Wherever There is Comfort

AN: Written as a prize for natashabromanoff

Edit April 2017: Thanks to NorthernBrit for pointing out my mistake :)

"STOP IT, YOU MEME-LOVING TRASH! I don't want to see any more pictures from you!"

Alex looked up from the book he was reading as Sabina crashed into the room, clad in a baggy black dress. "I don't know what you mean," he said.

Sabina growled. "This!" she said, brandishing her phone. "I'm trying to choose what to wear tonight, and you keep distracting me!"

Inwardly, Alex smirked, though he covered it with a mock frown. "Maybe you shouldn't be looking at your phone while trying to get things done," he said. "Studies have shown that multi-tasking reduces efficiency."

"Argh!" she groaned. "Alright, if you're so knowledgeable and not-busy, you can help me pick a dress."

Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Sabina had already grabbed his arm, and was dragging him to her room with a strength that belied her appearance.

"I have to look perfect for my birthday tonight," she muttered. "And you can suffer with me…"

The party was at night, though it carried on well into the morning. As the sky lightened just enough for him to see his hand when he waved it in front of his face, Alex found himself sitting behind a shrub in the garden, a guy's sleeping head poking through beside him.

Already, it had been almost a year, and the house, and Sabina's family still felt new. It was like the trips Ian had taken him on as a child; extended holidays, mingling with the locals. Except this time he had school, as well. The holidays – summer vacation, as his new schoolmates said – were just starting, giving him three months to decide what to do with his life.

It wasn't that there were any life-changing decisions like choosing a university, or future career, as there might have been back in England. It wasn't that he'd decided to run away or anything. It was just that after a whole school year, he still felt like he wasn't quite on the plane of reality. It was a strange feeling.

Alex didn't really remember what life was like before the missions. It was like trying to remember Primary School. He knew it had happened, he had some vague memories, but it was a different person. A different life. During the missions, he'd had to focus – to plan and react, but ultimately to live in the moment. After facing death so many times, he'd stopped trying to imagine ahead and it was like the future didn't exist. Sometimes he still felt like that, but you couldn't do that in the real world. His long-term actions now had greater impacts than the short-term. He was living this new life as though it was a holiday; not really real, and at the end of the day he'd pack up, walk away and go back to his old life as if nothing had changed.

But it had.

There was no more Jack to greet him after a long day. Alex hadn't even got to say goodbye to Tom before moving to another country. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this life; this life of school and finding a job. Most fourteen-year-olds had some sort of part-time job, but his was just a little more unique.

The boy beside Alex groaned. Alex looked down at him, and then stood up. He dusted off his pants, and walked into the street. These people, nice as they were, weren't meant for him. He could protect them, and occasionally interact with them, but it was like he was outside a house, looking in and visiting for tea parties.

Alex sat where he had that afternoon, but now as well as Sabina, Mrs Pleasure sat not looking at him, and Edward Pleasure stood, speaking in restrained tones.

"I mean, I understand you were probably raised without much sense of boundaries – safety boundaries, I mean," he said to Alex's sharp look.

Alex couldn't say anything. It was true: Ian had told Alex it didn't matter what he did, only that he took all necessary safety precautions and didn't do anything stupid.

Edward continued. "But in this family, you are expected to let us know your whereabouts, especially if you go off who-knows-where in the middle of the night… or early morning!" He sighed. "I understand that you want your space. I think we've been more than generous in letting you go wherever you want. But if you do, please tell us. I just don't want to have to worry that maybe your past… your past nemeses or whatever you want to call them – have caught up to you."

His words hit too close to home. Alex lifted his head and affixed him with a steady stare.

"I'd like to go back to England."

Sabina made a little sound, and Edward closed his mouth. Mrs Pleasure finally looked at him.

Guiltily, Alex amended his announcement. "Just for a bit during the holidays." Maybe more permanently later.

Edward and Mrs Pleasure relaxed, but Sabina frowned tellingly and crossed her arms.

