Right! Yet another story. I swear, I am AWESOME.

Jokes.

OK. So, this is slash. There isn't much of it in this section, so I figured there was room for some more. :D

However, just so people know, for those who couldn't read it the first time, THIS. IS. SLASH. And for those of you who don't know what slash is, that's two guys having a relationship. Please, normally I'd try and be flippant and witty about this - try - but I'm too tired to try right now. If you don't like slash, please don't read it. And, for the Lord's sake, don't flame me for it, because I'm not going to put up with it. There are better places for people to act like petulant children, I don't want them hanging around me, has everybody got that?

Thanks.

DISCLAIMER: Oh, wouldn't it be nice if everyone was nice, and I owned Alex Rider?

As he boarded the plan, Alex reflected that this was probably a really bad idea. MI6 had deliberately tried to keep him away from the other boys he'd rescued from Dr. Grief, but even MI6, it seemed, couldn't compete with Dieter Sprintz's million-pound "intelligence services"; and Alex was willing to bet that, after the close call he'd just had, Sprintz was willing to give his son anything, and if that anything included a visit from his "little friend", James Sprintz was going to have it.

Alex knew all that, but that hadn't stopped him boarding the private jet anyway.

When they touched down in Austria, Alex was met by James – still pale, dark hair still flopping into dark eyes – and several body guards, who ushered them quickly and efficiently into the waiting car. It was only when they were in the car that James got a proper chance to speak to Alex.

"How are you?" he asked, casually. If he felt uncomfortable, or bothered, by the recent events and the way the pair of them met, he wasn't showing it.

"I'm fine." Alex nodded, a little awkward. "You?"

"'Fine'?" James reached out and gently touched the huge, only slightly-faded bruise which had spread over most of one side of his face, one of the many remainders of his fight with Eva Stellenbosch during the battle at the school. "How did you get that?"

"The ape-woman." Alex muttered, shrugging, and turning away to look out the window, half-hiding the bruise from the other boy.

"Mrs. Stellenbosch hit you?" James sounded impressed. "That sounds like colliding with a TGV."

"It felt like it." Alex agreed, with a small smile. "How are you? No nightmares, or anything?"

"Oh, sure, I've got nightmares." James shrugged, carelessly. "But I'll bet they're nothing on yours." He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. "So – you're a spy."

Alex flushed. "Yeah. Kind of."

"'Kind of'?"

"Kind of." Alex repeated, firmly. "Not…" He broke off. There were things James didn't need to know, which Alex didn't necessarily trust him to know.

"Not what?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'd like to know…?"

"I can't tell you." Alex said, rather regretfully. There was a rather awkward pause.

"So, are you reporting back to them about me now?" James asked, voice aiming for off-handed, but only managing faintly anxious. Alex smiled a little at that.

"No." He reassured the other boy. "I'm not; I was just… they sent me in to Point Blanc because they were worried that there was something strange going on in there…"

"Well, yeah, they were replacing their pupils with mini-Griefs." James said, voice heavily sarcastic. "I'd say that's a pretty good 'something'."

"I thought so too." He shrugged. "But now… now I'm free. Well…" he amended, quickly. "Sort of free. Halfway through the Easter holidays, so no school… and MI6 certainly didn't send me to spy on you and your dad." He smiled. "You're safe from me."

"Oh, I don't think I have to worry about you." James said, with a quick grin, and Alex returned it, while thinking over what his new friend had said. There was an undercurrent to his words which made Alex pause; something he couldn't quite grasp.

"Right…." He said, slowly – and then they were there, and someone was opening his door for him, and another man was taking his case, and there was no time to ask James what he had meant.

He followed James through the corridors, up to his room. "My room's just next door – you can knock if you need me." The other boy said, casually dismissing the enormous house, the servants, and the casual, understated grandeur of the entire set up. "If you want a drink or something, just ring the bell." He pointed to a button, rather like a doorbell, set into the wall by the bed. "Doesn't matter what time it is; just ring, someone will come." He paused for a couple of seconds. "You'll be tired, I guess." He went on, rather reluctantly, Alex thought. "I'll leave you to have a shower, or – or whatever. Supper will be at eight; Dad said he'd try and be there, but don't expect him." He paused. "I never asked. Since you're not David Friend's son, what do your parents…" he broke off. "Sorry. I'll see you whenever, OK?"

James was gone before Alex even had a chance to say goodbye.

He looked around the enormous room, feeling suddenly dwarfed. It was more like a room in a very upmarket hotel than a spare room in a normal house; there were some tasteful pictures on the wall, a large, luxurious double bed, with beautiful cotton sheets – in one corner, a walk in wardrobe, and over the other side of the room, another door led to a bathroom.

The room was on two levels; the bed was lower, and then, up two deep-pile carpeted steps, was a small living area – a large comfortable sofa, a coffee table, and an enormous TV, complete with DVD player and PlayStation. All of that was stood in front of floor-to-ceiling windows, opening out onto a balcony which gave a view over some stunning countryside.

