Alex could feel someone washing him. The smell of antiseptic. Water and a soft sponge over his skin. "Papa?". Alexei. Alex thought it must be Alexei. Why wasn't he talking? Alexei's normally told Alex stories of Russia and his darling Vladimir, all in quiet soft tones even when Alex was not responding. It calmed Alex. Alex felt loved.
A strange voice answered in Spanish "A doctor will be with you in a moment."
Doctor? Alexei had never spoken directly with the doctors at Skeleton Key.
Alex asked in Russian "Where is my Papa? Is he here?"
The nurse finished cleaning Alex and dressing his wounds. Alex was redressed in a plain hospital gown and wrapped in sheets and blankets. Alex noted the old fashioned glass jar of saline attached by a tube to his arm. The medical bay at Skeleton Key had been modern clean and efficient. The doctor had been German.
The doctor came in and looked Alex's chart. The boy was awake.
The tall man sat on the edge of Alex's bed and spoke in accented Russian "Hello, my name is Doctor Inago Torres. What is your name, son?"
Alex answered in Spanish "My name is Alex...Alexander. Where am I?"
"Alex.. you are at the Cuban Military Hospital near Santa Cruz. Are you Russian?"
Alex looked at the Cuban. He could lie. What to say? Alex Sarov. Alex Gardiner. No. He might be damning himself but he would tell the truth. "I'm English. Alexander John Rider. Is Alexei here?"
"By Alexei, do you mean General Sarov?" asked the doctor.
"Yes."
Alex then woke. Fuck what a fucking time to have a nightmare about Cuba. Alex was sweaty. It was dark. Then he remembered. It was Jon's funeral today. Three days after his body had been flown home. Life had been surreal since last weekend, when training had been interrupted by Aunty Silvia turning up to tell Alex the bad news in person. Then Alex had had to endure Silvia Smith's very careful driving back to Lambeth.
Tony had been sedated when Alex got home. The house was full of family and friends. Madga had come over and hugged Alex and kissed Silvia in greeting. Both Aunties fussing over him as he was handed a cup of tea and two flapjacks to eat. Alex stared at the food, completely numb with the news that Jon was dead. Sylvia had taken over organizing tea, sandwiches and cakes for all the friends and acquaintances who stopped by. Alex crept upstairs when all the adults were busy chatting. Alex went and sat in the dark corner of Jon and Tony's bedroom where he was not in view from the door and sat watching Tony's drugged stupor.
Four hours later Tony woke to see Alex sat on the floor in the corner opposite his bed watching him. Alex's grief broke as soon as Tony beckoned him for a hug.
The funeral was small. Family and friends with a larger service at St. Thomas' Church in the afternoon. The mass had been organised by Sylvia. Alex had been to church twice with Jon and Sylvia at Easter. Jon was a very lapsed Catholic. Church doctrine making his chosen life a mortal sin. Alex knew enough to not embarrass himself or Sylvia. He sat at the front as Sylvia welcomed everyone with the priest. A large group of strangers sat with Sylvia. "Alex love, this is Margaret and William, Jon's Mother and Father" Sylvia then pointed " and Jon's brothers Desmond and Michael." The Sylvia addressed the strangers "This is Jon's adopted son, Alex."
"What they let queer's adopt?" said Michael Smith snidely.
"Only kid's nobody else wants" added Alex.
"Shussh" Silvia hugged Alex to reassure him. "Alex is a lovely boy, well young man now. A bit difficult at times but he was the apple of Jon's eye." At this Silvia smiled sadly.
"Jon was a great Dad" Alex added, looking at the floor.
Alex could not empathise with Jon's family. The family that had rejected him seventeen years ago, because he fell in live with someone of the wrong gender. They had never met Tony. Alex remained silent as Sylvia told them of Alex's achievements: 12 GCSE's, his studying for his A levels. How he had already sat his Computer Science A level. His being on the GB Swim team for the Paralympics.
Jon's mother then stated shocked "You're disabled?"
"Double amputee - no feet." Alex stated with a smile
Sargeant Dixon did a double take at the young man sat with his head buried in a book in the waiting room at Hereford Railway Station. In the two years years since he had last seen Cub, he had become a man. Alex was tall, fit and the spitting image of the John Rider, whom the Sargent had met in 1987, seventeen years ago.
"Hello Cub, I almost did not recognise you. Working on A Level coursework?" Alex looked up to see the Sargeant in full uniform.
"Morning Sargeant. Yeah maths. Got my Russian books to review as well."
The four days away had been a breather after Jon's cremation service, which had been followed with Tony taking a trip to scatter Jon's ashes. Alex felt completely lost when confronted with Tony's all encompassing grief and heart break. Alex had been quiet and withdrawn, as everyone tried to comfort Tony. Sargent Dixon had taken Alex to the other funerals, three members of the SAS had also been killed with Jon, and lastly to the memorial service at Hereford. Alex was sick of the suit and black tie as he sat in the Mess at Hereford looking at a luke warm cup of disgusting tea, four sugars made the oily brew just drinkable. His train home was not for another hour and a half. Alex was dreading it.