"Wait, you're staying with K-Unit? Like at their house?" Tom's incredulous voice shouted through the phone.

I winced, pulling the receiver away from my ear until he'd finished. "Yeah, Tom. At their flat. That's what I said."

"What the hell?" His displeasure was more than obvious.

I sighed, glancing at the kitchen, where Snake was still studying. Turned out the exam was in a couple days, so he was cramming like crazy. I turned down the volume just in case, but Snake seemed so zoned into his notes I doubted it mattered. "L-Unit had an emergency mission. No, I'm not allowed to tell you where or what for. But it was really last-minute, and K-Unit was…really the only viable option. They wouldn't let me stay alone."

"You could've come here," Tom said, and I almost smirked at the sulk in his voice.

"They wouldn't've had time to get me to Italy, Tom," I say practically, sobering at my next thought. "Besides. Facial recognition at the airports would probably flag me for MI6."

Tom was quiet for a few long seconds. "Damn. That sucks."

"Yeah. Otherwise, I would've loved to come harass you for two weeks."

"Well, come over soon! I'm bored without you. Ya know, as soon as you can, or whatever. How're you going to work all that out?"

I leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes. "I dunno, mate. I really don't. I was just going to…you know. Wait it out." Wait to turn eighteen, or until MI6 magically lost interest in me, or both. I doubted Snake was listening to me, but I didn't want to drop my biggest secret with him in the next room, just in case. "Then hopefully we can hang out more."

Even as I said it, it sounded like a pipe dream. The concept of normalcy seemed like it had always been a dream. What I'd thought was normal was actually an elaborate cover for Ian's job, so I wondered if anything I'd ever experienced had been truly normal.

Thankfully, Tom wasn't here to see the way my shoulders dropped at the realization. He replied, "Yeah, for sure. I'm cashing in for lost time, you bastard. I'm going to make you play so much footie your feet will fall off."

I smiled at the unfamiliar ceiling, closing my eyes. "Sure, Tom. Whatever you want."

"You're damn right, whatever I want," he grumbled. "Oh, I've gotta go. Rhea's beeping in. Talk to you later. Tell K-Unit they're bastards."

I smirked. "Yeah to the first one, no to the second."

Tom huffed. "Patsy."

I chuckled and hung up, letting the phone thunk onto the cushion beside me. I was going stir crazy in here, and it'd only been a day.

Snake was holed up studying like a crazy person, and Eagle, believe it or not, was ring shopping. He'd decided last night he was going to pop the question to Evie on Christmas, which was a pleasant bit of news after everything. They seemed really happy together, and I was glad Eagle was proposing. Fox had agreed to be the best man, too, which was awesome.

Wolf was grocery shopping, after a lot of irate cajoling from an obviously sleep-deprived Snake, and Fox was…well, I didn't actually know where Fox was, but he wasn't here. That left me to my own devices, and I was ready to tear my hair out.

Since Snake was so distracted, maybe I could get away with a walk. No harm in trying.

"Snake?" I said tentatively, levering myself up onto my crutch. I really could walk normally now, albeit I had a slight limp, but I figured the crutch would increase his chances of saying yes. "I'm going for a walk."

"Uhhh, coffee's in the pot," he mumbled without looking up.

I blinked, slipping my phone into my pocket and stealing towards the door. I'd take that as an affirmative. "Uh…okay, thanks."

I shrugged on Lion's sweatshirt and a coat, pulling up the hood as I slipped out the door and down the stairs into the snow-bathed street. I took a deep breath, relishing the way it stung my nose and warmed in my lungs, and watched my breath cloud in front of me. I missed outside.

The temperature was dropping, and my leg and side (which was almost completely healed) throbbed at the frozen atmosphere, but I turned and began walking anyways, grateful for the healing burn. Snow-laden trees lined the streets, salt from the snow machines crunching under my shoes as I crossed the street, scanning the opposite rooftops out of habit. I passed a few people on the side street with the flat building, but traffic really picked up when I hit the main arteries, following the throng towards the main roads.

