Alex sat and meditated. He was the person he had been trained to be. He was an operative, despite one with a limited skills base and usefulness. Did he want to be the type of person Yassen was? Was Yassen a good person anyway? In many ways Alex could relate better to the cold cruel assassin than his own papa. He had always been closer to Jon, even if Tony had been the heart of their family and home. Jon got what Alex had been through. It had been the communications specialist who had dealt with all Alex's wobbles and problems with anything normal. Did Alex only try to be normal to appease Tony? What was normal anyway, not something the young intern could relate to in any real sense, maybe he had only been assimilating, making a legend for himself. The real Alex was the person Yassen had picked up, talked too, fucked. Alex wanted to scream, he had spent four days wringing that terrorist dry and now he was second guessing his own personality ticks, motives and choices. He had chosen to walk back into the lion's den thinking he was just a tea boy, a tea boy with a Scorpia-trained lover and a fully trained field operative. Calling Yassen his lover was just surreal anyway, their relationship was too seriously fucked-up to pigeon hole with any neat epithet. Yassen had fucked him in the head but no more than his uncle had. In fact his relationship with the russian was closer, warmer and more real than his family connection to Ian had ever been. Alex laid down on the bed in the bare and frankly comfortless hospitality suite. He could not be bothered to shower, really wanting a deep bubble bath and a nice fuck afterward. Yassen had spoken of sex as being the best way to come down from a mission either with a stranger picked at a bar, but best with someone you trusted, to work out frustrations. Alex mused on Yassen's need for control and his ability to read Alex, but then he knew Alex better than almost anyone on the planet. Even now, Alex was closer to him than any of his other lovers.
The blond loosened his clothes and decided on a slow, leisurely wank, not caring of the video surveillance or if anyone walked in. Screw the fact he was still technically on call in case the interrogation team needed his input. He pulled roughly on his balls, welcoming the pain in contrast to the slow build to orgasm, smiling on his activities since leaving London. There was the strange power play in subjugating another to your will. The play of touch, either to invite pain or a caress, the soft voice, the clear instructions, the game of truth or consequences. The Scorpia method was brutal but effective, Dr. Three's methods were a thing of magnificently awful infliction of agony with little lasting damage to the subject. Pain was the lever, but it was the psychological domination of the subject always had more impact. It brought Alex back to Cuba, where he had been throughly abused, tortured, broken and remade as Yassen had brought him to completion under his skilled hand. Yassen had been everything to Alex in that room. More important than anyone else. Ian, Jack, Alexei were forgotten. Only the teacher and pupil or the more horrifying reality of victim and abuser. Games within games, Yassen fulfilling orders from high meant to teach both Alex and the Russian lessons. Alex was not too young to die, not too young to suffer, not too young to be broken. Yassen had carried out his orders but the fact he had been ordered to kill John Rider's son had meant the man had broken faith with Scorpia. A fatal mistake on the Board's part. Yassen had never looked back when he left Cuba, reinventing himself as a true freelance, one who turned on Scorpia and used his knowledge of the organisation to destroy it from within. Thoughts of the beautiful and terrible Yashka brought Alex over the edge as he bit his lip rather than scream out his pleasure as he spilled his seed.
Alex woke with a start, the light was on, and the fact he was covered in dried come, breathing too fast and the disturbing, jaring images from his nightmare were in sharp relief to the bright bland room. For the first time in days he removed his prosthetic legs and went for a shower.
The debrief was the standard question and answer session first by the agents and then the shrink. Alex had not slept after his nightmare. Insomnia was a recurring problem, one that had plagued him since his stay in California. Alex knew he was deluding himself, hiding behind his two old friends, disassociation and denial. The doc was sympathetic when Alex asked for some tablets to help. He normally did not like taking them, but another sleepless night was too much to handle at the moment. Alex had another full bottle of Temazepam, just 10 tablets to get him back into his sleep routine after his stressful week.
A car took him the short journey from Vauxhall to his lodgings. It was 9am when he arrived back to his room. Alex had no messages on his phone and no emails except junk. No one had missed him. Then he remembered Sylvia was on holiday for two weeks with friends and Tony was filming on location. No one to miss him. Alex, rather than sleeping or resting, he cleaned his room, packed his belongings and reflected on his life so far.
Everything was bare. Packed away for ease. The room clean and ready for a new tenants. Alex wore his favourite pajamas. His legs ached. He looked at the bottle of painkillers, tyrol, prescribed for his severe leg tremors and the sleeping tablets. A lethal combination. He was not going to be the man Ian and Yassen had trained him to be. There seemed no solution but to break his conditioning, he was certain of his chosen game plan, it was the most brutal way to freedom.
...
Cassian stroked Alex's hair as the blond slept. They had been dating for two weeks. Cassian then frowned, dating was not the correct term for the frantic fucking the two of them engaged in. Alex had spoken at length when they had initially hooked up, describing in detail his fucked up existence before being adopted, but Cassian knew from the gossip something had happened to Tony Fletcher's son during his holiday in Europe the previous fall. Nothing made sense about Alex. He was strong, free spirit, but in the bedroom Cassian was the boss. The young California had been sexually active for over a year but he preferred to top. Alex was a strange bottom, unlike any other Cassian had fucked. Alex was not a typical, he was a natural dominant. Sex was all wrong, Cassian expected a fight and would have welcomed the play for switching but Alex rolled every time, doing whatever Cassian suggested or wanted. Alex acted like he craved or expected sex, never saying no or suggesting just making out.
