A/N: Hi everyone. This is my response to the SpyFest fic exchange. The original prompt was "Alex thought his long weekend would be relaxing, unfortunately, K-Unit has other plans."

To be honest, I was expecting to write a humorous fic, but for some reason, this popped out. I accidentally stayed up until 5 AM writing it. Not sure what it is, or if it's very good (sorry in advance to the person it's for), but I decided to experiment with a new/different writing style! I think it feels weird because it's romance, and I'm usually not about that? ANYWAY, enjoy. Or don't. You can pick.

The Violinist

Day One

Wolf isn't sure what captures his attention first. The beautiful girl in the flowing, pastel yellow dress, swaying with the breeze or the enchanting music that drifts through the square, captivating him. It doesn't really matter, he thinks a mere moment later as he drifts closer to the girl. The only thing that matters is her, smiling dreamily to herself with a glossy violin tucked under her chin. Her fingers move with practiced ease and her bow glides gracefully from string to string. Even with his limited knowledge, Wolf knows she must be a professional. She's young—not too young—but she looks like she's been performing for most of her life.

It disturbs Wolf to see that he is the only one that has stopped to listen. Some people throw coins in her violin case, but none stop. It fills him with a quiet indignancy.

He doesn't know the piece she's playing, but he has been forced to listen to enough stuffy old people music by his grandmother to know it's classical music. Classical music has never entertained him like his workout playlist does, but for some reason, hearing it live from this girl changes his mind.

Wolf doesn't know how long he stands there. He just knows that he stands there, rooted to the spot, mouth agape, garnering odd looks from passersby. None of that matters, he dismisses the pedestrians. The only thing that matters is when she finally opens her eyes, and he gets a glimpse of wide, innocent, green eyes. It causes a knee jerk reaction. Joltingly, he claps and moves forward, depositing a wad of cash into her case.

"Merci, monsieur."

Her voice makes him freeze in place. It possesses a lyrical quality to it, and for no particular reason, his face grows warm.

"Erm," Wolf straightens stiffly, slapping a smile on his face as he looks back at the violinist, "You, um—you play good."

The smile she throws him is brighter than sunlight. Dazed, he wanders away as she begins to play again. He vaguely recognizes it as Bach and wonders why he has never paid more attention to the music his grandmother adores.

Predictably, Wolf is late to lunch. Hell, he doesn't even remember he's supposed to meet up with K-Unit until he catches a glimpse of a green shirt that looks too similar to the green on a uniform and realizes he is never going to hear the end of this. Wolf prides himself on being punctual, but today he's running late. Not just late, but extremely late. He has already missed five calls from his unit-mates.

"Look what the cat dragged in!" A cheerful call greets Wolf as he sheepishly plops down at the café table. Eagle grins at him as Snake slaps Wolf on the back as a greeting. The newest member, Armadillo, merely grunts in greeting. It's the other two members that makes Wolf pull up short.

"Fox?" Wolf hasn't seen the older spy in nearly a year. He turns his gaze to the younger man. "Cub?"

"Nice to see you too, Wolf," Fox—Ben—greets him affectionately. Both he and Cub—Alex, goddammit, they weren't part of SAS anymore—are sporting golden tans, instantly telling Wolf that they've been out of the country recently.

"What's wrong?" Alex is smirking at him, and Wolf has the distinct feeling he knows something he shouldn't. Bloody spies. "You're never late."

Snake turns his concerned gaze on Wolf, "Cub's right. Are you getting sick?"

With everyone's attention on him, Wolf can't suppress the wave of heat crawling up his neck. His thoughts are involuntarily drawn to the violinist in the square.

Alex's smirk grows wider as he announces, "He met a girl!"

The spy's voice carries through the café, and Wolf turns a deeper shade of red as the occupants turn to give them amused looks. He glares daggers at the fair-haired boy (the look doesn't faze Alex in the least bit) and spits, "Shut up!"

"Damn, a girl?" Eagle's eyes are glinting mischievously. "Well, who is she?"

Wolf is unable to answer. He never did get the violinist's name. He stares down at his hands, muttering something incomprehensible. He pretends not to notice the way the men exchange glances, befuddled by his actions.

"What was that?" Eagle sounds confused now.