K-Unit lived conveniently close to L-Unit, in Wheatly just outside Oxford. A bit less crowded than Cookham, but the streets were still decently busy, especially when I made it to the main road.

I took a few minutes to secure my surroundings and make sure no one was following me, then I popped in my headphones and hit shuffle on my Ed Sheeran tracks. I enjoyed that fast-paced rhythms and witty rhymes.

I found a snow-dusted bench by a frozen fountain with a trumpeting angel on top, and thought it looked like the perfect spot to sit and people-watch for a while. Jack and I used to people watch. Not so much when I got older, but when I was younger, we did it all the time. I faintly wondered why we'd stopped doing that. A dark thought weaseled in and voiced that I would never be able to do it again.

I cast it away in favor of brighter things, just for today, and resolved myself not to worry for the next bit. Not about L-Unit, or K-Unit, or my secrets, or myself. That was something I loved about people-watching—it gave you ample time to worry about other people for no reason at all.

Jack liked it because she liked to guess what people were thinking. She liked to pretend to construct their lives from what they wore, or how they acted, or what we overheard. We'd often have competitions to see who could come up with the most outlandish explanation.

My…job…required a decent bit of observation, which I hadn't put into recreational practice yet, so I was somewhat excited to see what I could come up with.

I chose my first target. It was a busy-looking man on the other side of the fountain, weaving through the throngs of early holiday shoppers as he spoke frantically on a Bluetooth earpiece, simultaneously looking at his smartphone. He bumped into more than one person, and looked none to apologetic about it.

I smiled to myself, pulling my hood tighter over my ears. Jack would've had fun with that one. She'd label him a CEO, the head of a successful corporation, on his way to deal with a crisis. He'd had a bad day already and was feeling quite put out. She'd guess that his wife would be angry, because he'd probably be late for supper.

I blinked away the afterimage of red hair and fire, and thought she'd tease me for my guess. I figured he was more low-level, perhaps a team lead, in a moderately successful company that was trying to make their mark this holiday season. Based on the tarnished watch, the scuffed shoes, he wasn't making a lot of money. Based on the wrinkles around his eyes, the absent wedding band, he was a workaholic, and lived alone. Probably divorced. I wondered if he was lonely.

Jack's phantom giggle was almost real enough that I looked to my left to see the smile on her face. I was met with the empty half of the bench.

I sighed, relishing the cold burn, and leaned my head back, letting my eyes close as I felt the soft sting of snowflakes hitting my face. I'd never mourned her. Not really. It had been the desperate panic of trying to convince Julius Grief to spare her, and then it had been the overwhelming frenzy of disbelieving agony. Then, of course, there was trying to survive Gunter and Razim, and then the cold, furious desire for revenge.

And then, there was MI6 letting me go—or so I thought—and then the Pleasures and the desperation for transient normalcy, and then the running, and then the SAS, and…L-Unit. And now.

I had never…grieved. And this would be my first Christmas without her, since she joined our little family, and…I didn't know what to do about it. How to feel.

She loved Christmas shopping. Loved it. Black Friday saw her dragging me out of bed at four in the bloody morning to go stand in line outside all the biggest stores, freezing and tired and cranky. I wished I'd known to cherish those moments. Black Friday had already gone, as had Cyber Monday—I'd spent it half-dead on L-Unit's couch, in fact—but Christmas for Jack was a two-month affair.

Now it seemed like without her, there was no point, and…and that sucked. That really sucked, because I loved her Christmases. I was always so angry when Ian was away on holidays, but Jack always found a way to make it better.

I brushed at my eyes and attributed the stinging sensation to the biting cold.

"You trying to freeze to death?" A familiar voice said behind me. I turned quickly, startled, but Fox slumped into the empty side of the bench before I even realized it was him, grimacing as the snow bit through his pants. "Bollocks, it's freezing, Alex. What're you doing out here?"

"How'd you find me?" I asked, surprised to see him here.

"What, was I not supposed to? I tracked your phone," he explained. "I tried calling, but it went to voicemail." Oh. I vaguely remembered turning my notifications off when I left. Oops. "Snake called in a fit and said he'd lost you. Why didn't you tell him you were going out?"

