"I should be ecstatically happy. I'm getting hitched and Si is wonderful. I know my accident, wasn't an accident, that it wasn't about me. Wrong target. That I'm not the only person on the planet to piss off the wrong people off and I was just unlucky but incredibly lucky at the same time. Everything's OK, on the mend and I'm just paranoid, I feel like it's all going to go wrong again. I'm not that person anymore, I've run enough. I deserve happiness, stability and hope. The big day is drawing closer and I feel on edge. I'm having nightmares, real night terrors again."

There in the living room of Si's house, the therapist was sat listening to his patient. "Have you considered running?"

"In the dark, when I can't get back to sleep. I look at Si and I know he deserves better. I'm so fucked up. I'm still jumping at shadows, still so scared that they'll threaten all this just to get to me. I'm not anyone any agency would use, not after Cairo; but those people are still in positions of power and I'm still a dirty secret. Running is the easy option. I know how to do that. Staying, holding my ground, making a stand for me, that's hard. Only I would run if they threatened Si. I can't lose him. Those people, they treated me like a chess piece. The deaths of my parent's, my uncle and Jack meant nothing to them in the long run. Not even collateral damage to them. Officially Jack and Ian died in a car crash, one caused by bullets to the head and the other by a large amount of plastic explosive. I wish I had gotten proper amnesia, not just those minutes prior to the accident. Remember none of that shit. So, I could believe the fairy stories spun by MI6. Bastards shafted me in California, when my shit school attendance and grades followed me across the Atlantic from Brookland. I was reduced to a troubled teenager with serious mental health issues. All caused by them. I had to deal with it though." Alex exhaled, he needed to be calm, anger resolved nothing. "Si's worried about my insomnia, the fact I'm jumpy. Christ, it is PTSD, isn't it?"

The therapist chuckled and shook his head "You are doing my job for me, but yes my diagnosis is you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and I think group therapy would help. Talk to Simon, he's been here. If you need more, there is a group I supervise for ex-servicemen. You need to talk this through and rationalise your responces. You are dealing with this, but it is still affecting you. So, no tablets, no men in white coats, but I will be back next week to talk, OK."

As his session ended, Alex suddenly wanted to see Si to discuss the ramifications of the slippery slope of PTSD, and phoned for a taxi to take him to the studio.

The room seemed to be full to the rafters as Alex hobbled in. It was a big job with seven models, stylists for clothes and hair from the magazine and hired in assistants for lighting and makeup. Everyone seemed to still and stare as the invalid encroached.

"Hi?" Alex said unsure of himself.

Si stopped barking orders and then start to fuss. "You are meant to be resting, trouble."

Alex could feel the beginnings of a panic attack as his breathing increased to compensate for the feeling of being too hot, not getting enough air into his lungs and the fact everyone was looking at him. His attempt to move backwards and to turn around, to get out of the door failed spectacularly as he missed his footing and was only saved from a full face-plant by the narrowness of the hall. With no grace he slid to the floor, as he used his right arm to protect his back from jarring and any further injury.

"Need air" he gasped.

Si moved to help Alex to the floor and in calm tones told him to breath in time to his commands.

Alex then looked at his love and kissed him. "I promise I'm not going to run off. I know I can't run anywhere at the moment, but I hate feeling this way. Stupid fucking PTSD, thought I'd seen the last of that after getting my head shrunk back in 2003. Darren told me to talk to you. Maybe I need group sessions again… Just because of a stupid accident. Its put all my shit back in play. I'm now fucking up your day as well. I just needed to see you. To stop you worrying. Yeah I'm nuts but its expected and all I need is several psych sessions."

The photographer then knew that his worries had been justified, that he had done the right thing in principal by organising the session with Darren, only he should have been at home, only his shoot had over run. "Just another half an hour before I'm done. Owen… help me get Alex into my office so he can lie down. We're off for a curry after. Just the thing a bit of company to cheer you up."

