says I should avoid fatty foods, but Joe brought me a whopper home yesterday and it was fab."
Luke Majors chuckled "nice try at avoidance and a diversion, but you were talking about your holiday to Baltimore Docks. So there was cough-boy, the sniffer, evil-bastard and henchman no. 1. So, they were all pathetically low rent thugs. Not a patch on your old friend Yassen. Please explain, because those guys hurt you, played with your deepest fears and tried to brainwash you."
"There would have been no try with Yassen, nor any attempt of escape on my part. If he caught me and was out to trade me or remake me, it would happen. Cossack does not make mistakes. He would break me and remake me with the expertise expected of Dr. Three's protege. Sniffer thought I was a kid, not in a compassionate or kind way, but as a waste of his time and expertise. I played up the snivelling the 'please let me go home' and crying like a baby to reenforce their assessment. What they did to me was no worse than Sarov. I... I know my file states I broke under FSB interrogation, but they had me for weeks, they have questioning down to an art without the need for casual brutality. Breaking bones and incapacitating your asset is just not cricket. Yassen still scares the crap out of me. I have no illusions, he will kill me as soon as his strange infatuation stops. He does not leave loose ends or casual witnesses. I owe him for not killing Dima and I worry what my forfeit will be." Alex paused and contemplated telling the psychologist about his dream last night. "I dream about him. All lean blond and blue eyed perfection. I have the hots for the guy who murdered my uncle. I asked Yassen about shooting Ian, he just shrugged and said he'd killed lots of people. He scares me because I empathise totally with a casual killer and that I'll end up just like him."
Luke noted down the lost and forlorn expression on his patient's face, for once not guarded, blank or the perfection of fake cheeriness. "You must see the similarities between Joe and yourself?"
Alex liked his brother and all of his adopted family, they were great; but trouble had followed him here. His whole demeanour darkened into a deep frown. "Joe's OK, we have common ground. He's been tempered by misfortune, survived, coped and thrived as you put it. His whole family is loving and supportive. So many of them as well, grandparents and cousins. Its a lot to get used to. Only, I'm the odd one out. No coping or thriving here. They'd be fine without me, they don't need me nor the trouble I attract. The loneliness and isolation I felt in Russia is still here. I don't belong. It's like I'm just pretending to be a Canterbury and I'm waiting for someone to come along with a new legend any moment. Nothing is permanent, but that's fine. I was trained to deal with it."
...,
Alex sat in the waiting room as Luke had a word with Charlie. Probably to arrange more head shrinking, considering he'd opened up today and revealed what a freak he was.
He wanted to get home, to bother Joe, wanting to hear all about school and normal things, not navel gazing on his own shortcomings. He liked laying on Joe's bed listening about casual hazing American style. He sat and traced the scars on his right inner wrist. The good life, stability and family; things that had been all been promised before. Had it failed just because of Alex? Probably, even Ian had not loved him. Just trained him to be a weapon for MI6. He took a deep breath, he had parents who would fight his corner. Mimi who was thinking five moves ahead, including if his past came out in the open. Reassuring their adopted son, that he had been an abused child, period. No agency should have used him. He was fighting to be normal, but that was the ultimate lie. Alex Rider had been erased and Alexander Canterbury was floundering. He needed to gain perspective. Focus on Mimi, Charlie and Joe. Three years ago, this had been his ultimate dream, family and unconditional love and acceptance. Did he deserve it? Why were they bothering?
…
Alex had been allowed one last visit to see Alexei in the Lubyanka, before going to Siberia with Dimitry. To say goodbye. The General had looked so different: broken, scruffy and old. The man had tried to be cheerful and upbeat and had whispered when they were alone, "Don't despair in exile, beautiful heart. Be strong. Do not mourn me. I played the hard game and now I must pay for my failures. Never forget that I am so glad you stayed my hand, quelled the madness. Truly beautiful, good and so moral. I love you, Aleksandr."
Alex had tried to smile, tried to say the words. He croaked "I will miss you, father. Goodbye." He did not love Alexei. He had tried to make himself believe his current legend; but the past, the pain and humiliation of those days in Cuba, that had been the real Alexei Sarov. In fear of being found out, the man had pretended to be a father, to have a family again, to be the man who had raised a dutiful son. Alex was not Vladimir. The teenager was already a survivor, not a patriot.
Alex had forgotten he'd fallen asleep on Joe's bed. His brother was staring at him, concerned and frightened. The dream… the memory of the awful day Sarov had died. The man he had called father for ten months. A man with so many enemies. A man who had deserved his lonely death. A bullet to his head, so he could join Vladimir.
Joe looked at his brother who had been mumbling in Russian, the only word he had understood had been father. Alex looked pale, clammy, like he was going to be sick. "Don't puke on my bed, Sasha. I'll help you into the bathroom. Puke anywhere there is fine."
Alex allowed himself to be lead downstairs to the family bathroom. A cool flannel washing his face as he sat on the toilet. The soft cotton towel then followed.
"Back to your room?" Joe asked, unsure if Alex was unwell or just disturbed by his night terror.
"My room's OK."
Both boy's stopped in the hall outside, and listened to their parent's talking. "…. depressed… lost…. needs to be watched….. slashed his wrists before.."
Alex felt icy cold with dread, not clinic again. He slumped against the wall and practically begged Joe, "I promise, I won't… I'll be good… Just don't send me back. I can't go back. Please, I'll try harder. Smile more. Look I can smile."
Joseph Charles Canterbury looked at the pale ill form of his friend grinning like death. Nothing cheerful or hopeful, just pretence. "I won't let them send you anywhere you don't want to go. Even if we both have to run for it. Paul will put us up. I promise Sasha, Alex. We're brothers now. No backing out. You stand by me and I'll stand by you. Now, get in bed. I'll read you three chapters of the Prisoner of Azkaban. That'll get you sleepy, I promise."