"Hey, Sweets!" Booth called from his office as he saw the younger man in the hall.

"Booth."

"You got a second to talk?"

"Yeah. Should I?" Sweets gestured to the door.

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"The kid."

"You know I can't talk about that."

"My clearance is high."

"Not that high."

Booth paused for a moment, contemplating. Then reached a decision.

"When he left your office, he didn't go back to their motel until yesterday around four."

"What? Why?"

"How am I supposed to know? He had been drinking, at some point. James said he could smell the alcohol on him."

"He's seventeen!"

"James informed me that I was welcome to take him in, but he'd be out within the hour and my career would be over."

"Wow. Just- You didn't bring him in?" Sweets asked incredulously, completely taken a back.

"No. I doubt my jurisdiction extends to mysterious British teens with friends in high places."

"I doubt it does. They wouldn't give me his file, even with my new clearance."

"He's the one that got you that clearance. Before he knew why James wanted him to get it for you, of course."

Sweets took a moment to digest the new information.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"'Cause James is a good guy. His teammates, too. They're tearing themselves apart over this kid."

"You're giving me all the information you have because you want me to help him."

"That'd be great, thanks Sweets." Booth said, grinning. "Now, this case..."


James jumped out of bed at the sound of the first gunshot and had his own gun out by the second. He tumbled out of the motel room, boots on but unlaced, at the same time as the others.

The third shot rang out and the unit ran as one towards the sound of it. Towards Cub's room.

Wolf kicked down the door and rushed in and- froze.

Cub had his gun out. Pointed right at Wolf's face.

"Easy, Cub. Stand down."

There was no recognition in his eyes, just fear.

"It's going to be okay." Cub said hoarsely. "It's going to be okay. I promise."

"Cub?" Eagle tried.

"Alex?"

Nothing.

"I promise, I promise, I promise,"

Cub's hand was shaking and he shifted his grip to hold the gun with two hands instead of his usual one handed pose of bravado.

"He's hallucinating." Fox whispered.

"I promise I promise I promise." His voice was rough and uneven, eyes wide and bright.

"What do we do?" Wolf asked, not really expecting an answer.

"Waxaan balanqaadayaa, waxaan balanqaadayaa, waxaan ku dhaaranayaa on noloshayda, aad noqon doontaa in ay caadi yihiin." His voice broke. "Waxaan balan qaaday, waxaan balan qaaday, waxaan balan qaaday, waxaan balan qaaday, waxaan balan qaaday."

His hands rose and pressed against the sides of his head as if he was trying to block out noise.

"Waan ka xumahay, waan ka xumahay, waxaan ahay uga xumahay, waan ka xumahay, xumahay, xumahay, xumahay, xumahay."

"Cub? Alex? Put the gun down, Cub."

"Hoos geliya qoriga, hoos geliya qoriga, hoos geliya qoriga, hoos geliya qoriga. Xumahay, waxaan ahay uga xumahay, waxaan ahay uga xumahay, waxaan ahay uga xumahay."

Wolf lowered his own gun to the floor and approached slowly.

"Cub, kid, it's alright, just put it down, okay?"

He looked Wolf in the eyes and he looked so goddamned young. And yet so very old.

"It's me, Cub, it's James, Wolf. It's me."

"Waxaan- I- he-"

In one fluid movement the kid brought his gun down, spun around and-

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANGBANG

Emptied his clip into the wall.

And stood, shoulders heaving, breath ragged, gun hanging by his side.

"Leave."

"Cub-"

"Leave."

"We're not going to lea-"

"Leave right now, Wolf, or I swear to God, I will blow you to Tokyo."

"Your clip's empty."

His left hand reached for the pocket of his jacket, hanging over a chair.

"Just give me the gun, Cub. We'll go, just give me the gun."

Cub pulled his hand back and brought it up to his face, his shoulders shuddering slightly. Then he turned around and tossed the pistol onto the carpet at Wolf's feet.

"The other one, too."

Cub walked over to his backpack and pulled out his spare, keeping the maximum distance between himself and the unit. He tossed it so that it slid across the floor.

He finally faced them, standing tall but still shaking, and pulled together all the composure he had left.

"Excuse me. I have to make a few calls, someone will have heard that."


It was one a.m. and Lance Sweets was awake. Not that that was especially weird. He would occasionally get up for a drink of water at about that time. No, the weird thing was that Alex Rider was sitting in his kitchen when he came out to get the water.

Lance just about had a heart attack.

He wasn't quite aware that he was there, Lance didn't think. He looked as though he was fighting for consciousness with all he had. His eyes were red and he was in the same clothes he'd worn in Lance's office three days earlier. His blond hair was sticking in every direction. As Lance watched, his head nodded downwards, eyes slipped shut. Then he jerked back awake.

