Hope—Alex's POV. Created by the courtesy of the wonderful speechbubble, whose work in her Unofficial Files by the same name inspired this two-shot.
Also, in respect for speechbubble's preferences (and mine!), this will be slash (AR/BD). Admittedly not much (because I really suck at it, to my downfall), but I'm warning you in advance. No flames will be accepted relating to the slashy-ness. You don't like, you don't read. Again, no complaints about the slash. You have been warned!
Those that are submitted anonymously will be deleted, and the signed ones will be ratted out both here and on my profile. Names will be listed under the A/N in bold lettering, for those interested. I sincerely hope that I'll never have to carry out this threat.
The building had exploded, and it hadn't been his fault. No, really.
The most recent evil genius with plans to fix the world (via its total destruction, of course) had been Dr. Leonard Rivers. He had intended to tap into the world's greatest supply of fresh water, the massive glaciers off Antarctica's frozen shores, and essentially transform them into poisonous wells. His deed wouldn't have been noticed until the seasons changed, melting the majority of the icy mountains and large chunks of Antarctica's coast.
What he had been hoping to accomplish in the long run was beyond MI6's knowledge, much less Alex Rider's.
Alex had been sent in as a researcher's adopted son. His goal: trade out the toxic chemicals with the pure water being extricated. It had gone surprisingly well, right up until the researcher said a little too much to her boss after a night of poker and drinking.
As always, Alex had wound up in a compromising position, sent a request for help to MI6 which still hadn't been answered two days later, and managed to pull off several impressive feats backed by sheer luck and a handful of well-placed gadgets. The director had immediately shut down the labs to keep the teenage spy from getting into them, which hadn't exactly helped the situation. The lab technicians had been working with toxic chemicals, and as the alarms sounded, they reacted quite expectedly. Total panic.
The ill-timed action, and resulting chaos, had caused the spill of several dangerous chemicals. Even worse was the result when the various chemicals met. Thus, the explosion.
Alex had been running down one of the back corridors, searching out Dr. Rivers to halt his plan, when the explosive fires started in the opposite wing. The initial detonation had made him freeze in his tracks. Already, he was recalling the various amounts of equipment which were definitely not fire retardant. Any buildup of gases could trigger subsequent reactions. In short, this place was going to be gone within the next hour and he didn't have a ride out.
So he had done the only things he could. Close the doors behind him as he ran, hoping to deter the fire, and grab the jacket he discovered slung over a chair, to keep the cold off until MI6 decided to conveniently remember him.
Another impressive blast, this one much closer than its predecessor, jogged his memory. Smithers had been smart enough to incorporate a secondary line into his SOS beacon; it essentially split his GPS signal into two separate routes. One would be sent to Blunt and Jones, and the second to Ben Daniels' cell phone.
Ben worked for MI6, but more in the paperwork department than out in the field, like most newbies started out. It wasn't a complete shock, then, when he had taken leave last week. "Just in case," he always said, and both of them knew that if Alex needed assistance on the field, MI6 wouldn't be providing it until it was too late.
And it looked like the circumstances would be repeating themselves, as history always said they would.
Before the shutdown sequence, set off by the first explosions in the lab, could seal him in the metal prison, he dashed out between the bay doors and tumbled out on to hard, unyielding ice. The doors slammed shut with a resounding thud only seconds later. There would be no other escapees joining him on the frozen terrain.
It was only now that he realized how hopeless his scenario was beginning to appear. Any vehicles had been kept carefully locked down in the bay he had so narrowly escaped, he had no food or water to sustain himself, and with the minimal protection of the jacket, sweater and jeans he was wearing, he wouldn't last more than a few hours, even with the fresh spring heat.
Watching the sky and shore for signs of Ben, MI6, anyone, he walked continuously to keep his blood moving. Sitting would only let hypothermia set in faster. To his dismay, the fire and blasts in the labs had caused sections of the ice to weaken and fracture, leaking water through the cracks and on to the ice around him.
A final explosion sent him careening over the slick ground and nearly into the sea before he grabbed the edge of the ice. Pulling himself back up, he shivered despite himself. The sea water had soaked him up to his knees. Alex knew he should stand up and at least walk around, keep the cold from to him, but he already hurt so much and hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep during the past week. In his delirious state, he thought, 'A short nap won't hurt…'
Alex woke, at least partially, to the sound of helicopter rotors in the distance. He intended to prop himself up on his arm and get up to wave his hands, just to make sure the helicopter could see him. After all, he was in a white jacket and pale jeans in the middle of an icy desert. There was no way he would be spotted if he laid here face-down on the ground.
But he found, to his amazement, that he could only shudder. His arm wouldn't move, and neither would the rest of his limbs. The bitter cold previously biting savagely into his skin had been replaced by a just as daunting dull numbness, that his whole body had succumbed to while he floated aimlessly in dreamland.
And despite his doubtfulness, the helicopter was somehow getting closer, despite how he camouflaged into his surroundings. The GPS. They were tracking his distress signal, not looking for a body.
But who? It wouldn't be MI6, he thought sadly, his eyes drifting closed again despite his attempts against. He tried to remember who else would be answering his call, but somehow, the name kept slipping from his grasp. Why couldn't he remember that name? It was important somehow, and he had to figure it out.
Beneath the slowing whistle of the helicopter's blades through the air were the soft crunching sounds of light feet atop the thin layer of snow. Rushed footsteps, he thought. At least someone cares.
Finally, he felt a warm hand on his cheek, almost too warm but he didn't care. It pierced through the ice crystals, snowflakes and frostbite that had sealed over his skin. The rough heavy feel of wool fell over his neck and back, and he was suddenly off the ground and in a pair of comfortably warm arms. As he felt the warmth penetrate his skin, he grabbed weakly for his savior's shirt. Frantic indiscernible words were whispered under the breath above him, but it wasn't the words that mattered. It was the voice. The familiar voice. Ben.