Alex swallowed. He suddenly felt very small and very inferior; and, more surprising than anything else, rather worried about meeting Dieter Sprintz. What on earth would the man think of a boy like Alex, so – ordinary?

Firmly, Alex shook off those thoughts. There was no point entertaining them, and they were futile anyway; he was here for the last fortnight of his holiday, and he would make the most of it.

He pulled his suitcase – which had already been delivered to the room by the time he and James arrived – onto the bed, and began to unpack. When that was done, he wandered into the bathroom, and started to run a bath, in the large, sumptuous-seeming bathtub.

Stripping off, he took a couple of minutes, while the bath was running, to look at himself in the mirror.

The boy that looked back at him was slender, and rather pale; he had a large, barely-half-healed gash on his forehead, from where he had been thrown from the train, while trying to escape from Dr. Grief, and a bruise covering nearly half his face, from where Mrs. Stellenbosch had hit him.

The rest of him wasn't much better; bruises littered his torso, along with cuts in various stages of healing – from raw and red, to silver lines of healed skin. Muscles stood out on his arms and shoulders, but they looked strange and out-of-place on someone so young; and the dark eyes looked haunted.

Alex tore himself away from the mirror, and turned off the water. Relaxing in to the warmth of it, he ignored any worries he had, and any misgivings. Right now, he could afford not to worry about the future, to be constantly paranoid about what was going to happen next. He could step out of that mind-set for the moment.

After his bath, Alex checked the time – seven fifteen – and deliberated for a couple of seconds about what he was supposed to wear for dinner. Deciding against jeans, he went with a pair of dark trousers and a plain T-shirt, then knocked on James' door.

A muffled shout of "hang on!" floated out to him, and Alex grinned. The door was yanked open, and James appeared. "Alex!" he gave him a faintly manic grin. "Come in. Whatcha been doing?"

"Nothing much." Alex said, truthfully. "Was there anything I was supposed to do?"

"No, of course not." James waved the idea away. "Tomorrow, we'll go into Salzburg, I'll show you around the town; or we could go skiing, of course – though, maybe you snowboard?"

Alex shuddered a little at the totally innocent question, and shook his head quickly. "Not at the moment." He said, after a brief but noticeable pause.

"Alright." James nodded, calmly. "I prefer to ski, as well. We're not far from Saalbach here; the skiing is excellent. And I'm sure Dad will let us go to Vienna for a few days." Here, he frowned a little. "We'll have to take some guards with us, but I'm sure we can lose them…?"

"D'you think that's a good idea?" Alex asked, cautiously. "I mean, after everything that has just happened to you?"

"It just happened to you too, and I don't see any guards around you." James pointed out.

"I can't afford guards." Alex shrugged. "Plus, I'm not the son of an amazingly rich man; there'd be no point kidnapping me."

"I asked before… where are your parents?" The question wasn't intended to be harsh, but Alex flinched a little anyway. His time spent with David Friend had been detached, at best, but it had served to give a very hazy idea, at least, of what being in a family was like; and though Alex hardly wanted the money or the opulence of the Friends' house, he found himself longing, even more strongly, for his parents.

Sometimes he wondered, rather off-handedly, whether his time with MI6 had caused this rather sudden increase in his desire to have his parents around. Alex knew himself to be independent and capable and intelligent, but MI6 made him feel off-balance and vulnerable; they were always one-step ahead of him, always outmanoeuvring him and backing him into a corner, making him totally defenceless. He couldn't help but want his parents when faced with that; he couldn't help but believe that they would have been able to protect him in some way.

Shaking off that line of thought, he shrugged, awkwardly. "They're dead." He said, rather harshly he realised, when James flinched back from him. "Sorry." He added, quickly. "It's just – yeah. They died when I was one, and I went to live with my uncle. He died a few months ago."

James nodded, silently. Finally, he said, quietly. "I'm sorry, Alex."

"It's OK." Alex forced a smile.

"Well, it's not, but I'll take your word for it." James nodded. He paused. "We should… we should go down to the dining room."

When they were half way down the stairs, James turned back, and, with a quick, wry grin, said, quietly, "So, how did you start working for MI6?"

Alex frowned. "Look, James – I'm not allowed to talk about it, OK? I'm just – no. I can't. And… if you talk about it too much, you put me, and you, and your dad, and everyone else, in danger."

James frowned back. "God, Alex, lighten up a bit!"

"I can't." Alex said, in a low voice, flushing red with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, but… I can't."

James sighed. "Yeah, I guess." There was another silence until they reached the hallway. They were only a few metres away from the dining room, Alex slightly in front of James, when the slightly taller boy grabbed Alex's hand. He dropped it immediately with a quick, "Sorry!", but finally muttered, "Look – I understand, OK? I do. I get that you can't talk about it. And I'm sorry for pushing you on it."