"Alex."

He jumped and whipped his head around so fast he probably had whiplash, hand reaching for the place on his hip where- where a pistol could be strapped. There wasn't one, though. Not at the moment. Alex realized this as well, and stopped the motion before it could be completed. He ran a hand over his eyes.

"Lance. I- I should- this was a mistake, I-" the kid said, voice weary. He stumbled when he tried to get up, catching himself on the edge of the table before he fell.

Lance was at his side in an instant, pushing him back into the chair.

"Sit. Stay. I- When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't know."

"Guess."

"Last night. Two nights ago? I'm trying. Wolf doesn't think I'm trying."

"For how long?"

"An hour. Maybe."

"And before that?"

"I don't know. I can't remember. I can't remember anything. I can't think straight."

"That's what happens when you're severely sleep deprived."

"I don't- I'm trying, I just- God, I just want to sleep." His voice cracked at the end. He took a deep breath and exhaled roughly. "Do you have any vodka?"

"No. No, I don't have any vodka."

"Dammit." he sighed brokenly.

"Do you want to talk about your sleeping problem or your alcohol problem?"

"Neither."

"Why did you come here? How did you even find out where I live?"

The kid closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with each hand.

"I have flashbacks. Hallucinations."

"Oh. Okay. That's a common side effect of sleep deprivation."

"I almost shot James."

"That... is not a common side effect."

"I just- I didn't even see him, I was just sitting there, trying not to fall asleep, and a car backfired outside. And the next thing I know I'm in Somalia and there's a man with a gun held to a boy's head and I just- I just can't-

He took another big, shuddering breath.

"He died. He died, and I was there, and I told him he was going to be okay, I promised him. God, I promised him."

"There was a noise. I don't know, it could've been a gunshot. I was talking the shooter down and he heard the noise. He flinched. He just flinched. And the kid died and I shot. He was a kid. Probably younger than me. A child soldier. Forced into service and I shot him dead in the street and I don't- I can't- I can't sleep and I can't eat and I just- I'm just so tired. And I can't keep anything down and I just-

"And the next thing I know I'm in a motel room with a gun in my hand and Wolf's right there and God, I don't even remember him coming in and I just- I-I-"

He swallowed hard, eyes wild.

"Just make it go away. I don't care, I don't care, they'll hate me but I don't care, I don't have to care, I just- I- I just want to sleep."

He was shaking and his face was white and he was seventeen.

"Just fix it, goddammit, that's what you're supposed to do, just-"

He took another breath and looked up at Lance.

"It doesn't work like that, Alex." he said quietly.

The kid choked out a humorless laugh.

"I know."

And the dam broke. Lance moved his chair closer and put a hand on the kid's shoulder while he sobbed, feeling extremely awkward, but knowing the kid needed the physical indication of support.

Alex stiffened slightly when he made contact, in the midst of fighting to get back under control. He shrugged off Lance's arm as he wiped his eyes once he'd reined in the tears, but gave him a quick look of acknowledgment.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lance asked after a moment.

Alex raised a brow.

"I'm guessing that's a no."

Lance didn't know it was possible for a grunt to be sarcastic, but Alex Rider did it anyway.

Silence reigned for a few moments.

"James and the others wouldn't go through this much trouble to get you help if they didn't care about you enough to not abandon you."

The blond sighed and leaned back in his chair. He cracked a still-watery smile.

"The question remains, though, if they are going though all this for me, or if my superior put them up to it."

"That's ridiculous, Alex."

"And yet my superior has pulled worse things before."

"I haven't met the others, but James cares."

"I know. I think I know." Alex repeated tiredly. "So why can't I stop feeling like there are other circumstances?"

"Someone left you. Someone you trusted."

Alex gave him a sharp look.

"This is why I don't like shrinks."

Lance let the silence toll.

"My uncle, I suppose." Alex admitted. "And Jack, my- I don't even know. Sister, I guess. Adoptive sister. And I suppose my parents. And... I had an adoptive family for a while. Not long, but I suppose..." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "I really do need a shrink, don't I?"

Lance laughed.

"I suppose you do. Why don't you tell me about them?"

The younger man gave Lance a dubious look, but started anyway.

"My uncle's name was Ian. He was a spy. . ."

Almost an hour later, Lance slipped Alex's limp arm around his shoulders and guided him to the couch. He wasn't really awake, and he almost pulled Lance to the ground a couple times, but they made it.

A blanket thrown found in the recesses of a closet was thrown over the sleeping form and Lance dragged himself to his own bed, haunted by the look on the teenager's face as he told his first tale.

He probably didn't even know the full extent of why Somalia had messed him up so bad.

A child soldier. Forced into service and I shot him dead in the street.

Might as well have shot himself.


A/N: Epilogue to follow.