"Well!" said Mrs Pleasure with over-enthusiasm. "You probably don't want us old folks keeping you from enjoying yourself."

Alex smiled gratefully.

"Do you have the money?" Edward said, ever more practical than his wife.

"My uncle left me enough."

"And do you have a place to stay? Somewhere safe to go if things… if things go wrong? I think your previous guardians—" His mouth turned down at the reminder — "sold your uncle's house."

"I know someone," suggested Alex. "Ben Daniels; he might be able to billet me." He neglected to mention how exactly he knew the man.

"Well, we can't exactly stop you," said Mrs Pleasure, "and you seem to have things sorted…"

Sabina snorted.

"I do," said Alex firmly.

"I suppose I'm not invited?" drawled Sabina. "Too much of a feminine presence?"

Alex smiled gently. "You can if you want, but somehow I think you'd prefer the golden beaches and boys here to the muddy moors and lily-white complexions of England."

Her stern exterior cracked. "What, like you couldn't handle dressing me?"

He didn't even have to try to blush. It happened naturally, and just like that he was forgiven.

Once he set his mind to it, and got the Pleasures on board, it didn't take much time or effort to plan his trip and before he knew it, he was at Heathrow airport and catching the train to Liverpool, where Ben lived. When he had called the man, Ben had sounded startled, but not unwelcoming.

"You're free to stay as long as you want," he'd said. "I'm actually on break."

Stepping out onto the familiar streets, Alex had a sudden shift in resolve and wondered what he was doing there. He didn't want to see Tom – he had to stay away from him to keep him safe. It had been painful enough leaving for America without farewelling his best friend for so many years, but it was like a band-aid. It hurt, but it was done and to try to patch it up before ripping it off again would be even more painful. Truthfully, Alex felt like he had come back for a last, proper look at the country he'd grown up in. So his last memory wasn't of the shooting. But he wasn't going back to his old life. He'd moved on.

Ben was distant enough that he wouldn't feel like he was succumbing to nostalgia.

The former-soldier's house was a nondescript red brick house on a nondescript street. When he knocked on the door, the man answered surprisingly quickly.

"Alex," he said. "How was your journey? All good?"

"Yeah," Alex shrugged. "It was alright." He smiled. "Thanks for having me."

Ben grinned back. "That's fine. I had nothing to do, anyway."

There was a pause.

"Oh, right, come in," said Ben. "You can probably tell I don't entertain visitors too often…"

Alex followed him through the door and looked around curiously. It was surprisingly messy for a soldier disciplined in the SAS, but in a Weasley-Burrow sort of way. There were some old, embroidered cushions on a sunken sofa that must have come from Ben's mother, and a Turkish rug hanging on the wall.

"Have a seat anywhere," Ben said. "You can drop your luggage in the lounge… Would you like tea? Coffee?"

"Tea would be nice," Alex said, following the man's instructions. He sat on the edge of the sofa.

"I've only earl grey," came Ben's voice from the kitchen. "That's what they had back in the barracks, and I've got to confess it's the only kind I really like…"

"That's fine," Alex said.

There were the slight noises of tea making, and then Ben came out carrying a mismatched tea-set with flowers. He caught Alex looking. "They're from Snake," he said, handing Alex a mug. "He gives me a piece every year as a joke. I think he gets them from the market for cheap."

Alex looked at the mug he'd been given. "That's… nice of him."

Ben laughed and took a sip of his tea. Alex poured some milk into his.

They were silent, then, but comfortable. It wasn't like when Edward and Mrs Pleasure sat Alex and Sabina down for a weekly discussion on how they were going with life. It was more like when Ian had called for Alex to sit with him while he did his homework.

"I should warn you," Ben said.

Alex looked up.

"The unit… K-unit are on break, too. They might pop around some time."

Alex nodded. It was Ben's house, of course.

"I've got to catch up on some paperwork, but I can can do the cleaning. It helps me relax."

Alex nodded again.

"So… that's all we need to discuss, right?"

"Right," said Alex.