Alex offered him a smile. "Thank you."

Dieter Sprintz was a tall, slender man, very like his son to look at, but with a perpetually worried, nervous look about him which James completely lacked. As he came into the impressive dining room, Alex watched while James ineffectually covered his surprise, and Dieter gave his son a quick one-armed hug, which James returned with something like shock. Then the man was coming round the other side of the table, holding out his hand to Alex, and Alex stood, taking it.

"You must be Alex Rider; James has told me so much about you." He, unlike James, had a German accent when he spoke English, so Alex switched languages.

"It's nice to meet you." he said, politely. Over the other side of the large table, James grinned at the language switch. "Thank you for having me."

"It's no trouble." Dieter sounded much more at ease speaking German than English. "And it's a surprise to find a boy your age with such a good accent. Your mother was German?"

Alex shook his head. "No. My Uncle was – keen on languages."

"Ah." Dieter went back to English, apparently in deference of his now-thoroughly-English guest. "A wise thing to be in this day and age." He took his seat at the head of the table, and smiled at his son, "James has been telling me that he would like to learn Spanish now… I am delighted. I think it might be the first time you have wanted to learn anything, no?"

James shrugged. "I figure if I have to go to school, I might as well make an effort." He gave Alex an under-the-lashes sideways glance. "Maybe then I'll enjoy it; I don't like being bad at things."

Alex nodded. "Me neither." He paused. "Well – my uncle hated it when I got bad reports. He didn't always read my reports – he was busy – but he didn't like it if they were bad." He glanced at James. "I wanted to make sure he thought well of me."

"I am beginning to realise how difficult it must be for boys of your age not to have a proper parent figure around." Dieter said, giving both James and Alex a quick smile. "I am trying to be around for James…" at that, his son ducked his head, but not fast enough that Alex didn't see the rather pleased expression. "And, you, Alex – you lived with your Uncle?"

"Yes." Alex nodded, sitting back so that the – waiter? Footman? – could put a bowl of soup in front of him. "My parents died when I was young."

"I'm so sorry." Dieter said, eyes warm and sympathetic. "My parents also died when I was very young. I lived with my Aunt." He smiled. "She was a terrifying woman, but very kind. As I'm sure James will tell you."

"Great-Aunt is more terrifying than kind with me, Vater." James pointed out, rather sourly.

"Once she sees you as you are now, I'm sure you will discover how kind she is." Dieter said, with smooth confidence.

The conversation at dinner was calm and relaxed, and when they finally left – James gave his father a quick grin, and wished him goodnight, which was, judging by his reaction, as much of a novelty for Dieter as him hugging his son was for James – Alex said, casually,

"Your father seems nice."

"He is." James nodded, but his expression was uncertain, and his tone rather detached. "He's just – not often here." He paused, and looked down at his hand on the banister rail. "I do wonder how long this is going to last, though." He shrugged. "I mean, once he gets over the shock of nearly having a clone of Dr. Grief as a son, he'll stop liking me."

Alex gave the other boy a sharp look. "You're his son, though."

"Wasn't enough for him before, though, was it?"

"Is that why you're trying so hard at school? To make him keep liking you?"

James looked away, up at the nearest painting. "Pretty pathetic, huh?" he said, trying to keep his tone light, but something in his voice caught.

"So, is that why you did all that stuff – before, I mean? To get his attention? Shooting your teacher with an air rifle…?"

"No." James grinned a little, but it lacked conviction. "I wasn't aiming for the teacher; I was aiming for a window. He was behind it. And I was doing that because I hated the school." He paused. "But the other stuff – shop-lifting, drinking, driving… yeah, maybe that was the reason." He gave the other boy a quick grin. "You're better than the most expensive psychologist, you know that? In three minutes, you've got more out of me than any of them ever have."

"S'all about trust." Alex gave him a smile back.

"Yeah, I guess."

Alex wanted to ask about his mother, ask what influence she had on James' life, and whether she gave her son the parental attention the other boy so obviously craved… but refrained. Now wasn't the time. The two boys said goodnight, and parted in front of Alex's door.

The next morning, Alex left his room at nine, to go and knock on James' door – he'd been up for a couple of hours, and had waited, because he was next to certain that James would be asleep – and bumped into the other boy in the corridor.

Both of them flushed, muttering apologies, and then James grinned at him. "I thought you'd be asleep – I waited a while before coming to get you…"

Alex grinned back. "I did the same thing."

They headed down to breakfast – they went to the kitchen this time, and Alex was totally certain that he would never find his way around this enormous house – with no more conversation that standard 'did you sleep well' questions. Once they were in the kitchen, though, James grabbed a croissant and hot chocolate for Alex, who had been dithering and who smiled rather awkwardly in thanks, plunked himself down at the table, and said, casually,

"We've got two options for today."

"Oh?"

