The morning air was crisp and clear and the jogging path, usually clogged with fitness enthusiasts and lackadaisical walkers, was scarce of either. Those who did jog were in pairs and chatted leisurely, but for a few and in particular one lone figure huffing and puffing his way to pleasant calves.

Dressed in sweat pants and an old shirt, hair mussed beyond the excuse exercise would provide and with ratty sneakers, he appeared for all the world to have just woken and one of the more hopeless cases, the half-hearted dieters.

Squinting his eyes against the cold sunlight, the jogger could argue against any such assumptions on his being from his appearance. He'd been jogging since daybreak a few hours past and, if the unceasing in his stride was any indication, he wasn't planning on ending any time soon.

But plans have a way of being interfered in by such things as phones and other people. As was the case for this relentless jogger, broken from concentration by the sudden, merciless vibration of his pocket.

With a sigh, the jogger slowed his pace to a fast walk and fished the buzzing phone out, taking a glance at the caller ID and changing face immediately. The phone with flipped open and pressed to his ear with no dalliance, and a breathy 'Hello?' was all he could quite manage in his state.

"We need you down at the station, stat, some bank official from the—oh hell, just get your ass down here." A voice barked on the other line then closed the line. The jogger was still for a moment, and perhaps time stopped with him, such an active person he was that rarely he wasn't moving, even in his sleep.

Then time sped up and he was shoving the phone back in his pocket and sprinting the rest of the length of the course to the parking lot and his car. Barely taking the time to wipe himself down with the towel in the passengers seat and doing so distractedly, he appeared feverish as he drove the ten minutes it took to arrive at the station within the speed limit.

Parking his car haphazardly and almost forgetting to pull his keys from the ignition, the jogger hurried to the glass doors of the station to have the doors open for him by a clearly impatient superior.

"There are times when it's okay to go a few over the speed limit, Harris, you don't have to be such a goody two shoes all the time." She told him snappishly, then shushed him when he opened his mouth to apologize. "Oh hush, we don't have time to discuss morals, move." She set to ushering him through the halls as though he'd never set before foot within to a door bearing her name on a bronze plaque.

As her hand went to the door he felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness, dressed in old clothes and frazzled looking as he was, sweat still in patches all over his face and arms. But before he could protest the door with flicked open and he pushed inside, his superior following and closing the door behind them both. "Do excuse the delay, Mr. Daniels, my men can be…too moralistic sometimes."

The jogger didn't hear the man's pleasant reply as he looked him up and down, filing away little information. Dressed in a suit he seemed uncomfortable in, the man that sat in the chair across from the woman's desk sat like the world rested upon his shoulders but had a countenance that testified against any such claim.

The jogger was intrigued and so sat when he was offered, eager to lean who this man was and what he wanted from him. All worries over appearance flew out the window, he seemed the type of man who understood time constraints, and the jogger was all ears, not registering his superior's presence at her desk his attention so centered on this contradictory man.

"Hello, Mr. Harris," the man said with a smile as pleasant as his voice, appearing to all the world a well-dressed businessman with the charm for the job. The jogger wasn't fooled by the skilled act, but wasn't worried over the reason. "I'm sure you're wondering a few things, such as my own identity and the reason why I'm here, but first I'd like to jar your memory a bit. Is that okay?"

The jogger nodded, didn't seem to be any harm in remembering anything. Why not? "Certainly, ask away." He said with an implied shrug, it wouldn't be professional to actually complete the action.

"Do you remember, from your childhood, a boy named Alex Rider?" the man wasted no time or words. The jogger's interest rocketed.

He leaned forward in his seat to prop his elbows on his knees then sat back again, remembering some decorum in his state. "He was my best friend, yes." The first thought that came to mind was: What has he done this time? "What has he done?"

The man smiled again. "That's the problem, he hasn't done anything." He crossed one leg over the other, preparing himself and the jogger adjusted accordingly, folding his arms. "We know that the last time you were with Alex Rider was before your interview for the Chelsea Police force. He dropped off the face of the Earth during an incident in which he was due home and…never arrived. Has he made any form of contact with you, is what I am here for."