Again, Wolf mutters under his breath, unable to say it directly to his faces. How can he face his men if he admits he doesn't have to courage to talk to a girl? Even if she was a beautiful, graceful girl with beautiful eyes and a beautiful voice and a beautiful—Wolf mentally smacked himself.

Alex is the first to interpret his words, "Wolf, are you saying that you met someone, but didn't ask for her name or her number?" His tone is incredulous. Wolf doesn't blame him. He would sound the same if it had been any other person.

"Maybe," Wolf scratches the back of his neck. "She just—I just—" he takes a breath, "She was in the middle of playing the violin." Foolishly, he hopes that this will explain his hesitance in speaking to her.

"Unacceptable," Eagle shakes his head. "You finally meet someone who can turn you into this"—he flaps his hands at the mess that Wolf currently is—"and you don't have a way to meet her again? Where was she playing? You have to go back. Now."

"She's foreign," Wolf tries again, though it's not much of an argument. "French. We wouldn't understand each other anyway."

All five of the men at the table give him a look as if he were stupid.

"Let's go, Wolf," Eagle is tugging him to his feet before he can protest.

That's how Wolf finds himself standing in the middle of a violinist-less square, staring at the spot the girl once occupied. He can see her now in his mind's eye, swaying gently with the music, letting the breeze tug playfully at her dress. He feels hollow as he mentally berates himself. Why hadn't he stopped to talk to her?

Eagle looks undaunted as he surveys the square. He turns on his heel, sharply, facing Alex. Determination glints in his eyes as he leans forward, "Cub. You're part of SIS, right?"

Alex takes a step back, wary, "You already know I am, Eagle. Why—oh, bloody hell. No! For the last time, I'm on holiday. That means no SIS related activities."

Wolf, realizing where this was going, stares wide-eyed at the two of them. Eagle takes a giant step towards Alex, "But Cubby, it won't take long for you to track her down. It'll probably only take an hour, tops. Think of it as repaying a favor!"

Evidently, Alex has nothing to rebuff that with. K-Unit has saved his arse too many times on missions gone awry. He scowls at the soldier before pointedly asking, "How am I supposed to find someone based on the fact that she plays violin and speaks French?"

Before Eagle can answer, Wolf cuts in. His voice is breathless with excitement. Clearing his throat only makes it worse. He sounds like he has just been strangled, "She's blonde and has green eyes. Slender, a good bit shorter than me. It seemed like she played violin for a living. Speaks French. Um…" he trails off, unsure.

"That's plenty," Ben points out, a grin on his face as he turns to Alex.

The younger spy scowls, "Why don't you find her, if you're so confident?"

Wolf wants to strangle the brat with his bare hands. It's just a simple search—what more did Alex need?

"I'm not next in line for the deputy position," Ben says, amusement coating his voice. "Your clearance is much higher than mine."

Alex mutters under his breath, a dark scowl fixed in place, "Can't even go one day without spying…"

Ben blinks innocently at the blond teen, "Alex, weren't you just telling me the other day that a spy who takes off work is as good as dead?"

Alex throws his hands up after surveying their faces, which ranges from a knowing smirk (Ben) to a desperate, puppy-eyed look (Wolf), "Fine, fine! I'll find your violin girl."

-o-

Wolf has underestimated the complexity of a 'simple' search. Fox, Snake, and Armadillo had lost their patience ages ago, leaving only Eagle and himself to hover over Alex as he murmurs to himself, cross referencing different lists.

It's more complex than Wolf imagined because violinists aren't exactly rare, and there's no guarantee that she's really from France.

Wolf has almost given up all hope when Alex suddenly sit ups straighter, pulling up an image on his laptop. He smacks Wolf across the chest without looking, "Is this her?"

The soldier leans forward eagerly. There she is, poised with her violin in an immortalized picture. Without realizing it, Wolf grins.

"That's terrifying," Alex makes a face at the soldier.

Wolf scowls, "Shut it, brat."

"This brat is helping you," Alex drawled. "Don't you want to know her name?"

At that, Wolf is smiling again, eager.

Alex rolls his eyes, clearly amused and exasperated at the same time, "Eleanor. Twenty years old. Originally from the UK, but moved to France for school—you were right in assuming she's a professional, by the way. Credit card transactions show that she goes to 'the Jitterbug' every morning for coffee."