"Well, we could go skiing – I've got a suit you can borrow, if you need – or we could go in to Salzburg." He gave Alex a questioning look over the rim of his mug. "Any preference?"

Alex paused for a couple of seconds. Skiing sounded good, and it sounded fun – but he wasn't completely certain that he wasn't going to have a flashback, like he had after the incident with the Stormbreakers during a PE lesson at school. They'd been swimming, and had been told to tread water; Alex had freaked. No one had noticed – he hadn't screamed, hadn't splashed around, hadn't drawn any attention to himself; but his heart had been going a mile a minute, and he would have sworn that he saw the Portuguese Man O' War floating in the water, waiting for him, waiting, waiting, waiting…

"Alex?" James prompted, voice a little off, slightly confused. "Are you OK?"

Alex shook himself a little, and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"And…? Salzburg or Skiing?"

"…Skiing." Alex said, after another brief pause. "Is that OK?"

James grinned at him. "' Course it is."

The day spent skiing – they were driven up to Saalbach, and spent the day up the slopes – was amazing. James was, as he'd pretty much told Alex at Point Blanc, a fantastic skier, better than Alex, at any rate.

"Well, for someone who's been born and raised in England, you're pretty damn good." James pointed out, when they were eating lunch. "I mean, it's not like you've got many places to ski over there. I wouldn't have any excuse not to be good at it, would I? I've been skiing since – well, practically since before I could walk."

"There's always Scotland; I could have skied there." Alex said, idly, and James threw a chip at him.

They arrived back at the Sprintz's house at about seven thirty, and hurried to change out of their rumpled clothes into something half-way presentable. James had assured Alex that jeans were fine, for which Alex was grateful, as he didn't really have any other trousers, except for that one pair; he was hoping that there was someway he could wash his things, because he didn't have enough for the full two weeks he was staying here.

He ignored that problem for the moment though, and allowed himself to just enjoy the meal which was, again, lovely. Dieter had been waiting for them, this time, and rose to greet his son with another quick hug, giving Alex a warm smile.

"Have you enjoyed your day?" He asked, looking between the two of them, inquiringly. "You went skiing, I believe."

"Yes – to Saalbach." James said, sitting and giving Alex a glance, to reassure him that he could sit; he had been hovering awkwardly by his chair. "It was fun; I'm a better skier than Alex."

"I hope that's not the whole reason why you enjoyed it." Dieter reprimanded him, gently, and James shrugged, but Alex saw the mischievous smile he looked down at his plate to hide.

"Well, you know I've always been competitive, Vater." He said, innocently, "And I really am much better than Alex…"

"I'm worried as to what you are plotting, James." The note of amusement didn't leave Dieter's voice, but his face was somewhat wary. Living with a son like James, or a son like James had been, Alex didn't know that he could blame him for that wariness Like Dieter, Alex was really hoping that the New and Improved James was here to stay, but he wasn't totally convinced that he was. "Whenever you sound innocent, you are plotting something."

James grinned. "No, I was just teasing Alex, Dad." He looked over at the other boy. "He's very good."

"I am glad to hear it." Dieter smiled again at Alex. "Another thing your uncle taught you, I assume?"

"Yes." Alex nodded, watching the others as they were given their soup, and waiting for them to start before he did. "He – liked outdoors things."

"I am sure he led a very active life." Dieter said, tone smooth and inoffensive, but Alex glanced sharply at him. Dieter met his look with a smile and sad eyes. "He certainly seems to have ensure that you will too."

Alex flushed. No one had ever commiserated with him over his duty with MI6, and, as much as he hated it, as much as he hated being manipulated and used and made helpless, he had been starting to come to terms with it, understanding that, at least for the foreseeable future, he had no way round it. And now – now, he didn't want anyone commiserating with him. It would upset the delicate internal balance he had only just struck between resentment and resignation, and if that was upset, he didn't know whether he'd ever get it back.

"Yes." He said, blandly. "We did a lot of things together on my holidays – scuba diving, trekking, abseiling… a boy's dream of a holiday."

Dieter backed down with amazing speed, obviously reading something from the boy's blank face. Alex had no doubts as to how this man managed to become so rich, and stay so rich, by simply 'playing the money markets', as James had put it the first time. Behind the polite, innocuous façade, there was an intimidatingly intelligent man. "Indeed. I'm sure James would have loved such holidays, wouldn't you?"

James looked up, and shrugged, but his face was a little wary. "You were always busy, Vater." He said, his voice as smooth and uninflected as his father's had been.

"And that is the greatest reprimand of all." Dieter said, leaning back, voice gentle and rather sad. "That I was too busy to spend time with my son." He looked at Alex, and asked, "What was the first thing James told you about me, Alex? Honestly?"