"I did," I defended. "He told me where the coffee was."

"Ah. Yeah. He's in a different universe when he's studying," Fox said in understanding. "Well, still, leave a note or something. You're kind of under our care for the time being."

"I can take—"

"Yeah, yeah, you can take care of yourself," he said, waving a gloved hand. "Sixteen and self-sufficient." His tone was obviously sarcastic, but there was no malice in his tone. Judgment, but no malice.

I pursed my lips as irrational fear spiked through me, even though I knew no one was in hearing distance. Especially no one who would be able to do anything about it, but still. Hearing it said out loud was still enough to rile the dormant paranoia in my bones.

"People are trying to kill you, Alex," he said after a short silence, side-eyeing me. "And the ones who aren't are trying to find you. I hardly think a little worry on our part isn't justified."

I glanced at him, but there wasn't much I could say. It wasn't like he was wrong.

"How've you been?" I said instead, trying to change course. "Since Major Yu, and everything."

Fox's eyes narrowed at my obvious unwillingness to discuss it, but he answered anyways, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Good, for the most part. I transferred back to the SAS a few weeks after the end of our mission and recuperated there." I glanced at his arm, remembering how he'd been shot, and he caught my glance. "It wasn't a bad hit; a couple months of PT and rest and I was ready to go. We've gone on a few missions and one or two stealth ops, but nothing overly extravagant. My mum got remarried and my sister got engaged, so I'm officially the only single member of the family."

I smiled at that, looking back to the thick crowds cutting around. I watched a musician begin setting up on the other side of the fountain and wondered how they could manage to play a guitar in this weather. I could barely feel my fingers. "Sounds nice."

"I don't really mind. I'm still in my prime."

I snorted.

"Oi, shut it, brat."

I laughed under my breath, enjoying the normal conversation. I liked Fox, and trusted him with more than most, besides L-Unit, but I enjoyed getting to know more about Ben Daniels, too.

"What about you?" He asked, his voice light, casual. "After Major Yu?"

I took a deep breath, letting the cold center me. "I did a couple more missions. Two. One in India, and one in Egypt." I blinked snow from my eyes, familiar wisps of fire momentarily stealing my sight, and had to stop for a minute before I could continue. "Egypt was bad. Bad enough that Blunt was fired and they let me go. Or so I thought, anyways. A friend in America and her family adopted me, and then—"

I blinked, shivering at the memory, watching Ben carefully out of the corner of my eye. He was following my gaze, watching the passerbys, but I knew we were each studying the other in our peripheries. "My friend died. Sniped. And I ran, and hid, because I knew they'd be after me again. MI6 and…the ones who killed her. Mostly in America. A friend helped me forge papers for my GCSEs and birth certificate and stuff, and I joined the SAS under Matthew Smith. I met L-unit and…well, they didn't let me keep my secrets for long," I said, smiling wryly. "But I trust them. Probably more than I've trusted anyone since starting with MI6. They're…really good people."

I shrugged, glancing at him. "And now I'm here."

He took a deep breath, eyes mostly expressionless. "Damn, kid. I'm sorry about your friend."

I shrugged. There wasn't much I could say, anyways.

There was a moment of silence. "What happened in Egypt?"

"No." It was short, clipped, and final.

Fox glanced at me, surprise in his eyes, but didn't push it. "…okay." Instead, he shifted, shivering. "It's freezing, mate. Can we at least talk somewhere warm?"

I shrugged, still reeling from his question. "Sure."

"Um…I need to do some Christmas shopping, actually," he said thoughtfully. "I'm a rubbish gift-giver, so maybe you can help me."

I cast a glance his way. "I'm not sure I'm the most qualified person for this job."

"Nonsense. Two heads are better than one."

That was how I found myself on cart duty in the department store, looking at appliances, most of which I didn't even have names for.

"Our cookware is surviving on a wing and a prayer right now," Fox said slowly, scanning the shelves. "Wolf's been complaining about it. You think he'd like a blender?"

