Alex stood outside the plain and ugly squat brick building that housed Si Carrington's studio. It had a decent security system and the front door had a video feed and an intercom. After a moment making sure his clothes were straight and wiping his hands to get rid of the sheen of nervous sweat, the guest pressed the buzzer. A strange tinny voice stated "come on in" as the door unlocked.

The place was still a hive of activity; after brief introductions and greetings; Carlos, Si's assistant went back to packing away lighting equipment and the photographer was still busy selecting shots on his mac desktop. Alex hung back, observing the details of this well organised workspace.

"Meant to be finished by four, but as usual the stylist was late, everybody only left about ten minutes ago." Si then closed down his programs and switched off his computer. "it's neat enough Carlos. See you in the morning. " The photographer stood and stretched. "What a day! Thank god for Carlos. So what's the plan this evening?"

"Into Tooting, there's a great cafe, off the High Street. It's a real find. Looks an absolute dump but the food is magnificent, if you like Pashtun grub."

"Pashtun?"

"Northern Pakistan and Afghanistan. I first tried it when I was 14, not as hot as Indian, subtle flavours and great bread. The Family that run it are fab as well. I washed dishes there for a while. They thought it was so funny having a white boy clean up. I picked up the language pretty quick. I could already speak a bit, but I'm still no where near fluent." Alex smiled, "the place is dry, as in no booze, not even bring your own; but if you can play backgammon you can gamble all you want."

The tall blond had no idea how first dates were meant to go, but it was pleasant food washed down with salty-sour yogurt. They had talked of work, living in London and sport. Steering clear of troublesome topics like politics, family and religion.

As they walked north towards Si's home in Wandsworth, the older man asked "are you Muslim?"

"No, not anything really. I thought my uncle was an atheist, but he must have been C of E as a vicar did his funeral. I went to church with a couple of housekeepers when I was small and occasionally the local vicar turned up at Brookland Comprehensive, but that's about the sum total of my religious experience." Alex scratched his head about where the query over faith has come from? "I don't drink cause I hate being not fully in control of my actions. I've had a bit of a problem with self medicating at sixteen. Mixing painkillers, sleeping tablets and alcohol to get numb. Along with the tranquillisers and antidepressants meant I was pretty out of it; hiding the fact I was anything but well. My foster parents had me locked up in a psych unit when they twigged I was not coping. That sucked big time, so I've kept myself clean since then, as I do not want a repeat visit to that sort of place ever again."

Simon processed that confession and added his own. "Haven't been committed myself, but I saw a shrink for a while after leaving the army." After school he had gone to Sandhurst and left after seeing action in Northern Ireland and the Falklands. He had struggled with nightmares and flashbacks, but talking hd helped him immensely.

Alex stopped for a moment and decided to tell the truth to Si. "My dad served in 2 Para, got a medal. That piece of scrap and my parent's wedding photo is all I have as a legacy from my biological parents." Loss, pain, betrayal and the whole Scorpia legacy. Alex suddenly felt old and tired, "I'll slop off as I need to get back, I have work in the morning."

"How about I pick our next date. Thursday evening OK. Meet at the Dog and Duck at seven?" Everythung had cooled off very fast, he had been hoping to invite Alex back for a coffee, but it was a first date, not a pick up. He got the impression Alex did not do casual sex.

"Sounds like a plan, see you then. Night, Si." Alex waved but did not offer a hug or hand shake.

…

Lee was sat in the small dining/sitting room watching one of his many zombie DVDs, when Alex arrived back from Wandsworth. The scruffy punk asked his flat mate "How was your date?"

"Cool, Si's a real gentleman. We enjoyed our meal and went for a walk." Alex has been glad there had been no awkward hugs or attempts at a kiss. He turned around and went to bed. Suddenly very tired and uncertain if dating was a good thing. "Going out again on Thursday. Si's arranging it this time." Alex had been sneaky picking to eat at the Karachi Cafe. It did serve excellent food, but had no frills with its basic Formica tables, plastic chairs and mostly immigrant clientele. The location of the date designed to put off all except the most serious or adventurous. From the photographers cheery acceptance of the place, he was likely to return and tell all his friends about such a great find.

On their next date, Alex's lack of any sexual experience with men was bound to come up. Sure he had been touched up and humiliated by both Nile and Julius, but that had taken place during strip searches. That assault entailed penetration as fingers checked his anal cavity for any hidden contraband, but had gone no further than lewd comments on his fine tight arse begging to be fucked. Yassen had never suggested sex, just confessed to love a boy that hated the assassin. Alex had used hatred to bury his unwanted attraction to the wrong gender. He was slowly accepting he swung both ways and had been attracted to Sabina and loved his time with Bea. If only his first lover had been ten years younger they might have made a go of cohabiting. None of his girlfriends since had been as comparable to Mrs. Mackenzie. A woman who had understood hate, betrayal, revenge and depression. He had heard through the grapevine she had remarried, an older widower and moved to sunny southern Spain.

The blond barman had to see of Si was a serious prospect, only then would he broach the subject of his own tarnished past and problems with all in authority or government control. He paid no tax or NI, had no work record except his references, and was still officially homeless as he had no contract for the flat nor did he want to leave a paper trail. His passport was still valid, until next July. It had been a brand new adult passport issued after his return from Egypt. His driving licence still stated his address as St. Brendan's, his last official home.

As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Alex squashed the emerging hopes and dreams of a real love affair. He had scared off a few women when revealing his scarred body, the damage was revolting their eyes. Would Si be any different when confronted with burns, bullet entry and exit wounds, knife and surgery scars? That was the million dollar question. Alex would find out on Thursday if he was remaining celibate or if he and Si were going to be a couple. He was under the impression the older man wanted more than sex, something serious and long term.