Alex glanced at James, who shrugged and nodded. "That you were a banker – that you loved money and had lots of it." He looked away from Dieter's blank face and hurt eyes. "But…He'd been at a horrible boarding school for – a month? A month and a half?" James nodded. "And, he didn't know you that well, and he was hurt, and… there was a lot of psychological trauma about being at Point Blanc." He admitted, rather reluctantly. "He was hardly at the best place to talk about you, especially since you were the person who he would blame for his being there; you did send him there, after all."

"I suppose you are right, yes." Dieter agreed, putting his spoon down. He paused, then said, delicately, "Tell me about this 'psychological trauma'." He looked at James, who was staring firmly down at his empty soup bowl. "James has been very reluctant talk to me about his time at Point Blanc, and I blame myself for sending him there…"

"'But what else could you do'." James finished for him, monotone. "I understand, Vater."

"You're there all alone – or James was." Alex said, softly, and both of them looked at him. "All alone, the only normal person in the whole building; alone and afraid and vulnerable. All these other kids, who you've been told are problem kids, have been brainwashed, or something, and they all seem like perfect little nobodies, no personalities, nothing… and it's frightening. You've got no one to turn to, and you know the intention is to turn you into one of these brainwashed nobodies, but you don't know how… And then, for James, he was thrown in a cell, intimidated and probably hurt, and he knew that they were going to kill him. You don't get much more traumatic than that, Herr Sprintz."

James' eyes were wide and vulnerable as he looked at Alex, but he swallowed, and said, rather hoarsely. "How about you, then?" Alex looked away. "Really, Alex. What happened to you?"

For a second, Alex saw the faces of Dr. Grief and Eva Stellenbosch flash in front his eyes, and felt the ringing backhand that Mrs. Stellenbosch had dealt him, heard them discussing their plans to dissect him…

He forced his eyes back up to James'. "What happened to me isn't polite dinner time conversation." He said, lightly, and James frowned, but let it go.

He brought it up later, though. They had been watching one of the Star Wars movies – Alex hadn't been paying much attention, but he had recognised Harrison Ford, and reckoned that it was probably the "real" first one; apparently, James could pretty much quote the entire thing from beginning to end – when James first stated speaking.

"What did happen to you at Point Blanc, Alex?"

Alex glanced over at the other boy. His eyes were trained on the TV screen, watching as Alec Guiness – "Obi-Wan Kenobi" – taught the kid, Luke Whoever, to "use the Force", but there was a tenseness to James' jaw which told Alex that he understood how difficult this question was for him. That, more than anything else, allowed Alex to answer, voice quiet and strained.

"I – look, James, it's…tough. I don't…I can't…"

"Alex." James put his hand Alex's forearm, making Alex look at him, a little startled. He wasn't used to casual touching. "I know it's difficult… but, have you talked to someone about it? I mean, you don't have to talk to me about it, but… it's not a good idea to keep it all inside you." he smiled a little. "Hell, my Dad cancelled a whole day of board meetings and shit so he could talk to me about it, and I didn't go through half the stuff you did."

For a second – just a second – Alex hesitated. Then he met James' eyes, brown and warm and understanding, and kind like he didn't get normally from the people in his life, and he said, slowly, "There's no one I can talk to."

James frowned. "Your uncle…"

"Died earlier this year." Alex reminded him, voice gone soft and rather tired. "He was a good guy, but… he did kind of train me to be a spy, from the age of about six, you know? It's – difficult to trust him." He gave a little chuckle, which sounded broken even to his own ears. "Even to trust his memory."

"What about the people you live with now?" James asked, concernedly. "Shit, Alex, you're not in foster care, are you?"

Alex forced a smile. "No. I live with Jack – she's not exactly my guardian, but… she's nice. Really nice."

"And you can't talk to her about this?"

"It – it kind of scares her, you know?" he said, slowly. "I can't do that to her. I can't force her to listen to stuff when it scares her, can I?"

"You can if it scares you too, Alex." James told him, firmly. "It's not fair that you should have to deal with all this on your own." He clenched his jaw, frowning, and obviously thinking hard. "Look, Alex, if you want to talk about it – and, like I said, I really think you should… I'd be glad to talk it over with you. I mean," he grinned, a little cautiously. "I was at Point Blanc too, right? I didn't go through what you did, but… maybe that'd help?"

Alex looked at him for a couple of slow, silent moments. Then he nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good." He smiled, genuinely this time. "Thanks, James."

"It's nothing." James replied, sincerely, and they turned back to the movie, both sensing that any further attempts at a "deep" conversation now would be straying in to overkill.

In the film, C3P0 announced, gloomily, "We're doomed."

Alex and James looked at each other, and grinned.

They didn't bring it up for the next few days – in fact, they were in Vienna, staying at the Grand Hotel Wien, when the subject came up again.

Alex enjoyed being in Vienna – even with the armed guards James had prophesised. He enjoyed the theatre, when they went; they saw a translated production of "Hamlet" at the Burgtheater, and Alex, who had thought that he didn't like Shakespeare at all, even in English, found himself enjoying it. The hotel, however, had, for at least the first couple of days, scared the hell out of him.