Wolf notices Alex's eyes dart back to the picture on the screen. The spy is frowning, puzzling over Wolf's girl. The thought of Eleanor being 'his girl' makes the soldier pleased. He glances at Alex again, noting the way he's studying her. Wolf frowns. As long as Alex isn't thinking about stealing her…

"We have to be there tomorrow!" Eagle is already searching up 'the Jitterbug' on his phone.

Alex reclines, "Yeah, like that isn't completely creepy at all."

"Wolf is a creepy guy," Eagle agrees, but doesn't stop in his search. Wolf cuffs him on the back of the head, "Ow!"

He turns to Alex, "Well, what do you think?"

The spy is staring at the picture again, a thoughtful frown on his face. He refocuses quickly, however, leaving Wolf to wonder if he had just imagined the look on his face.

"No harm in trying, right?" Alex grins, "Ben might be able to help you more, though. He's great with the ladies…"

Wolf only just manages to stop himself from leaping at the spy for implying that he can't talk to the fairer sex.

Day Two

"I can't do it."

"Suck it up, Wolf. Or would you like me to kick you? Again?"

"Shut up. Brat."

"It's kind of like jumping out of a plane."

"Not at all."

"Well, you just have to… leap. Like, a leap of faith. Courage, in this case."

"Alex, jumping out of a plane and talking to a girl are two completely different things."

"They don't have to be."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer."

"You just did."

"Brat."

"Wolf, make your move now. This is supposed to be my vacation time. I don't have time to counsel you."

"…I can't do it."

"Well, you better think of something fast because she's leaving."

"What? She's still in line."

"She's leaving the country in a few days."

"What? You're telling me this now?"

"I told you yesterday, but you were too busy staring at her photo."

"She's too pretty not to stare at."

"You're getting too close to creepy again."

"Am not."

"Jeez, and people call Eagle childish?"

"I would very much like to hurt you for that."

"Ha, I'd like to see you try."

"I'll do better than try—"

"Shush. Look, she's really leaving now. Go!"

…

"Wolf, get up. Just go talk to her."

"…She'll be back here tomorrow, right?"

Alex throws up his arms in exasperated annoyance and storms out of the café.

Day Three

Alex is considering executing his first premeditated murder. He had been looking forward to this long weekend without any disruptions or spy related activities, only to stumble across a love-sick Wolf. If that image wasn't disturbing enough, K-Unit had taken the liberty to crash in his home, and Alex hadn't had one second of peace. It was either "help me with this pick-up line" from a slightly frantic Wolf, a "hey Alex, wanna bake a cake?" from Ben, or a "let's put some skin-dye in Wolf's soap!" from Eagle.

"Excuse me, monsieur," Alex is brought out of his violent thoughts of mass murder when he hears a lightly accented voice. It's Eleanor, the girl that looks strangely familiar, yet not familiar at all. She only looks slightly out of place in the coffee shop as she carefully moves forward, making sure her silver violin case doesn't hit anything. They've been standing in line for a while—the café is busy today—and he's alone. Wolf mysteriously disappeared a while ago to go to the bathroom (Alex thinks he's just hyperventilating), and Alex is ready to resort to violence in front of the civilians.

Alex gives Eleanor a polite smile.

"Have we met before?" the violinist asks, her eyebrows furrowed.

The action is so familiar to Alex, but from where? He unconsciously follows her example, "I'm not sure," he begins slowly. "Have you spent some time in France?"

He knows she has, of course. In the creepy and not at all invasive search Alex did the previous day, he learned that Eleanor was born in the UK, but moved to France at a young age to pursue music. She is only a year older than him, which gives him pause. Maybe he does know her. He casts his thoughts back to his memories in France, but it's foggy. So much has happened since his naïve, youthful days.

"I moved there when I was eight and attended primary school there," Eleanor says, casting a critical eye over his facial features. Her eyes widen suddenly, almost imperceptibly. "Alex?"

When her eyes widen, Alex is thrown back into a buried memory. He's sitting on a playground by himself for no particular reason, listening to the wind rustling the leaves of trees. He's not necessarily enjoying himself—Ian forgot to pick him up from school again—but there's a certain type of peace he feels, sitting there.

Snap.

Alex is instantly on alert. Ian has taught him to always be aware of his surroundings for any threats. He's a young boy—Alex knows that—and he's not going to be taken away easily.