"Your room is up the stairs and on the right. My room is on the left, and there's a bathroom between the rooms. If you need anything, I'll be in the office downstairs, or you can put a note on the fridge."

"Thanks," said Alex. He drained his mug and set it down.

Ben started clearing up the tea set. "You can go set yourself up, et cetera. I'll wash up and get to work."

Alex stood up and grabbed his bags. "Thanks again," he said. "For letting me stay here and everything."

"No problem," Ben laughed, "It forces me to get off my arse and out of the dungeon I call an office."

The room Ben had given Alex for the holidays was small, but cosy, and neat compared to the rest of the house. There was a small single bed in the corner facing the doorway, and a window for Alex to look out. It reminded Alex of the dormitories back in the Brecon Beacons, but without the austere military aura. Alex left his bags beside the bed, and wandered over to the window. It being summer, the sun was high in the sky despite it nearing eight o'clock. Alex himself still felt wide awake from the time difference.

An hour later, Ben called Alex to choose a curry for dinner.

The next few days, Alex wandered about Liverpool, wondering what he was doing back in England. He hadn't yet gathered up the courage to go to London yet – and what would he do there, anyway? Acting like a tourist doing tourist things would be weird, but nor did he have anything left of his old life that he could resume.

Mainly, he avoided the dodgy looking areas, picked up groceries for Ben (and cooked those groceries – Ben was the quintessential unable-to-cook bachelor, unlike Wolf, who in adolescence had apparently tossed up between becoming a soldier and a chef), and sent messages to Sabina, complete with the best memes he could find.

It was a week later when Alex decided to get out of the area. He rose early and fixed himself a quick breakfast of toast and milk before dressing quickly and setting off to the train station.

Back in America, Alex hadn't really planned what he wanted to do after his vague sense of needing to come back, but that sense which had led him to call Ben and ask for a place to stay led him to take the train to London.

Wandering through Brick Lane, Alex picked up some knickknacks for the Pleasures. In his bags back at Ben's he had some bourbon whiskey from America for Ben – he didn't really know when to give it, and now that he thought about it, maybe Ben didn't drink whiskey. Or alcohol. Edward Pleasure had been the one to suggest it. Though Edward only took whiskey when his leg was paining him, so Alex didn't know what message that sent...

Before he knew it, Alex found himself standing before those massive doors, looking up at the sign.

The Royal and General Bank

How long had it been since he first saw those words? Since his uncle's funeral? The doors opened and swung shut again as workers – actors, or agents? – entered and exited in business suits, and Alex managed to catch glances inside. It looked just like it always had. Like a bank.

Alex swallowed and stepped forward.

As he did so, a familiar heavyset figure stepped out, mopping his brow with a large, white hanky. The man, sensing movement against the flow of the crowd, looked up. Spotted Alex.

"My boy!" Smithers cried, wobbling over. Alex remembered that this was just an act, the weight a mere disguise.

"Mr Smithers," he said, smiling.

"My boy, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in sunny America..?"

Alex's smile dropped. "I'm on holiday," he said. "I'm visiting Ben Daniels."

Mr Smithers frowned. "I didn't know you were that close to him," he said. "But never mind that; why don't we go somewhere cooler?" With the hand not holding the hanky, he steered Alex away from the bank and a little while onwards to a small teashop.

Smithers led Alex to a table by the window. "The Victoria sponge here is magnificent," he said, sitting down carefully. "Are you hungry? Of course you are; you're a growing boy. Don't worry," he added. "You don't have to do anything. I'll order what I usually order, and you can help me eat it." He winked. "You'll save me the extra exercise I'll have to do later."

Alex couldn't help but feel this was one of the strangest things he'd ever done.

The waiter came and Smithers ordered.

"Why are you here, then, Alex?" Smithers asked, clasping his sausage-like fingers. "And don't say you're here to visit Mr Daniels," he said sternly before Alex could open his mouth. "I know that you haven't spoken with him since your time in Australia."