Dieter had reserved a Deluxe Suite for the pair of them to share, and Alex was totally intimidated by the sheer – luxury of it all. Growing up with Ian Rider had meant that he had never had to worry about money, but, equally, he had never, in his wildest dreams, imagined doing something like this.

James, however, seemed perfectly comfortable with it, and Alex didn't mention it again.

The pair of them were watching a DVD in the sitting room which came with the suite; but, once it finished, neither of them seemed too keen on heading back to their individual rooms.

For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, Alex curled up at one end of the sofa, James sprawled – strangely, hypnotically elegant – at the other. It was Alex who finally broke the silence.

"Y'know, I've been thinking…"

"It gets easier with practice, honest." James grinned, lazily.

Alex poked him with a foot, and grinned back at him. "Serious, here, James."

James sat up, raising an eyebrow at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah… it's about the – the stuff that happened at Point Blanc." Alex looked down at his hands for a couple of seconds. "If you don't want to talk, that's – that's fine, I mean, you and your dad have done so much for me already…"

James snorted at that. "Come on, Alex, you saved my life. I don't think a holiday really counts as payback."

"You make it sound like you're going to take revenge on me."

"Oh, I will, and it will be swift and silent." James nodded, mock-seriously, before going back to honest-serious. "But, back on topic. Point Blanc?"

"You'll tell me what happened to you?"

"A kind of, 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours', thing?" James asked, and Alex couldn't work out why his friend suddenly blushed.

"Y-Yeah." He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Deal." James reached out a hand to Alex, which he promptly shook, and if James held on a little bit too long afterwards, Alex didn't notice at the time. There was another pause. "Alex?" James prompted, gently.

"Yeah… sorry." Alex looked away for a second, before looking back up at James, and beginning, rather jerkily, "They bought my cover story for most of my stay there. It was just… at the end."

"So, tell me what they did to you at the end." James said, softly.

"They…" Alex shrugged. "Most of it wasn't that bad, y'know? It was just… stuff."

"Jesus, Alex, you're talking like Grief raped you, or something." James said, starting to look seriously worried.

Alex couldn't help it – he had to laugh at that one. "No, no, no!" he corrected him, quickly. He shuddered. "Nothing like that."

"So… what did happen?" he pushed, cautiously.

"I…" He shrugged. "They tied me to a chair, and told me what was going on – Mrs. Stellenbosch got in a few hits, but nothing big."

"Alex, did you see the size of that woman? Having her hit you must have been like having a ton of bricks land on you."

Alex shrugged again. "I guess." He bit his lip, considering how he was going to go on. "Look, Dr. Grief was twisted, right? And his clones were just like him." He stopped again, and James was silent, letting him gather his thoughts. "They wanted to see a live human dissection." Alex said, eventually, very quietly.

"Wha…" James trailed off, eyes wide. "Oh my god. You?" Alex just nodded. "Shit, Alex!" He slid closer to the other boy on the sofa. "They were going to cut you up?!"

"They were going to see how long it took for my heart to stop beating once they'd cut me open." Alex told him, voice small and emotionless.

James put a tentative hand on his calf, warm and comforting, even through the denim of his jeans. "God, Alex, I'm sorry." He whispered.

"S'not your fault." He attempted a smile, but he had a feeling it had gone a little wrong.

"No, but… you did that saving me. Me and the others." His hand on Alex's calf squeezed just a little, and Alex smiled again, better this time.

"It's OK." He shrugged. "I mean, it's not like they managed it."

James nodded. "Just – how did you get away?"

Alex flushed, and bit his lip. "I snowboarded down the mountain." He said, before muttering, quickly, "On an ironing board."

The other boy stared at him. "I'm sorry, come again?"

"I snowboarded down the mountain on an ironing board." He repeated more clearly. "With – Grief's guards on snowmobiles chasing after me…"

"An ironing board?" James said, incredulously. For a second, he struggled with his laughter – then he said, fighting the grin, "Well… inventive, sure; quick thinking under pressure, yeah – cool? Not so much." He paused. "Well, the bit with men on snowmobiles chasing after you would have been cool – very James Bond – if it hadn't been for the whole, y'know, actually-trying-to-kill you thing."

Alex grinned; it felt strangely relieving to laugh about this. He had no doubt that James appreciated how difficult it had been, how hard he had found it – that wasn't the point. The other boy made him feel better about it, about his whole life in general, and that was something Alex had been missing for a long, long time.

He skated over the rest of his time there, sketching out his all-too-one-sided fight with Mrs. Stellenbosch – "I swear that woman had rhinoceros blood in her somewhere…" James commented, idly – and his run in with the train, and the SAS. James had nodded, and smiled sympathetically, and listened to him talking about it, letting him deal with it all, unlike anyone else had ever bothered to do.

