Sabina worried about her husband's work sometimes.

It wasn't like most wives with their spouses abroad – worrying whether they packed everything, or whether the business was going to plan, or whether he was cheating on them or not, etc, etc. No, Sabina worried whether her husband was alive or not. Whether he was still in one piece, or if he was injured or kidnapped or brainwashed, and how different he'd be if he came home. When he came home, she would tell herself. Sabina had had experience with the fact that every time he came back from his 'trips,' he'd have changed, ever so slightly, and had been doing so since they were young teenagers.

It was better now, though. She had settled with the fact that his work was challenging, emotionally and physically, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it from shaping him into the person he was today. It was mainly the fact he managed to fight through and still be Alex despite the trauma his double-life bared down on him. She couldn't help but admire him for that.

Even so, she worried herself senseless when he was away, which was getting more and more often. She would lie awake at night, tossing and turning, glaring daggers at the photo of him, smiling and happy, with his arm around her waist, and she couldn't help but wonder whether he was smiling now. Ha, she would think, laughing mentally at the thought. Fat chance. He'd probably be running from some men with guns in a canoe or hopping along the backs of alligators or locked up in the sacrificial chamber in some Aztec temple taken over by a criminal organization or something crazy like that. He could be – no. No way in hell would that ever be a possibility to her. Sabina just wouldn't allow herself to think about that.

She was never surprised when he came home. Relieved, grateful, ecstatic, but never surprised, no. It wasn't something she knew the reason to – maybe it had just happened so many times that she had gotten used to it. She'd be in the kitchen, drinking a tea or a coffee, and she'd hear the front door opening. It would click softly back into it's frame shortly after. She never worried at this – it only brought on the complete and utter gratitude that he was home and alive and safe. She would walk slowly into the hallway, murmur her hello's and hold him tightly.

Then he'd slump off to the bedroom wordlessly, with her warning that she'd have finished preparing the food in an hour.

And so she'd bustle off to the kitchen, preparing his favourite meal and a really, really strong coffee. She'd set the table and dim the lights, and lay it out, just in case. When satisfied, she would creep into the bedroom and shake him slightly, whispering, "Alex?" softly. But the man would always be fast asleep. Always.

So she would cover the food in cling-film and stick it in the fridge for the next day, and pour the coffee down the sink. After she was sure the kitchen was tidy, she would get herself ready for bed and do a last-minute sweep of the house. She'd pull off his shoes and his jacket, and lay him down under the sheets. Alex was usually a light-sleeper, but during this particular routine, he would sleep like a log, despite Sabina's rough, clumsy movements. Sometimes he'd just be half-asleep.

Then Sabina would notice the injury. It was inevitable, and it happened every, single, time. If Alex goes on a mission, there is a 100% guarantee he will come back with a bullet wound, or a stab wound, or a bite wound, or a wound Sabina couldn't quite place the source of, and frankly, she'd rather not know.

With a sigh, Sabina would head into the bathroom and fumble around the cupboard, feebly trying to find the medical box with tired hands.

The Riders had a better medical kit than most families. They had to, of course. With their lifestyle, it was a necessary item.

And she'd trudge back to the bedroom, and inspect the wound more closely, sliding his shirt off. Scowling, she'd remove the old bandage and clean away the dried blood, feeling sick at the sight of her husband in this state. Whether it was his arm, or his chest, or his neck, she'd apply the dressing and antiseptic, with soft movements, and wrap it back up in a new bandage. Alex would be out of it for the whole thing.

Usually at this point it would be late, very late, in the night. Sabina would do a quick once over to make sure he was in the best condition she could get him in, trying her hardest to ignore all the scratches and scars and scabs and bruises, before sliding into the bed herself, too tired to do much else. She'd be fast asleep before her head touched the pillow.