Up to now, Alex hadn't really considered why he'd come back to England. Mostly, he'd told himself it was because he wanted to say an actual farewell to the place – some closure or something. But he found himself saying differently, and his words shocked even him. "I want to work with MI6 again."

Smithers seemed as speechless as Alex himself felt. "Well," he finally managed, "I assume you have considered this very carefully?"

Alex thought. Yes. Yes, he had. It wasn't a very conscious thought-process, but for a long time, Alex had to admit that he wanted to go back to MI6. Maybe it was a bad thing that he felt that way, that it was his first real job exposure and so he couldn't imagine doing anything else, but that was how it was. He wasn't brave enough to try forging a path in some other career and despite the danger, he actually enjoyed his missions. But, "I'd like to graduate high school first," he said. "Just in case. In case I change my mind."

Smithers nodded. "Ultimately, it's your own choice. Much as I hate to say it, you were a spectacular agent – and in time, you could become even better. Your schooling is important," he acknowledged, "and despite what Blunt may have told you, the world will not end if we don't have a teenage spy in our employ. We can afford to wait."

"So you think I'm not completely crazy?" Alex asked, suddenly anxious. "I'm not just completely brainwashed like Stockholm syndrome?"

The large man smiled dourly. "Even if you are, then that's just how it is. I can't change you – I'm not a psychiatrist – I can only advise you to do what you think will make you happy in the long-term. Besides; I can hardly say Britain couldn't use an asset like you." He leaned forward. "Look at it this way: I'm not actively encouraging you to rejoin MI6. But if you think you'll enjoy it, and it's what you want to do, then I'll make sure there's a place for you. You've convinced me," he said, "and that's difficult to do, passionate advocate for children as I am…"

Alex matched Smithers' wry smile.

"And as such," the man continued, "it's likely that we could convince Mrs Jones. She wasn't happy about you spying as an adolescent, but she'll be much more amenable when you're an adult. Not only will you be stronger and more experienced, but as an adult you won't have to be hidden; you'll have all the rights and protections that all our agents already have." He leaned back as the food arrived.

Under Smithers' encouragement, Alex polished off the majority of the food. As he ate, he considered what the man had said, what he had said, and over the course of the meal, he decided his course of action. He'd do as he told Smithers, and finish high school in America. He'd apply for courses at universities in England, and work for MI6 in the holidays. It was highly irregular, but that was his life.

At the end of the meal, Smithers paid the bill and bade Alex farewell. "When you want to contact me again," he said, "Just call the number that corresponds to 'MI6 Smithers' on the telephone keypad. I asked for that especially. Being part of MI6 comes with some perks!"

The conversation with Smithers had felt like a whirlwind, but when Alex looked at his watch, it was already 2pm. His need to visit London satisfied, Alex decided to return.

Back he went, past the Royal and General, skirting around Brick Lane. As he headed towards the stairs that would lead him down to the station, a newspaper stand – and one name in particular – caught his eye.

Sprintz Dynasty Ends

He hustled over to the stand and paid the vendor, frowning. With a sick feeling twisting in his chest and a growing lump as he read, Alex came to know the story. Subsequent to the unfortunate events at Point Blanc, James had returned home, though no school would take him. Tutors had been hired to continue his schooling, and he had continued to get into trouble, each altercation more dangerous. Finally, he had been arrested for some dispute with a former soldier; his friends had been sentenced to jail but James remained free – rumours, unconfirmed but strong nonetheless, indicated that the wealth of his father, Dieter, had been to thank. Regardless, James had been sent to a facility in the Alps that catered for wealthy troubled teens.

Alex didn't want to imagine what James must have felt, with a repeat of Point Blanc. He read on.

Dieter, embarrassed and frustrated, had disowned James, who was transferred into the care of his divorced mother, a famous German actress who was never at home. James' behaviour had been improving when Dieter died, leaving all his wealth to charities, and assets to be liquidated and distributed among his employees.

Two weeks later, James had hanged himself at his new school.

Alex hadn't thought about the boy since he'd said goodbye to him. Tom had been there to take up his attention, Jack too, and school in general. And then after that, Wimbledon where he'd met Sabina, and everything else.