Before they finally parted – at nearly one in the morning, though neither of them could really believe it – the dark-haired boy said, very seriously,

"Are you gonna be OK?"

Alex nodded and smiled. "Yeah." He said, quietly. "I'm gonna be fine. And – thank you."

James hugged him then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, grinned back at him and raised one hand like he was going to touch Alex's face, before letting it drop again, and wishing him a quick 'good night'.

That night, Alex dreamed of James, and, in the morning, couldn't quite meet the other boy's eyes.

When they got back from Vienna, Alex only had a few days left in Austria, and he and James acquired a sort of pattern; they would ski, or go into Salzburg for most of the day, then come back, eat dinner with Dieter Sprintz, then watch a movie in one of their rooms.

It was a day or so before Alex left when it happened.

The film they'd been watching – Bridge over the River Kwai, an old favourite of James, who seemed to have a weakness for Alec Guinness – had finished about half an hour ago, and they were sat, talking and joking with each other. It was more teenage than anything Alex had ever done, normal and reassuring.

Finally, and reluctantly, he stood, and said, with a rueful grin. "It's nearly midnight – I really need to go."

James stood up with him, and smiled back. "Yeah, of course." He took a step closer. "I'm going to hate it when you go, you know." He said, eyes warm and lazy on Alex's face. "I'll miss you."

And then – Alex was never entirely sure how – James was there, lips on his, one hand cupping his cheek, and the other arm snaking round him to put a hand on his back. He gasped a little, and James took full advantage of that, lips soft and gentle and ever-so-slightly-demanding on Alex's. His teeth bit gently on Alex's lower lip, and Alex tilted his head a little so that it was comfortable, but, beyond that, had no idea what he was supposed to be doing.

It was nice, he realised – very nice. When James pulled back, a little breathless, Alex stared at him, and wished that he could have that sensation back.

But James was staring at him, and, when he spoke, his words were like a slap in the face. "God, Alex." He said, and Alex had too much experience not to recognise that catch in his voice as being disappointment and worry. "I'm sorry."

For a couple of seconds, it didn't sink in, it didn't click that this had been nothing more than an unfortunate mistake for James. Then Alex got it, and fled with a mumbled, "good night".

The next started off awkward, as James met Alex at his door, as usual, and they then headed downstairs, in a thick, uncomfortable silence which almost physically hurt.

Alex finally broke it. "You know… I'm really sorry. About yesterday."

James stared at him, taken aback. "Why?" He asked, "It wasn't your fault. I'm just sorry that…" he shrugged, "Well, that I – made you do that." He frowned. "I mean, not that I could make you do something you didn't want to, just that I…" he broke off again. "That you didn't want that."

It was Alex's turn to stare. "What made you think that?"

"Think what?"

"That I didn't want it?"

James frowned, puzzled. "You didn't respond." He said, slowly. "What, do you mean you did…?"

Alex stiffened a little. "I didn't know that I was supposed to." He said, rather woodenly, ignoring James' half-unspoken question.

"What do you mean, you didn't know?" James asked, sounding a little exasperated. "Alex, you must have kissed people before, you can't tell me…"

"I haven't." Alex replied, hotly, shame and hurt making him defensive. "I haven't, alright? I didn't know – I'm sorry I wasn't good enough." He turned on his heel and ran back to his room, where he locked himself in. Anger didn't make him feel better – it made him feel worse. He felt ungrateful, small and rather petty; but he couldn't bring himself to face James right now.

James was left staring after him, with the horrible feeling that he'd just really, seriously fucked up.

In his defence, he thought, rather mulishly, it wasn't unreasonable to assume that Alex would have done something like this before. He was, after all, a spy for MI6, it wasn't weird or presumptuous for him to presume that Alex would have some experience this way too.

But then… Alex was a fourteen year old, he wasn't James Bond, and – from what he'd said – he didn't have much time for school let alone a relationship, however casual, with anyone.

James recognised the beginning squirms of guilt in the pit of his stomach, and he didn't like it. He liked Alex – as a friend, or whatever Alex wanted – and he'd just really, really screwed up.

With a sigh, he went to look for his friend.

Knocking on the door to Alex's room, he called, awkwardly, "Alex? Alex, you in there?" There was no reply, but when he tried the door, he found it was locked. "Come on, Alex, I know you're in there…"

There were a couple of muffled sounds from behind the door, and then Alex unlocked it, appearing in the doorway, looking at James with tired eyes. "What do you want?" he asked, quietly, and James swallowed, taking a step back.

"I wanted to say…" the words almost stuck in his throat; he had always hated apologising, a side-effect of being hideously over-indulged as a kid, no doubt, but he'd say them to Alex. He was the one who'd screwed up, after all. "I wanted to say that – I'm sorry."

Alex looked a little taken aback. "Oh. Um… right."

They stood there in silence for a few seconds, before James said, finally and a little impatiently, "Well? Do you forgive me?"