Tom Harris would have folded his arms had he not already, and settled for a thoughtful nod. That explained it. The man was from MI6 and Alex had still been working for them after he disappeared from Tom's life. "Haven't heard a word from him since he left after helping me get this post. Always figured he was off saving the world or something, no other reason why he wouldn't at least send a postcard." He didn't see the harm in telling the truth, the man didn't seem to have any bad intentions.

The man nodded and smiled apologetically. "Well then, I apologize for taking you from your exercise. I'll take my leave now, if that's alright with you, M'am." He directed his last statement to the stern faced woman behind the desk. She inclined her head dismissively.

"Quite alright, I'm sorry he couldn't be of any help." She managed a strained smile, she didn't do so very often. "But if there's anything else do feel welcome, we don't get many missing persons cases often." Tom could tell by the man's smile that he was prepared to kindly reject any offer for assistance, until her offer came.

Then his face was thoughtful and his eyes shifted to Tom. "Actually…I here that Mr. Harris is quite skilled as a detective?" If they could, Tom's eyebrows would have hit the roof. Was the man really propositioning that he help?

Apparently so. Tom's superior nodded and smiled again. "One of our best," she said with equally rare pride and praise in her voice. "I would have accepted him without the recommendation on the part of your man had I not received one."

Tom's head was beginning to slowly spin. The cool face that he'd been perfecting over the years since immature boyhood on the cusp of manhood was beginning to melt away as it struck him that he might just be able to work on a case to find his missing best friend and not be a complete deadweight.

"We can't guarantee a return date." The man warned. "I wouldn't want to take a valuable asset off your hands in case something happens." Were she not in a more professional setting she would have snorted derisively, Tom could just tell, and instead settled for straightening her shoulders.

"He is a valuable member of the team, but that is not saying that he is the only valuable asset." She replied quite primly, as though the suggestion that everything rode on Tom's shoulders was a foolish assumption. She was doing it so he wouldn't get a swelled head, he knew.

It didn't work, he also knew. Just having received as little praise as her tone had earlier given, from such a woman as she, had already done its magic and Tom was practically beaming.

He composed himself when the man looked back at him, not completely composed though, having a small smile still on his face. "Would you be willing to join myself a few others in the search for your best friend? I cannot guarantee your safety, or a salary."

Tom was already nodding before he'd finished the question and moved to the warning.

"I'll do whatever it takes if that's what it will take." He affirmed, standing up when the man did, the woman following close behind.

"I'll tell the men when they get in that you're on extended leave for a mandatory vacation. Undetermined if you'll ever return. You will receive no salary." She informed Tom succinctly, staying on her side of the desk.

Tom nodded, barely able to contain his excitement. "Yes, M'am, I understand, M'am. Thank you—"

"Silence." She barked and he fell silent obediently, buzzing with energy even as his lips snapped shut. She turned to the man. "Good day, Mr. Daniels, I wish you good fortune in the search for this Alex Rider."

Mr. Daniels bowed his head. "Thank you, M'am, for allowing us the use of Mr. Harris. Good day indeed." He said with the pleasant smile of his when he straightened.

"Thanks, M'am, I'll be back. Tell Lorenzo we'll have to postpone our game, won't you?" Tom grinned at the unimpressed woman. "I'll do my best, make the Chelsea Police Department proud."

She just gave him a look that said You had better.

Whew. Will you look at that.

This update is for giverofgrace for giving me the rude awakening I so desperately needed. Having been lost in a sea of homework and church work and after school work I've been justifying not updating. And the review giverofgrace sent me, so full of blunt reality, set that straight.

So here it is! Yay! Second chapter! It will indeed be a 'OMGosh they're different sides and Tom is bat crap awesome and Alex...Alex needs to get a hobby' story. But perhaps not to those exact parameters...:D

Thanks for all the reviews for the first chapter and I cannot trully express my regret that I couldn't update sooner and gratefullness that someone had the balls to make me feel like a reprimanded child again. (Justly so!)

Love you all and thanks again!

-Fridgeworks.