How strange that a boy Alex had met not even three years ago had taken his own life. Coming out of Point Blanc, having had his life threatened, James had returned to a home without a sympathetic father, being unable to tell the truth of what had happened. No wonder he had gone off the rails again. He hadn't had someone like Tom, or even Sabina to help him.

For a moment, Alex wished he'd gotten some contact details from James before saying goodbye to him. Maybe it would have helped to talk to someone who had gone through the same horror as he.

But Alex had been too busy with his own life, and missions weren't really real. Alex swooped in, saved the day, and exited – just like a game. He hadn't thought of the consequences, the people involved who were left behind. Selfish.

In a mixed mood, Alex took the train back to Ben's house.

"What have you been up to?" asked Ben from the kitchen, his usual haunt, when Alex returned.

Alex paused in the middle of removing his shoes. "I met Mr Smithers," he said.

"Oh?"

"We had lunch."

Ben came out of the kitchen, carrying a sandwich on a plate. "Where'd he bring you? I ask because I'd bet a man like him knows where to get good food," he grinned.

Alex shrugged. "I can't remember. It was near the Royal and General…"

"What were you doing there?" said Ben. "My house not good enough for Sir Rider?" He took a big bite of his sandwich.

"Deciding to join MI6 again."

Ben choked on his sandwich, and after several hacking coughs, spat out a wad of mushed bread, cheese and pickle. He looked at it in distaste, and then at Alex more seriously. "Please tell me you haven't."

"Not right now," said Alex carefully. "But maybe when I've graduated." He didn't mention whether it was after high school, or after university. "I enjoyed the job, and I think that if I had all the normal rights that adult agents get, and the added experience of a greater age, there's no reason I shouldn't do what I enjoy."

The older spy swallowed slowly. "It's great that you've found something you enjoy, Alex," he said, "but I don't think spying is for you. It's not at all like your missions, you know."

"I know," Alex said. "People will be more suspicious of me as an adult."

"Not just that," Ben said. "Your missions have been… well, I don't want to say easy, but they certainly haven't been conventional at all. Game-like." He shifted uncomfortably. "In the real world, you have to make difficult decisions where there's no clear right and wrong. You'll have to deal with sacrificing some people to save others. Eventually you'll screw up and there will be deaths that you could have prevented, lives destroyed because you made a mistake. It's not normal to have a hundred-percent success rate like you do now."

"I know that," said Alex again.

"No, you don't," snapped Ben. "You just want to work for MI6 because you enjoy the work. How messed up is that? You enjoy making decisions that could ruin people's lives – all for the sake of a country that you, from some brainwashed loyalty, consider of a higher priority than others?" He took a deep breath. "Not all your missions will involve saving the world. Sometimes you'll have to follow orders to protect this country, and in doing so give up on all your morals, maybe destroy another country. Doing well as a spy doesn't always mean doing good. I learnt that when I discovered that MI6 had hired – forced into work – you, a teenager."

Alex opened his mouth, but Ben wasn't finished.

"I know this is hypocritical coming from me, but if you're using me as a role model, then you have much bigger problems to worry about. I'm an adult, I'm getting old. I'm stuck with MI6 and I have to deal with every terrible thing I've done every waking minute of my life. Someone has to do this job, but I don't want what's happened to me to happen to you. And what about all the people who'll be left behind, worried about you as you gallivant about the globe, doing who-knows what? There's a reason almost everyone in this industry is an orphan." He looked steadily at Alex. "But you're not an orphan. Not really. You have your new family, don't you?"

Alex was silent. It was true that he had the Pleasures. And it was selfish that he'd decided to join MI6 again merely because he enjoyed the thrill. But he didn't know what else he could do; he'd live his life feeling empty, knowing there was a whole other world out there – nations would rise and fall without any notice by him.

"What if you piss off the wrong people, and they decide to take it out on your new family?"