"Does he like blended food?"

"…not that I know of."

I sent him a dubious glance. "Then why the hell would he want a blender?"

"See? Two minds are better than one, like I said."

I sighed, long-suffering and weary, and we continued down the aisles.

"Are you getting anything for your unit mates?" He asked as he crouched, scanning price tags, grimacing. "Are you there yet, or anything?"

"Yeah, I'm getting them all things," I said distractedly, looking around, scanning for threats out of habit. The store was crowded, especially for a weekday. "I haven't done any shopping yet, though."

"D'you have any ideas? Maybe you'll spark something I can get for one of the other guys. I'm clueless on Snake, and Eagle's going to be tough."

I thought, pondering the question. I'd never been a great gift-giver. I really only got gifts for Tom and Ian and Jack, anyways, and Tom was easy to please. Ian liked practical things, so tools and gadgets were often enough, and Jack…well, she usually made a gift list, so I picked a few things off of that. Jack always helped me shop for everyone else.

"Mm…I was thinking some stuff for the youth center for Bear," I said thoughtfully, inspecting a miniature pan, wondering why the hell anyone would spend ten pounds on it. "He works with kids a lot, and he's always complaining that they don't have the funding for some things they'd like to get, so I was thinking some athletics and music stuff, if I budget."

"Well, that's nice, but it does nothing for me," Fox commented, putting a knife set in the cart.

I raised an eyebrow as he looked at me. I wondered if he was asking for approval, or something. "You want to arm Wolf anymore that he already is?"

Fox rolled his eyes. "Dramatic. He's not nearly as homicidal as you seem to remember him being."

I didn't comment. I was sure my doubtful expression said enough.

"Um…for Tiger…" I pondered. Tiger wasn't the kind of guy who'd like something sappy or sentimental, and he didn't have a lot of hobbies besides reading. Maybe I'd go to a bookstore and look around. "Probably something to do with reading. Or coffee."

"Hm. Yeah, let's hit a bookstore next. Snake likes reading. And for his royal highness the pain in my arse?"

I smirked. "I bet you don't like him because he outranks you."

"Please. I like Wolf, don't I?"

I hummed in agreement, still smiling. "You're going to have to get over this, you know. You can't exactly work together if you're bickering the whole time." I paused. "Well, Lion would probably have the decency to ignore you."

"Ouch, mate," Fox said with a look. "I can be civil."

I laughed as we switched aisles, descending into the crockpots and pressure cookers. Fox seemed intrigued by those, but I was distracted. I had no idea what to get Lion. Having been raised by Ian Rider, who thought that sentimentality was useless, and by Jack Starbright, who was the most sentimental person I'd ever met, I had mixed feelings on the concept. On the one hand, sentimentality was something I kind of enjoyed, at least from the outside. I liked getting things for people that were meaningful, and thoughtful. However, that often led to vulnerability, and while it was becoming easier to handle, it didn't mean I was completely comfortable with it or wanted to invite it in.

Still, while Bear and Tiger were really important to me, I felt like I'd grown closest to Lion. Tiger was awesome, but sometimes he was a little short. And Bear was awesome, but sometimes he was a little too much. Lion was always steady and present, and he always knew what to say, and…he'd seen me at my lowest. At my lowest. Crying because I'd failed to commit suicide. That was rock bottom, and he was still here.

So…yeah. I didn't know if I could get him anything that would convey how much he'd done for me, just by being there, but…well, I supposed I could think for a little while.

"I dunno what to get for Lion yet," I said truthfully, glancing distractedly at a child and his father as they passed us. "He's religious, so maybe something to do what that? I don't know what that would be, though. He likes piano."

"Well, you have a few weeks," Fox said, nodding almost to himself as he set a pressure cooker in the cart. I adjusted myself on my crutch and pushed the cart forward, which was an interesting setup. "We can go out again, if you think of something before L-Unit is back. Are you shopping for anyone else?"

"Tom."

"Oh, him. He's frightening."