Alex looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't really work like that, James… 'sorry' doesn't make everything better."

"I know that." James nodded, "But – I didn't mean… what I mean is… How was I supposed to know that you'd never…?"

"Is that why you invited me?" Alex asked, bluntly. "For – that?"

"No!" James cried, horrified that his friend could even think that. "No, of course not! I invited you because… because I got on with you, and you were interesting, and clever, and – bloody hell, Alex, you saved my life!"

"Then why…?" Alex let the question go without properly asking it. They both knew what he was talking about.

"Because you're – you." James shrugged, rather helplessly. "I don't know why, Alex, I can't give you a definitive answer. You were here, and you're… god, you're gorgeous, and kind, and funny, and a whole load of things, and – I mean, I don't even know if you swing that way, but…" he shrugged, and quirked a tentative grin at his friend. "You can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

Alex paused, and for one, horrible second, James thought he was going to shut the door in his face. Then Alex smiled back, very, very slowly, and James heaved a sigh of relief. They were alright again.

Things weren't quite the same after that, of course, though they weren't uncomfortable – simply different. James made sure to work a lot of casual – and not so casual – touch into their relationship, to let Alex know that he was still interested, but Alex didn't seem to want to take it any further, though he didn't dissuade James' casual arm-round-shoulder, and all the hugs the other boy gave him. It was more as though he didn't know quite what to do with them, or how to respond.

They were both painfully aware that Alex was leaving soon, and that neither of them were that sure when they were going to see the other again; and James, for one, was determined to make the most of his time, spending almost every minute of the day with his friend.

Finally, though, they were both sat in the car, heading back to the air-field where Dieter kept his plane, in almost total silence. Alex had said his 'thank-you's' several times while they were back at the house, and there genuinely didn't seem to be anything else worth saying, or nothing that either of them dared to say.

They were almost at the airfield by the time Alex spoke.

"I did – I really liked it, you know." He said, slowly, and James looked at him, curiously.

"Liked what?"

"The kiss." Alex was looking out the window, deliberately not letting himself make eye contact with his friend. "I just didn't know… what to do."

James grinned. "Well, I'd love to show you what to do, if you wanted." He offered, voice surprisingly gentle, and Alex looked at him, finally, with an answering grin, smaller and more wary than James' own, but present, nonetheless.

"I think I'd like that, yeah." He agreed, very slowly, and James reached out, grabbing one of Alex's hands, and holding it, awkward and rather clumsy, but affectionate despite that.

"Thanks, Alex. And – sorry, again, for being such a prat. I guess… well. Yeah. Sorry."

"S'Alright." Alex shook his head. "But make sure you don't do it again, OK?"

James nodded, earnestly, a faint hint of mischief in his eyes. "I'll do my best." He promised solemnly. The half-smile slid off his face as he said, rather nervously. "Um – Alex? Don't go practicing kissing with anyone else, alright?"

Alex gave an inelegant snort. "Oh, yeah, because there are so many takers." He squeezed James' hand once, before pulling his own back. "Don't worry, I'm not going to 'practice on anyone else'."

James nodded, and felt his stomach drop, as the car stopped. Alex was leaving.

Impulsively, as Alex reached for the door handle, James reached out, capturing his hand once again, turning Alex towards him. Very slowly, he leant forwards, giving Alex time to move back, warning him what was about to happen, letting his free hand slide up to Alex's face, cupping his cheek, and tilting his head slightly. Then he brushed his own lips against Alex.

This kiss was far better than the first one – Alex made an effort at responding, less shocked, and less nervous than before, and though he was by no means an expert, James was pretty certain that it was the best kiss he'd ever had, from girl or boy.

Drawing back, he grinned down at the shorter boy, saying, voice a little strained, "Nice. Very nice."

Alex grinned up at him, eyes bright. "Do I get a mark out of ten?"

"Shut up."

They were interrupted by someone knocking politely on the door. "Herr James? The plane has to leave now, your friend must go…"

"Shit…" Alex swore, scrambling for the door. James followed him at a much more leisurely pace, reluctant to see him go, and still unsure of when he was going to see him again.

"I'll write, OK?" he said, when they were standing awkwardly by the car, "Or email you. Keep in touch, yeah? And I'll see you soon. Maybe summer holiday, or half-term?"

Alex nodded, apparently wordless. After nearly a minute of silence, he gave James a quick hug, muttered a graceless goodbye, and was gone.

And this is the first chapter. Depending on what people want, this can either be just three chapters long, OR I'm happy to make it into a longer fic. But, it's going to be slash all the way through, folks, and for heaven's sake, if you don't like slash, don't damn well read it, because I'm not going to put up with being flamed because someone couldn't read well enough to see the warnings, has everyone got that? Thank you.

And for all of you who DON'T mind slash, I hope you liked! Tell me which you'd prefer, long, or short, please?

LOL!

-ami xxx