That was the crux of the matter. Wanting to protect his family – Jack – had led to Alex working for MI6 in the first place, but MI6 had been the ones to cause her death in the end. The Pleasures didn't feel like family, not really, but Alex still cared for them.

Ben stared at Alex for a moment, and then stood up. "I can see I've given you a lot to think about," he said quietly. "We'll have to discuss it later. I'm afraid K-Unit are coming over this evening, so you'd better prepare for that."

"Okay," said Alex distantly.

When Ben had once again retreated to his office, Alex stood from the table and went to the guest bedroom. On automatic pilot, he took out the whiskey he'd brought for Ben, complete with a floppy blue ribbon, tied by Mrs Pleasure. He put it on the bed, and sat down beside it.

Did he really need to join MI6? Would he really be that unhappy if he settled down, graduated university, and got a steady job as was expected of him?

The sad answer was, Yes.

Alex was well aware of the dangers of imagining something so long you'd grow accustomed to it, and he tried to consider the matter as rationally as he could, but he knew the truth as easily as he knew his own name. He was a spy, through and through. Any life other than working for MI6 would end up just like James' life. The pretty moments of normal life were entertaining, and had their merits, but they weren't for him. Alex couldn't imagine a lifetime of working like a normal person. Spying was living. Crazy though that made him.

Before he knew it, evening had descended, and Alex heard a heavy knock accompanied by several familiar voices. K-Unit. Alex had forgotten to get ready for them, but there wasn't anything he really needed to do to get ready, anyway. He brushed his hands through his hair, and stood up, clutching the whiskey bottle.

The voices were loud downstairs.

"You'll never guess who I have staying with me," came Ben's voice. "I'll just go and get him."

In what seemed like an eternity, but must have been a mere instant, Alex had climbed through the window. He dropped to the ground, and moved swiftly over the fence and away from Ben's house, still clutching the whiskey.

With the faint refrains of Ben's voice behind him, Alex headed into the darkness.

Despite it being summer, the air was cool against Alex's flushed skin, chilling the sweat he hadn't noticed. The bottle of whiskey almost slipped out of his hand, but he dried the other on his shirt and swapped hands. A rattle of broken glass on wet stone urged him onwards. Away from Ben, and K-Unit, and MI6. Running away seemed a fact of life, now, kick-started by his departure from the Pleasures. He wanted to be free – but he wanted to feel like he belonged – but he didn't seem to belong anywhere anymore.

Alex passed a short, compact man who reminded him vaguely of Rorschach's disguise, Walter Kovacs. The man jeered something unintelligible and stepped towards Alex, but something in Alex's shadowed face and posture must have dissuaded him from his course of action, for he mumbled something more and subsided.

Unable to summon the anger to start a fight, but not fearful nor depressed either – apathetic was the word; listless – Alex kept going until he could no longer hear any human noises, and then stopped beside a brick wall. He climbed on top, and then slumped, sitting on the wall. He looked at the whiskey bottle in his hand.

What was he doing? Wanting to rejoin MI6? The very people who'd ruined his life before it had even begun? At this rate he'd definitely end up like James. Alex wondered if he should just call the whole lot off. Jumping off a roof was looking mighty inviting.

A dark figure hauled itself up beside him, and Alex flinched away, only just managing to stay on the wall.

"Calm down!" came Ben's voice.

Alex didn't know whether it was good or bad that it was Ben, not a stranger. He wanted someone to rouse him out of this funk he was in, to provoke him. "Hello," he said.

"Alex."

There was a pause as both spies studied each other.

"Why did you go away?" Ben said finally. "The others – they wanted to meet you. I haven't told them who you are yet, you see."

Alex shrugged.

Ben sighed. "Is it because of what I said to you? About… spying?"

Alex swallowed hard. He looked again at the road. "It's okay. You're right about that."

"I am?" asked Ben. "Then why are you out here?"

"Your house wasn't good enough for Sir Rider."

"No, really."

"I'm fine. I don't know."

Ben looked down at the bottle of whiskey Alex held.

"It's for you." Alex held the bottle up. "For your hospitality."