I laughed out loud at that, on the verge of cackling at the pure honesty in Fox's voice. "He'd probably love hearing that." In fact, the next time we stopped so Fox could browse, I texted Tom to tell him. He replied with a multitude of positive emojis and a message that said: I've done my job. I laughed to myself as Fox led me to checkout.

"I'm starving," he commented as he carried the bulging paper bags. "Want to grab something?"

I shrugged. "Sure. I haven't been around Oxford in a long time. What's good?"

"Mm, Wolf's partial to the Columbian place a few blocks away. Says it's authentic. Are you okay to walk that far?"

I nodded, and followed him down the road. I felt his eyes on me as I paused at the crosswalk, scanning the rooftops, before continuing on, but neither of us commented on it. If he was at MI6 when I'd been shot, I figured he must know about it—a fifteen-year-old getting sniped in front of their headquarters must've been a highlight in the gossip mill. I wondered if spies even had gossip mills. I'm sure those were filled with stories that would send reality stars into cardiac arrest.

The Columbian place was a little hole in the wall at the end of one of the main veins of Wheatley, nestled between a TK Maxx and what I was fairly sure was a sweatshop. Well, the atmosphere was unique, if nothing.

We were seated fairly quickly, but then Fox's endless questions were somewhat unavoidable, which was infuriating.

"So when you were in America, after you friend died…what did you do?" He asked, shadowed concern in his eyes. Well, that was how I knew he was really worried. He usually kept emotions close to his chest—an occupational byproduct.

I shrugged, flipping through the menu. "What I could. I just bounced around, trying to stay under the radar. I picked up some hair dye. I've always looked a little older than I am, so it wasn't hard to get by in homeless shelters."

"Homeless shelters," he repeated incredulously, disbelief—more than anything, a desire to believe that I was lying—in his eyes.

"Yes," I confirmed, glancing at him. "I didn't have a lot of options. I used some halfway houses sometimes, but it was mostly between hitchhiking to the East Coast so I could catch a plane to England once my papers were done. It whatever was around. I did what I had to."

Fox, for all his training, couldn't quite keep the pity from his eyes. "Someone really did a number on you, didn't they?" I looked at him, unsure of what he wanted me to say, but he just shook his head and looked at his menu. "I don't know how the hell we're going to fix it, but we're going to, eventually. Trust me, I'm not letting them lay a finger on you."

I smiled a little into my menu. "That's what Lion said."

He blinked, then scowled. "Well, I guess even he has some bright ideas, sometimes."

Despite the tension in his shoulders the rest of the day, the was he didn't quite let me out of his sight until we were back safely at their flat, the obvious worry, I was glad that he wanted to protect me, too. I knew they thought they could, and I knew in my heart that they couldn't, but it was still nice that they wanted to.

It…well…in a way, I felt validated by that. I felt like it was okay that I continued to stay. I had people who cared enough to face entire organizations for me. For now, that was more than enough.

…

The next day was my next physical therapy and therapy appointments, and Eagle was my chauffer.

"Wolf hates that bloody place," Eagle said as explanation as we trudged down the street to the garage where they kept the car. "Refuses to go unless he absolutely has to. Snake's studying, and Fox…well, he disappears a lot when we're on leave. You get used to it. So, you're stuck with me today."

It wasn't that I didn't like Eagle. I did. He was a bit more high-strung than Bear, which was what I was used to, but I supposed it wouldn't be too bad. I just wasn't in the mood to talk much.

Fortunately, he did enough talking for the both of us on the way. It was a bit of a drive, especially with the London traffic, but he managed brilliantly all by himself. I picked up that his real name was Mason, he had two older sisters, a younger brother, and three nieces, all of whom he loved and would do anything for, he and Evie had been together for four years and he was nervous as hell about proposing, his parents were well-adjusted folks who lived in Birmingham, his little brother was at uni to study literature (which he couldn't fathom because he hated reading), he wanted to try going vegan at some point but didn't know if he could give up cheese, and he'd always wanted a dog for K-Unit, but they were away most of the time and Snake hated dogs.