Cassian spoke of his worries to the one person who would always listen and not judge his behaviour, his therapist. Clarissa took in the details of Cassian's current boyfriend.
"Dare I ask, was your lover abused?" the woman asked after digesting Cassian's concerns.
Cassian thought on all Alex had told him in confidence. "His uncle did. Emotionally... I thought Alex was joking but thinking about it I guess he was making a joke of his uncle actually fucking him when he was ten. Why would Alex joke about that?"
"He might be acting out all he has been taught in the bedroom. Being a good lover to him is being controlled, used, passive. I think Alex might need specialist therapy."
The dark haired musician looked at his therapist with growing horror in his expression, "Alex says he's bi, but he has only slept with males. Could Alex be straight but too fucked in the head to break out from a pattern of self-destructive relationships, just jumping into bed with anyone who shows an interest. Does that mean I'm facilitating Alex's problems?"
"I think thats for Alex to figure out. Is he in therapy?"
"Yeah, hates the bitch though. Spends his sessions as a game of up the ante as he puts it. Christ, I feel like a complete shit."
Cassian, trying to be the perfect boyfriend, had arranged a lunch date at Alex's favourite restaurant, some vegan place on Mulholland. To say it was a date from hell was putting it mildly.
Alex listened as Cassian, in a low, kind and gentle tone asked him about his current head shrinking sessions and if Alex had ever had rape counseling and maybe that Alex could join Cassian with his therapist to discuss the sexual aspect of their relationship.
Alex knew Cassian was getting attached but this was taking everything just too far. Bloody Californian's and their need for talking things through, understanding, common ground and all that emotional shit.
"Look Cassian, we fuck. That is our relationship. I get that. I'm happy with that. Come on, in September I'm going back to England. Anyway, Tony is in talks to go to Australia to film some piece of shit this summer. So we are here and now. Fuck we're 18. Its casual." Alex pushed his salad away and stared at Cassian like he had two heads.
"I like you Alex. I like you a lot. I like you like this. Argumentative, opinionated, sarcastic and blunt. You stop acting like that when we fuck, or should I say I fuck and you take it. Alex you act like a sex kitten not a badass in the bedroom, what gives?"
Alex's expression went from hard to questioning. Questioning himself and his whole attitude to sex. "Maybe I want to be loved. Maybe thats how I feel loved? Maybe I'm just too fucked in the head to know what love is, but I sure as hell know all about sex."
"Am I just like Ian then?" said a hard and equally upset Cassian James, trying to push Alex's emotional buttons.
"I don't compare you to that sick fuck. Look, if you want more, you need another boyfriend. I... I like sex, but I'm kidding myself about the relationship thing. You and me its simple. Don't complicate it be trying to figure out my personality defects. I keep getting it from Tony about how normal relationships work, but I don't do normal. I guess you don't do fuck-ups so thanks for reminding me I'm a psycho, Cass. Thanks a bunch."
...
Alex had left the restaurant with the awful mix of hurt and resentment churning in his gut. Cassian was right to want more and was bright enough to figure out that Alex did in fact not know his arse from his elbow when it came to interpersonal relationships and the one thing Alex did not want to figure out was the minefield of devastation left by Ian and Yassen. Alex liked sex, that was close enough to proper relationships without your partner figuring out you did not act normal even when fucking.
The two hours of lengths relaxed Alex in the zone of hard physical endurance training. Alex had sorted out regular swim sessions at the UCLA pool and even had a semi-regular coach, one who liked to bitch about Alex's diet.
Mitch had watched Alex Fletcher-Smith train. The kid was back up to his training regime schedule for tryouts and racing, but Alex had kept to his vegan diet. Something had to give and if Alex wanted to get back into serious training he would have to re-evaluate his diet plans.
Mitch handed Alex the flavour-less protein shake used by the UCLA swim team. "Look Alex, its a protein shake so it ain't vegan. Loose the ethics and start winning races. You lived on this stuff at Loughborough and to get back on Team GB just get on with it."
Alex took a long draw on the bland vileness that signaled a return to the meal planning of strict ratios of protein and carbohydrate and vile supplements. Alex then tried to cough, and then wheezed. He had managed his allergies with such carefulness he had not contemplated his coach to feed him something that was prohibited. Alex watched at Mitch called the paramedics and pulled out the epipens Alex always carried. Today was turning out to be fantastic. Lets get to Alex about being a psycho boyfriend, no ex-boyfriend, get him about his diet and now lets try to kill him.
...
George opened his door and tumbled into the kitchen, just enough time for a brew before the plumber turned up to fix the leak on the boiler. The plumber was meant to be coming tomorrow but had called about a rearrangement, George was glad to leave work early and finish his report at home. George went to the calendar on the fridge to cross out tomorrow's appointment to see the post it note left by Alex 'Forgive me for the mess in my room, Sorry."
George went to see what Alex had done. There was Alex laid on the bed asleep, the room in perfect condition, clean with not a single thing on any surface apart from two pill bottles on the bedside cabinet and a single dirty glass. George then realised Alex had packed, two bags and a box by the door. The banker then came to see Alex who was asleep, well still breathing. Both pill bottles were empty. The strong pain killers Alex had prescribed but rarely took, was empty.
George realised his lodger had taken an overdose. The post it note was Alex's suicide note apologising for this. Shit.