With that name came hundreds of other associations: peace, safety, comfort, friendship, brotherhood, long days, longer nights and love of life. The cold didn't matter when the warmth was already infinitely greater.
The helicopter flight was surprisingly short, but he didn't take that into account. The time itself slurred into one long blur. All he felt were the gentle hands holding him close, keeping the blanket securely around him, and saying soft words of reassurance, though it was uncertain as to which of them they were intended to reassure.
But none of it mattered, he thought sleepily. He just wanted to drown in this comforting grasp, and as he fell asleep again, he heard just faintly the sounds of protest above him.
Alex came to as he felt Ben jump out of the helicopter, his ever so warm palms pressing him lightly, and almost possessively, against the spy's shoulder. He thought that somewhere in the background, amongst the clamor of unfamiliar voices, he heard Mrs. Tulip Jones, the deputy director of MI6. But why would she be here? It hadn't been them answering his distress beacon, after all.
Pulling in an unsteady breath, he strengthened his grip on Ben's shirt, trying to see what was going on. Whatever he tried to say, despite how he cleared his lungs, didn't come out at an audible level.
Ben knew he was conscious as soon as he shifted and glanced at the teen he was holding. "Al," he said, releasing a heavy breath of relief. "Hey, don't move too much. You have dehydration, frostbite, hypothermia, the whole nine yards. I'll have you to a doctor in just a minute."
He felt himself shiver again, realizing just how close he'd gotten this time. If Ben hadn't responded as quickly as he had, MI6 wouldn't have gotten there any faster. The missions were getting longer, harder and much more dangerous. MI6 didn't seem to care, and there was a limit to how far Smithers stick his head out. They used to at least make the illusion that he had some kind of backup. Now, he was lucky to have a partner willing to be on standby.
Forcing his frozen vocal cords to work, he rasped out, "Sorry." There was still an Australian undertone to what he managed to get out, as he had been undercover long enough to forget it was there at all.
Ben looked down again in surprise. "For what?" Re-thinking his words, he shook his head. "On the other hand, talk later. I'm no doctor, but if you could see yourself, you'd agree with me in the diagnosis that you look like shit. Talking probably won't help."
But Alex was persistent. "S-sorry f-f-for ge'ing in t-trouble again," he managed, stumbling through the simple sentence. "Ha-happy to see y-you."
"You screw up your voice permanently, and it's your fault. I'm putting that on record right now." Yet Ben found he couldn't keep the frown on his face. "Glad to see you too."
The young spy smirked, both at the comment and as a nurse offered to put him in a wheelchair, only to have his partner turn her down quite forcefully. Another was hiding her mouth behind her hand, laugh lines creasing the skin beside her eyes. The one working at the counter beside her didn't quite manage to get her own palm up before mouthing the word 'adorable'.
Neither of them took much notice to that, and Ben finally grabbed a white-coated doctor. "Hey, is there someone available? He needs medical attention now."
The doctor only glanced down briefly, and evidently he saw enough. "I was just going on lunch break, but if it's for Rider, I'll grab something later."
Ben and Alex shared a look that said neither of them had a clue as to how the good doc knew the teenage spy's name. "You certainly make an impression on people, Al."
"I try." He sighed and let his head fall back against his partner's chest. "S-shouldn't fall asl-asleep right?"
"That's for a concussion, but my best guess would be yeah, no sleeping."
"Damn. T-t-tired."
"Here." In the hallway ahead, the doctor waved a hand as he located a vacant room. "Bring him here."
"Just a few more minutes, Alex." The spy said, carrying him to the small room and dropping him (did it seem reluctant?) on the bed. Their hands stayed clasped as Ben sat down. "Doc will have medicine in you, and you can sleep as long as you want."
The doctor checked all of his vital signs, took note of the dangerous purple and black bruise-like splotches on his hands and ears, removed his boots to find similar discolorations, and started an IV. "Minimal third degree frostbite, maybe fourth. Onset of moderate to severe hypothermia. Minimal dehydration. Tachycardia (fast heartbeat), tachypnea (rapid breathing), hypertension, and pale, likely all effects of hypothermia." He looked up at Ben. "This one should be easy to treat. Fluids, warmth, the basics. Warm saline and 5% dextrose are already being started to help warm him up. I'll bring in some hot water to begin active rewarming."
"C-can I s-sleep?" Alex asked.
"I see no problem with that, so long as you stay warm." He turned to Ben. "Call for one of the nurses if something else happens before I get back. There should be plenty in the hallway, just in case." The pink tinge on the teenager's cheeks wouldn't have been visible if he hadn't been sick. Evidently, the nurses flocked to their favorite patient like bees to a flower patch. It hadn't passed under the radar of the doctors, either.
Ben nodded. "That's easy enough to remember. I've got it covered here." As the doctor left the room, turning the thermostat inside the doorway up as he did, the spy turned to Alex.
"I'll wake you up when Jones comes in to get mission details. The nurses and I can ward her off for at least a day."
Alex smiled. "Best w-words I've h-heard t-today."
Ben stood, not letting his grip on Alex's frostbitten fingers loosen, to put a soft kiss on blue-tinged lips. The teenager felt the touch electrocute him momentarily with warmth and fell asleep knowing he wouldn't be cold for long beside such a fiery presence.
A/N: My first ever attempt at slash. I never would have ventured here had not the wonderful speechbubble so inspired me in her own story (which you will all now go read). There's a second part to this from Ben's POV, which may or may not be posted soon. (I'm travelling for three weeks.)
Again, if you didn't like the slash, don't complain. Send me a PM if you really really want to pass along the message.
And thanks again to speechbubble. I want more chapters from you!