By the time we finally arrived in London, I knew pretty much all I could want to know about Eagle, and all I'd had to do was nod along and look vaguely interested, which was nice. I appreciated that he hadn't tried to ask any questions, though I was sure he had several.

"Okay, well, I'm going to do some shopping," he said as I stood under the awning, protected from the snow, looking through the passenger window as he spoke. "Call if you need me, okay? I'll be back in a couple hours."

"That should be fine," I said. "Thanks for driving me." I felt bad that he had to waste his whole day. I didn't imagine it was doing me any favors.

"Don't worry about it, I like driving," he said with a grin. "Go on. You'll be late."

"Thanks again," I said as I turned, entering the familiar building.

I wasn't looking forward to PT—Lissa was probably going to kill me when she saw my new injuries—but I'd rather suffer through fifty PT sessions to avoid another therapy session with Dr. Hash. I was still very on edge with L-Unit gone, God knows where doing God knows what without me, and I didn't want him to pick at my brain while I was so worried and paranoid and overwhelmed.

I'd probably end up deflecting like always. Still, Dr. Hash didn't seem like an idiot. I was sure he'd know what was going on. The question was whether or not he was going to call me out on it.

I checked in with the receptionist, but I didn't have to wait long. Lissa came to get me, and when we got back to the clinic with the machines and everything, she turned, scanning my form with clinically angry eyes. I had the urge to shrink.

"So," she said after a long silence, crossing her arms. "Look's like your arm's all healed." She then sent a significant look to my thigh, my side, and the lingering bruises that stubbornly refused to fully fade.

"Um…yeah?" I said uncertainly, lifting it to demonstrate. "It, uh…healed a little faster than it was supposed to, I guess."

She raised an eyebrow. It wa downhill from there.

I was so drenched in sweat at the end of our hour session that Lissa let me shower off in the staff room. She'd been merciless. I couldn't imagine how much worse off I would've been if Snake and Bear hadn't helped me stretch the wounds every day. Despite that, Lissa said I was healing slowly, but well. That would be a piece of good news for when L-Unit was back; I knew they'd been worried.

I was dreading the next bit, but I knew it was going to happen eventually, so I sucked it up and fortified my shaky walls and went next door. Dr. Hash greeted me with a smile, invited me to sit, and I did, leaning my crutch against the wall. His office was cozy, at least.

"How are you, Matthew?" He asked, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. He didn't have a notepad today, which made me feel a little better. Maybe he noticed it made me uncomfortable.

"Fine," I opted, glancing around his office. "Tired. I just had another PT session."

"Yikes," he said sympathetically. "Looks like you have some recent injuries. Were those the reason for your PT?"

"Yes."

"I see. Do you want to talk about how you got them?"

"I was mugged," I said simply, glancing at his family photo on the desk. "A couple of them jumped me. I didn't comply, so they shot me."

Dr. Hash tilted his head in consternation, looking the slightest bit concerned. "You say that very casually."

I glanced at him, feeling my hackles rise. I didn't want to be here. I hated that every word I said, every inflection of my voice, was being combed through and scrutinized with the utmost attention. I hated being put under a microscope where I had no control. "Well, like I told you last session. It's over, and I survived, and I'd like to move on."

I didn't even want to think about his reaction should I tell him about the bridge. That was off-limits territory.

"Alright," he said, shifting his position. "You don't like me very much, do you, Matthew?"

I blinked and looked at him, surprised by the question. He didn't seem upset, though, just curious. He adjusted his spectacles and waited, but he didn't say anything, so I bit the bullet and corrected, "I don't like therapy."

"Most people don't," he admitted with a slight smile. "I don't like it. Therapists have to have sessions with others, you know, as a means to discuss what our patients tell us and how it's affecting us. I've heard of horrible things that happen to my clients, and it's very difficult not to get emotionally invested. I want to help them. It's why I became a clinical psychologist."

I listened, surprised by the knowledge and his willingness to share. "How do you share all that? Isn't it kind of painful, rehashing it all?"