On occasion, though this was very rare, she'd get woken in the middle of the night to the sound of Alex screaming. Sometimes he was awake, and sometimes he would be having a nightmare. Either way, Sabina absolutely hated it. He would be sat up, shaking, trembling, tears streaming down his black and blue face as his shoulders are racked with rough, convulsive sobs. And she'd hold him, and she'd shake him, and she would tell him it wasn't real, but inside, she would be horrified that the man she loved could be reduced to this. This, that hardly ever happened, but every time it did it would remind her of the other side of him, the lost, broken little boy who just wanted a normal life. It broke her heart without fail every time.

Most of the time though, the nights he came back from a mission would be long and quiet and full of sleep, because both of them would be absolutely exhausted. If Sabina had work, she'd call in sick the next day or say she was busy. If not, then she'd just lie-in until about eleven o'clock, with Alex, who usually got up at seven or earlier.

When she did wake up, she'd wake up with her head buried in the crook of his neck, his arms pulled tightly around her waist. With a full night's sleep, Alex would finally be his usual self, and he'd laugh and smile and she'd giggle and they'd lay there, sun streaming in through the window.

Then the immediate outbreak of insatiable hunger would hit, and Alex would race into the kitchen, scrabbling at the fridge and the shelves for the first edible thing he could find. Laughing, Sabina would pull out the food from last night and heat it up, and he'd have it for breakfast anyway, along with a new coffee. He'd wolf it down with the appetite of someone who hadn't eaten in days, which he probably hadn't, no pause for thought, until it was all gone and he was full.

And then he'd be serious again, like he was most days. He would sit at the kitchen table for the longest of time, his jaw resting in his hands and his face scrunched up in deep thought. Sabina wouldn't question him or disrupt him, and never pressed him for details. His work was serious, and if he wanted to tell her, he would. She didn't need to know, and if he didn't want to tell her, she didn't want to know.

It would be around seven in the evening when Alex became active again. Until then, Sabina would have left him to his musings, as with his work, he needed a lot of time afterwards to gather his thoughts and think things through. She couldn't imagine the trauma he received from it. So he'd bounce into the kitchen, and kiss her cheek while she stirred whatever meal she was cooking, and ask her about what had been going on whilst he was away. And she'd smile and tell him about the latest gossip, that Marie down the road had had her baby, and how her nephew Thomas was getting on in school, and that old Brian Davies had passed away in hospital. Alex would nod and smile and comment, and they'd just appear to be a normal, happy couple.

They'd be eating over the table when Alex would tell her about what had happened on his 'business trip.'

Her lips would be pursed and her eyes would be narrowed for the most part. She never liked what she heard, and she was always grateful to Alex for changing things slightly and adding bits in and removing parts out, just so he didn't scare her completely. She'd laugh when he told her about the good things that happened, and smile when his stories turned out to have alright endings, but his tale was usually very short anyway. Sabina could tell when he left things out, and knew for a fact that he removed the major chunks and details. How else would he be able to turn a three-week long mission into a ten-minute children's story?

When done, they'd clean up the kitchen and wash the dishes, before heading to bed. And normal life would continue, as Alex puts the events behind him and they presume as an ordinary married couple. He'd be quiet and subdued for some time, but then again, Alex was like that most of the time anyway.

And a few months later, Alex would get some form of a call from whatever secret service wanted him this time, via Email or post or a telephone call or whatever, and he'd be whisked off into another corner of the globe. He'd pack his bags in silence and Sabina would help when necessary, and a thick silence would hang over the household.

Afterwards he'd leave, and Sabina would rush out of the house and down the steps, throwing herself into his arms and kissing his face all over and wishing him luck and making him promise that he'll come back in one piece. And just like that, he'd be gone.

Then the routine would repeat itself, just the same as it was before. Maybe there would be a few differences, like the time of day he came home, or the fact the wound was on his back now instead of his arm or whatever, and maybe this would be one of the times where he woke up screaming. Even if it happened over and over again, Sabina would just be happy nevertheless that he was home, like she always is.