Maybe he was all those things, but he'd never admit it. When he'd finally found his way back to the Underground, he'd been carefully nudged into this position, only to understand that Erol still wasn't the sort of man who took well to complaints. Not that there was any reason to complain, because he was surrounded by people who knew what they were doing. More than he did sometimes. And surviving rehab didn't make you strong - it made you lucky. The thing was, it was starting to feel like he was running out. And time, time was another issue.
Another cigarette was shaken out of the pack, picked up and lit it again. A couple more hours before they both could go to what they called home. A bunk bed for him, Sam's old flat for her. But it bothered him, what she'd said. "You really think so?" He mumbled with the cigarette between his lips.