Drabble based in the future of Amitai's AOL story.

Please note that anything I post in relation to Amitai's work is done with full knowledge and permission.

Warnings: Extremely vague Wolf/Alex slash.

Sleeping on the Job

Wolf stared blackly at the back of the seat in front of him.

A few rows back, in the centre aisle, some damned woman's baby was crying incessantly. The kid behind him was kicking the back of his chair – again – and he still had ten hours to go.

It was a testament to his training and personal strength that his lip did not so much as curl, even as he entertained private, violent solutions inside his own head.

Alex, curled up under his arm and shoulder, shifted restlessly, muttering something in – German? - before stilling once more.

His head was hot against his skin, his face shiny with sweat.

There was no doubt about it. His wounds were getting dangerously infected..

And they still had another 10 hours to go.

And it was – to his embarrassment – all his fault. Not the not-even-shaving-yet Cub's. Not some MI6 screw-up. (God knew that they'd proven less reliable than the SAS)

Alex had arranged an escape route, and then Wolf had promptly made a rookie mistake and left their tickets in his other pair of pants.

The reminder increased the level of his glare.

Really, the seat should at least be smoking by now...

Alex, forcing himself not to limp, had gathered what was left of their money then slipped away and shamelessly (and discretely) begged for the remainder of what they needed from complete strangers. Although Alex hadn't been dealt any non-superficial damage, he had lost blood and was no doubt on the edge of shock. Beatings were one thing.. the slow and deliberate cuts had been another.

Alex, of course, clung grimly to what was left of his stamina, almost visibly forced himself not to break down and returned almost an hour later with new tickets. On a slower, commercial flight.. but a way out of the goddamn country, at least.

Judging from the stiff edge to his walk and his pale, waxy face, the kid had been moments from total physical shut-down

James didn't have the language, not like Alex, but he did the best he could. He explained his 'brother's' illness as a bug picked up the day before and made worse with nerves. Suspicious eyes were eased a little when they both passed through security with non-offensive luggage. The flight attendants themselves had cooed and fluttered about Alex as they were settling in, all drawn to his youth and increasingly obvious suffering.

They'd brought travel sickness tablets, which were declined as Alex feared he could not keep them down. Instead, his fevered partner had taken the unfolded blanket from the flight attendant with trembling hands, lifted up the armrest and then proceeded to make himself comfortable against Wolf. He'd shifted a lot, at first. Twisting to try and find a position that didn't press against or stretch the cuts on his back or down his arm. Eventually, the teen had tugged Wolf's arm away from his body, curled his own arms around it possessively, half-squirmed under it and curled up with his head just barely brushing Wolf's thigh.

He'd been too miserable with pain and illness to give a shit, his normal sense of distance and propriety utterly destroyed as he simply sought any comfort he could find.

Wolf had stared for a moment, before retrieving both his and Alex's pillows. Silently, he tucked his own behind Alex's back, so as to cushion it against the very firm seat back and the other under his head, so he'd not get a crick in his neck on top of everything else.

After another few minutes, as the plane jostled and jolted through some mild turbulence, he spoke.

"You need anything?"

The lump under his arm just tightened its grip and grunted a negative. Wolf muttered acknowledgement and turned to look out the window. His arm was starting to get pins and needles, but he wouldn't remove it for the world, right now.

--

Ten extremely trying hours later, their plane touched down.

Alex had to be carried out, his shaking legs simply unable to sustain his weight any longer.

He didn't seem to be insensible, at least.. Although, when they reached the taxi stand outside the airport (having forgone their useless luggage as a waste of time) the boy did lean up and kiss him, a firm press of lips against his cheek, before muttering his thanks and promptly passing out against his shoulder once more.

All in all.. Not a bad mission...

END