The man laughed roughly. "You're lucky you didn't bring it out in front of the others. Snake's a recovering alcoholic."

"Oh," Alex said. "I didn't know."

"How would you?" said Ben.

"I'm sorry for making you come out here."

Ben shrugged. "I'm the one who chose to follow you."

"But you're leaving your friends."

"They'll survive by themselves," Ben said wryly. "They only use me for my kitchen."

Alex looked down.

"Why don't we have that whiskey, then? We can work out what brought you out here." He took the bottle from Alex, and unscrewed the top. He took a large mouthful of the drink, swirled it around his mouth, and swallowed. "Good choice," he said, squinting at the bottle in the darkness.

"Edward – Mr Pleasure – chose it."

Ben handed the bottle to Alex. "So you've never drunk whiskey before?"

"Not even wine." The burn was pleasant and the taste mellow. Alex took another sip, and passed the bottle back.

"So what did I say that upset you?" Ben asked.

Alex shrugged again.

"Come on, think. You must know."

"It wasn't just you," Alex said finally. "James – one of the boys I rescued from Point Blanc – he hanged himself. It was in the papers. I could have – I could have stopped that."

"So nothing I said was upsetting? Was it because I said you weren't cut out to be a spy? Because spying as an adult is more difficult than as a child? Because it's not black and white?"

"Not that," Alex said. "I don't mind the danger. And the – making the choices. I – I think I enjoy the challenge."

"Then what?"

"I don't want to put anyone in danger," Alex said. "I don't think I can juggle a normal life with spying. If I try to, then I'll be too busy to put my all into the missions – like I neglected James – and any danger I'm in will jeopardise the Pleasures."

"But you have to spy?"

"I have to."

Ben shifted. "So what were you going to do about it? Just run away and hope they picked you up?"

Alex shook his head. "I shouldn't have run away tonight. Just… I couldn't deal with K-Unit."

"Okay," said Ben patiently, "Then what was your plan for rejoining MI6?"

"I think I'll do what I planned to do – graduate high school – but then I'll go to MI6 full-time. I'll change my name or something. Fake my death, or something."

Ben looked at him for a long time. "You won't save the Pleasures like that. Dead heroes can't save anyone."

"I won't die," Alex said, frowning. "I mean, apart from the usual risk…"

"I know you won't," said Ben, "but effectively you will. To the Pleasures. You can't 'save' them by 'dying' – if they care for you, then your death will hit them hard."

"It's not the same," Alex argued.

"And you won't be able to live properly without people who care for you. You'll become self-destructive, or you won't push as hard to live – because what will you have keeping you here – and then you won't work as well as you could. You'll make mistakes, people will die, and that will continue to make it worse, until everything ends." Ben looked down at the whiskey bottle. "Why don't you take another drink," he said, smiling grimly.

Alex raised the bottle to his lips, and took a big gulp. He coughed after swallowing, but took another drink. "Here," he said to Ben, passing the whiskey. "It was meant for you, anyway."

Ben snorted and accepted the whiskey. He took another drink. "What I said this afternoon… If spying is really what you want to do, and you can't imagine anything else, then by all means be a spy. I just want to make sure you know what you're doing."

Alex nodded, but didn't meet his eyes.

"All of us spies have people we care about, who might be jeopardised by our jobs. We might be orphans, but we still have families – I'm lucky that I have K-Unit who are more than capable at protecting themselves from most threats. Except perhaps alcohol."

Alex smiled humourlessly.

"Come on," Ben said, offering Alex a hand down, "Let's get back to the house. If you want, I can get K-Unit to leave."

"Don't. I'm alright now."

Together, they walked back to Ben's house. Out of some sort of compassion, or pity, or perhaps because he was a little drunk, Ben gripped Alex in a firm, one-armed not unwelcome hug. Ben was different to the Pleasures, Alex thought. He knew what Alex had been through, the addiction of missions, and he cared for Alex like an older brother. Like Jack had.

Life perhaps wasn't perfect, but it wasn't bad, either.