"Of course it is," he confirmed, cleaning his round glasses on his button down. "But I'd rather do that and have the means to help my patients than not." He paused, looking back at me. The eye contact made me uncomfortable, and I lost the battle, looking at the painting on his wall. "Why don't you like therapy, Matthew?"

I shrugged, unwilling to say anything of value just yet. "You just said nobody likes it."

"Yes, but it's been a while since I've had someone so obviously adverse to it as you are," he commented. I scowled. "Once we figure out what you don't like about it, or what you do like about it, we can move forward. Does that make sense?"

I thought about telling him that I hadn't the slightest desire to move forward in the first place, but I figured that wouldn't help my case. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, smiling. "Would you like to start over? I have some tests that we can use to get a grasp on how you're doing, if you'd prefer that. Some patients don't like to outright say how they're doing, or discuss it right off the bat, but this gives me an idea of how you are. Would you like to try it?"

I was a little confused by his explanation, but it sounded better than being asked questions I didn't want to answer. "Sure."

"That's great," he said genuinely. Okay. Maybe I'd misjudged him. He was actually kind of nice. "First is a word association test. Are you familiar with those?"

"Kind of."

"I have a list of words, and you'll say the first word that comes to mind when you think of that word, no matter what it is," Dr. Hash explained, reaching over to dim the lights. I tensed for a second, glancing around. I didn't like that there was no window, or that I couldn't easily reach the door, but I wasn't going to say anything.

"Close your eyes for me," he said quietly.

I obeyed, but I felt the hairs on my neck stand up as soon as my sight was gone, and I could feel anxiety teetering on the edge of my careful walls, but I fisted my hand in my pocket and breathed.

"Don't feel like you have to censor your answers," he said slowly. His tone was softer than before, and reluctantly, I felt myself relaxing the slightest bit. Tension slipped from my shoulders in small increments, until I was leaning back, feeling my mental fortitudes weaken. I was just exhausted, and his soft voice and the dark weren't helping that. "Just say whatever comes to mind. Are you ready?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. First word: ice."

"Cold," I said easily.

"Sleep."

"Uh, tired." I hesitated on that one, feeling sluggish.

"Woman."

"Man." Easy. Okay.

"Life."

"Death." Yikes. Well, I hope he didn't read too much into that one.

We continued in a steady pattern, and I was surprised to find myself falling into an easy routine, trying to stay relaxed. I didn't think I said anything too incriminating, so it was easy to stop censoring my answers. Dr. Hash's voice was steady and even, and I could feel my defenses slipping a bit. I wonder if that what he wanted. I immediately chastised myself for being lulled into a sense of security, but I was tired, and I doubted he wanted to hurt me. I opted to continue with the exercise and…see what happened.

"House."

Hm. The first word was home, but that was a word I didn't want to touch yet. I was getting better with it, but I still couldn't believe it. "Building."

Dr. Hash didn't seem to mind my hesitation, though. "Air."

"Flying."

"Water."

"Bridge." I flinched, furrowing my eyes that slightest bit, but Dr. Hash didn't skip a beat.

"Fire."

Something tickled the edge of my consciousness, and I tensed despite myself, and my lowered walls crumbled. All of a sudden I was looking at the screen, at the Jeep, at Julius Grief, at then I heard a distant echo of my screams, and of my terror and desperation, and then there was a fireball that plumed into the sky, and if I looked closely enough at my memory I could catch the slightest wisp of red hair—

"No." I opened my eyes, felt my breathing hitch, and fisted my hand in the folded blanket draped over the arm of the couch beside me, staring at the carpeted floor and trying to get myself back under control. "No. No."

Dr. Hash was quick to change course, turning the lights up to full brightness, so quickly I had to squint. "It's alright, Matthew. It's alright. It's December 15th, and the time is 13:26. You're in London, at the base for veterans and active military affairs. Your code name is Jaguar, and your real name is Matthew Smith. You're nineteen years old."

The first part helped, but the lies sucked me back into the present with the force of space's vacuum, because I couldn't blow my cover here. I couldn't. The fire, the fear, Jack—that was Alex's trauma, and in this building I couldn't be Alex. I could only be Matthew, and Matthew wasn't broken like Alex. Matthew could handle this.