He listens carefully, spinning around in a circle to gauge his surroundings. There's nothing in his immediate vicinity, which makes Alex want to relax, but he knows better.

Crying—no, wild sobbing. Alex is nervous now. The crying is coming from the same place he heard the sudden noise. Is someone hurt or is someone trying to lure him into a trap? He can't tell. On one hand, Alex understandably doesn't want to walk into a trap. On the other hand, who would be out there specifically trying to target him? What if someone needed his help? Alex is talented in taekwondo (his instructor specifically said so!), and he isn't willing to turn his back on someone who might need help. Squaring his shoulders, Alex marches towards the noise.

It takes him a minute to locate the sobbing girl. She's on her hands and knees beside bits of smashed wood. Alex can't fathom why she would be crying over wood of all things, but he isn't one to judge. She's about his age, with long, floaty blonde hair that touches the ground as she hovers over the wood. Fat tears roll down her rosy cheeks, hitting the pavement and the bits of wood like rainfall.

"Excuse me," Alex says in his best French. Ian says that he has an English accent when he speaks, and Alex is determined to get rid of it. "Are you okay?"

The girl looks up at him, eyes wide and filled with tears. She looks like how Alex envisions himself whenever Ian takes away his Game Boy and grounds him for running off on his own, only more distraught. Alex decides he doesn't like it.

"My uncle," the girl's voice is shaky. She gestures at the broken pile of wood, "He took my violin and smashed it. He says I'll never become a proper violinist."

Alex is horrified. That was like if Ian took Alex's Game Boy and stomped all over it! Alex's Game Boy is his most prized possession, and Ian knows it.

He immediately drops to his knees to comfort the girl.

"Don't be sad," he tries. "It doesn't matter what your uncle thinks. Only what you think matters!"

The girl isn't crying anymore. She's looking at him curiously with her bright green eyes, hope dancing within them, "Really?"

Alex is surprised she doesn't know such a simple fact. Maybe her uncle is the kind of mean person Alex's uncle warns him about all the time. The kind that likes to manipulate other people so they will conform to his will. Alex hasn't ever met her uncle, but he doesn't like him.

He tilts his head, "My uncle, Ian, says that we only get one life, so we have to make it the best life possible. You can't live the best life possible if you're listening to people like your uncle."

The girl is smiling now, "My name is Eleanor. Do you want to be friends?"

Alex regards her suspiciously, "Do you promise that you won't give up the violin?"

Eleanor grins, "In ten years, I'm going to be a professional!"

"Good," he grins back. "Don't forget me."

And she hasn't.

"Eleanor," Alex knew her name before, but it now has a whole new meaning. He's suddenly smiling, happiness overtaking his previously subdued demeanor. He gestures to the violin case on her back, "I see you did become a professional."

Eleanor surprises him with a hug.

Someone clears his voice, and they break apart instantly. There's no hiding the bright smiles on both of their faces, but somehow, Alex doubts Eleanor really cares.

"Alex, really?"

The joy that flooded Alex is leaving him in a waterfall as he takes in Wolf's positively murderous expression.

"Wolf, I swear this isn't what it looks like—" Alex laughs nervously as Eleanor peers curiously at the two of them. He knows what it looks like. It looks like he's making a move on Wolf's girl—a no-no in the code of brotherly honor. He turns to Eleanor, "Eleanor, this is Wo—Terrance, a friend. Terrance, this is Eleanor. She's a childhood friend."

Wolf calms when Eleanor's eyes meet his. It reminds Alex remarkably of someone taming a monster—maybe Beauty and the Beast. He almost snorts at that comparison until he realizes that Wolf and Eleanor are still staring at each other, holding each other's hands in an aborted handshake.

"Oookay," Alex draws out the 'o' as he backs away from the two. "Have fun?"

He's out of the café before either of them can protest. A smile makes its way across his face, almost tender in nature.

"Mission accomplished," he whispers to himself.

And for the first time, Alex truly means it.

A/N: Soooo what did you think?

Before you ask: yes, I really do play the violin. Yes, I teared up when i wrote the part about the violin being smashed up. Yes, I will admit that one time, I chipped my rosin and had a serious mental breakdown that involved tears and questioning my own existence.

Thank you for reading! Leave a review if you wish, and thank you all for participating in SpyFest 2018 :)