…

During the stopover in Singapore, Alex and Si were staying with old friends of the photographer's. Two days of conversation, discussing everything from art, war, politics to globalisation, rest and good food. Alex had earlier sat and watched cricket and drank cool lemonade, as Si enjoyed G&Ts in this mega city with a thin veneer left from its former close connections to England. The secluded villa was a piece of colonial history, under the ceiling fan and the mosquito nets; Alex lay awake and pondered their planned trip to the Great Barrier Reef. He could possibly snorkel, but diving and surfing was out. He was laid in bed worrying about his two months of holiday. Only it wasn't really a holiday not with regular check ups and physiotherapy already booked for Sydney, Cairns and Alice Springs. Hopefully by the time they got to the outback he'd have enough movement back to do some hiking.

He did not want to fall asleep, but exhaustion caught up with him. Night terrors were now a rare occurrence.

Si woke to the whimpers, as his lover was caught in a memory. "Wake up Alex. Wake up, love." He did not touch his husband, knowing that could provoke a violent reaction.

Alex sat up and gasped in pain from the sudden movement and from the aftermath of horror invading his dreams. "Fuck! Sorry for waking you Si."

"Its nearly dawn and I have that gallery meeting at 9. We could do some early morning sightseeing."

Alex remained still, pondering this reality before deciding "Yeah, I need fresh air." He smiled at the simple fact Si always seemed to know precisely what to do. "So, an early breakfast at Lau Pa Sat?"

"You must have read my mind. Umm Indian or Chinese?"

"Roti, dosa… yeah… coffee is a must. Will Toby and Rick be joining us?"

"I think they might let us have a few hours to ourselves." Simon softly stroked his husband's dark gold hair, which had grown down over his ears, Alex had not been to the barbers since March. "Lets be scruffs and not bother with shaving until we get back to London. See which one of us has the most hipster of beards in four weeks time."

…

Alex was sat at Writer's Bar at Raffles, drinking a G&T not the traditional Singapore Sling. The seat was comfortable and he was fully relaxed. Poor Si, was still in his meeting and this Englishman was resting during the heat of the midday sun, his mad dog days far behind him. He closed his eyes and reflected on this most wonderful of locations. He would come back here for a drink or three any day. He could hear the murmur of conversation before he was abruptly interrupted by a familiar soft irish accent.

"Car accident, Alex?"

"No, Smithers, it was a FUBAR of the highest order and my luck ran out in Cairo as you know. I've been working as a builder, handyman, roofer since I left school. Brendan, my co-worker had a proper psycho girlfriend, who drove her car into the scaffolding on the site we were working on in Tooting, aiming to do poor two-timing Brendan in. I was on the scaffolding, then I hit her car and then landed on the rockery in Mr. Conway's garden. That's how Mr. Conway described it. I still can't remember falling, hit my head pretty hard and was unconscious for an hour or so. Well, look at me, I'm held together by titanium now." Alex looked at the man, standing dressed in a fine linen tropical weight suit, a glass of Irish whiskey in his hand. "Please join me. You still working for the Bank?"

The man sat down signalling for the waiter to bring another round. "Oh, no. We parted company after Cairo. There was quite a stink over Blunt's actions, he was sacked and well I needed a fresh start. Moved over to the private sector. Gamekeeper now not poacher for a respectable banking group, HSBC. I troubleshoot after hacking incidents and robberies. Pays exceedingly well. I live in Hong Kong. My wife loves it. The life of a colonial wife suits her down to a tee, lunches, tennis, bridge, cocktail and dinner parties. I work just as hard, but there's no collateral damage. Poor Jack, not a day goes by when I don't regret aborting the whole operation after the American's got involved."

"Ifs buts and maybes are the road to ruin. You just live your life to the fullest and you can't do anything else. The horrors on the way, just temper you to be more of a bastard when you have to be. I fucking scared the living daylights out of the oiks on my NVQ roofing course, just with my tales of fucking school. Well, Point Blanc was the school from hell and I wasn't much better at Brookland, not with the crane and burning down the science block. C'est la vie. Lets drink to that… To Life."