"I'm fine," I said slowly, my breath tearing me open as I inhaled. "I'm fine."

Dr. Hash looked less than convinced, but he leaned back and gave me a few minutes to get my breathing under control, anyways. I pushed dark hair back from my forehead and took a deep, shaky breath, then exhaled. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," he said evenly. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I don't like fire."

"Okay. Is it a fear, or did something happen that made fire a trigger for you?"

"I just don't like it."

"That was a bit of a strong reaction for just not liking something, Matthew," Dr. Hash reasoned. I scowled to the carpet. "I don't like onions, but I don't have an anxiety attack when my wife cooks a dish with them."

"It wasn't an anxiety attack," I defended, even though I knew it very clearly was.

"Okay. Then what was it?"

Dammit. I wanted him to get angry, because I was angry, and I wanted to yell and storm out, but I couldn't, because he was so damn calm. "It was…it just wasn't an anxiety attack."

"Your form says you've been previously diagnosed with anxiety. Does that diagnosis make you uncomfortable?"

"You said we were going to figure out what I liked about therapy," I deflected. "I don't like this part."

Dr. Hash gave me a searching look for a long moment, and I forced myself to hold his gaze. Finally, he broke eye contact, and I felt like I could breathe again. "I can't help you if you don't let me, Matthew."

"I don't need help."

"In my professional and personal opinion, I completely disagree."

Well, that was brusque. He may as well have said I was screwed six ways to Sunday. "Well, I don't. Bad things happen to everybody, and most people don't go to therapy to deal with it."

"From the little time I've spent with you, I can plainly see that you're not 'most people,'" he said quietly, his eyes filled with something like pain. Maybe empathy.

"Maybe not," I agreed, grabbing my crutch, ignoring his look of surprise. I didn't want to spend another damn minute in this room. "But I'm fine, and I don't need your help. I don't need anybody's help."

"The fact that you're so adamant about that shows me that you need it more than most," he said calmly, "and that's not something to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed," I bit out, grabbing my coat. "I don't like therapy, and I've done my mandatory session with you. Unless you're going to keep me from the field for any reason, I don't want this to continue."

Dr. Hash sat quietly as I gathered my stuff. He didn't try to stop me. I wrestled with the handle, trying to get my shaking hand to cooperate as I leaned on my crutch, my leg still aching from the PT session, and he got up and opened the door for me.

"If you change your mind, this is my personal number," he said, handing me a business card. His voice was still even. "I'm sorry that I upset you."

I didn't respond, taking the card from his hands and leaving without another word. When I got to the lobby, I tossed it in the rubbish bin and continued on. I didn't call Eagle. Instead, I walked out into the snow, and I kept walking, and walking, and I wanted to run, but I knew it was futile.

I could run to the ends of the earth, but I could never outrun my memories.

A/N: Well I meant to end it happier, but…ya know. This happened. Next chapter will be happier! I hope you liked it anyway! Kind of a slower chapter, but I wanted to take a look at how Alex is really doing with everything.

I love Dr. Hash. He's a stand-up guy. Poor Alex just doesn't know how to accept help right now, especially from people who aren't L-Unit. I hope you liked him! If you didn't, I totally understand why, though XD

As always! MY REVIEWERS! You are the reason I try to turn these chapters out as quickly as I can. I love you all: otterpineapple06, Padfoot's Marauder, ElNonie, Cortanacordeliacarstairs, scarlettmeadows, Guest, Kosta1, moraneemily36, Dobby and Padfoot, M-chanchen, Cakemania225, Guest, Guest, SherlockGirl, JojoD, Beth, Guest, and KMER79!

Cortanacordeliacarstairs: Thanks so much! I love Wolf and Snake, and we'll explore their relationship more next chapter! Ohhh I didn't, thanks!

Guest (Great chapter as always.): Thanks so much!

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Guest (Hey great writing…): Thanks! And you and me both! It'll be a while though :) Thanks!

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