The low early morning sun lit in the smart corner office overlooking the Thames at Vauxhall. On a tray were a steaming cup of expresso and an almond croissant, Monday's were her day for an indulgent breakfast. On the desk were a large stack of files, reports and memos to review. Each week started the same. The smartly dressed, petite lady who occupied the office, took a sip of her hot drink and then leaned back. Her secretary was waiting with note pad, on the leather seat directly in front of the large oak desk. "So first things first. So Patricia, How is Mr, Fletcher Smith? He's transferring to Harlsden Hall today." Cecelia Tremayne, ran her eye over her diary to find her first three meetings had been rearranged. As the Head of the British Secret Intelligence Service, she was used to problems popping up at the last minute and always liked to go over her personal agenda first.

"Yes, well, it seems not. A court order was placed on Saturday by Mr. Dylan Michaels on behalf of Mr. Fletcher Smith. The Section 4 order was rescinded, with Dr. Graves's and a Dr. Montrose's approval. Alex it seems will be leaving St. Stephen's today but his Father will be arranging his further medical care."

"Why was I not informed of this on Saturday?" Mrs Tremayne had spent the weekend at her son's. "Didn't Chalmer's deal with this?". 'M' would be having words with her deputy, who had obviously not thought the mental health of an intern warranted his time and effort. It did when the intern was a newly recommissioned agent.

"Well, the papers filed by Mr. Micheal's state that Mr. Fletcher Smith's episode was as a result of overwork. There is also a rather disturbing piece in the Telegraph today, penned by Edward Pleasure. The crisis in Security leads to the overworking of interns, Alex Fletcher Smith's time sheet states he worked 150hrs in the last two weeks. The article also states his underlying health problems, his allergies, his amputations and his recent bout of septicemia. Its all rather damning. Smither's is due in for a meeting with the Unison rep in half an hour as well."

"Is my schedule cleared for that?"

"Yes Ma'am"

"Please arrange time for me to visit Mr. Fletcher Smith this morning before he leaves St. Stephen's. Oh and Patricia, please inform Medical I want to know who cleared Agent Fletcher Smith as fit to go home. I seem to remember an agent needed at least 48hrs rest and recuperation before release after debriefing. I do hope protocols were followed."

...

Dylan disliked hospitals, well NHS ones, private clinic's were bearable, just. He suffered the general ward to see his honourary godson still strapped to a bed and visibly in pain. Alex's problems' may be self inflicted but the staff were ignoring him.

"Morning Dylan, could you please get me a bedpan. I can't ring for a nurse and I think I might expire if I hold on any longer." Alex grimaced as he said this, it was so embarassing.

A litany of "Thank you thank you thank you" were said as a prayer as Alex relieved himself and then, as soon as he was cleaned up, Alex fell into an exhausted sleep.

The nurse then left again. Dylan sniffed at the rude staff and went to visit the administration office on the ground floor to get Alex into a private room at least, or hopefully transfered to a decent and descrete clinic to deal with his exhaustion. In his years of arranging clients lives, no one had problems, just requirements, no one had a drug or mental health issue just exhaustion. Alex did look exhausted. How in two weeks did an eighteen year old go from normal, sarcastic and healthy to this.

The secretary explained about Alex's situation and Dylan spoke first to Mabel to get this situation changed from the nightmare of no control to one where Alex was looked after but without the legal ramifications of a 28 day sectioning. Alex could go into a nice clinic but as a voluntary patient. Dylan had a wealth of contacts in various clinics across the globe. That nice place in Topanga Canyon was close to Tony's place and specialised in young adults and their problems.

Dylan wheeled and dealed, two therapist's, Alex's current and former psychologists, assessed his case and Alex's old social worker came through to revoke the Section 4. By Saturday evening Alex was in a private room with decent care and no restraints. The boy was sleeping but had talked to Mike Graves three times. The kid was exhausted but seemed to regret his suicide attempt. Dylan knew it wasn't Alex's first brush with severe depression. This time everyone had missed the danger signs. Mike mentioned monitoring Alex for Mania as well, his behaviour at work should have been picked up. Alex was smart, charming, capable and a master at misdirection, especially to himself.

Dylan's master stroke was persuading Tony to talk to a sympathetic journalist. The gutter press had already got wind of the tragedy of Tony's 'suicidal' son. This was a way to limit damage and get the wolves to loose interest.

...

Tony arrived at the hospital to see Alex was fast asleep. With his survival, his body had a chance to relax, as work, worries and life in general was on hold for the eighteen year old. The nurse woke his son, getting him dressed and ready for discharge. The actor had everything planned. All Alex's bags had been collected, as had his passport. The star of the thriller Tony had just finished working on was not quite A-list but had produced a series of very successful films, and had a private jet. Tony had graciously accepted the offer of transport back to LA, via London. The American actor/producer was happy to stop off at his tailor's at Savile Row on the way home.

Alex knew he had acted impulsively. The work for British Intelligence had been too much, dredging up the hurt and fear of his old life and the realisation in truth that he felt trapped by the situation, trapped by everyone's expectations and the fact he'd been driven to obey the one person he could not refuse. Alex took a deep breath and was glad Tony was giving him space to think, explain, and not to allow Alex to get angry or defensive.

"I made a huge mistake working for Derek, for them again. I ..." Alex paused, he would not, could not apologise, no apology could cover his monumental fuck-up and how much his actions had hurt everyone. "They used me, I know things about Scorpia, about Yassen. They thought they had an obedient servant and I got back to Clapham and well, I was so tired, tired of everything. I stupidly thought no one would care because I was beyond caring. Blinkered, its like my whole life came down to that one decision and the rest of the world no longer existed. I'm not well. I need to sort everything out again. From scratch. I've been avoiding all the nasty shit in my life since Jon died. I've been up to my usual denial and avoidance since then. I have not coped, not thrived, not anything. You knew something was wrong, but I left in May with the weak excuse you were dating and did not need a dead beat son to cramp your style anymore. I'm 18, an adult. My problems ended with that milestone. Boy was I wrong. I'm a stupid fool but at this moment sleeping forever is still reall, really inviting." Alex closed his eyes at this point. He was still sat on his unmade hospital bed, wanting to crawl back in it and sleep, hide and pretend everything beyind these walls did not exist.

"Can you promise not to be so stupid again?"

"Tony, I can't think straight. I can't make any promises, but just want things to stop and they have stopped. I want to sleep. One day at a time, papa. I know about the clinic in LA, all I can promise is not to be an arsehole about therapy now."