Author's Note:

Nothing much to talk about this time, though Sho-dono may have something so…

vice17 – Just trust me on this but thanks for the compliment on Kia. You're not going to believe what were going to do with her. *evil grin* (Sho-dono: don't you dare take credit for her, she was my idea! Shiinmaru-dono: I'm not!)

Soul of an Elemental Alchemist – Yeah, that wasn't a very intense form of suicide. I can think of a dozen or so other methods to use that are more "intense" that was simply the most efficient method I could think of without access to pills. Besides, doesn't everyone know the phrase "horizontal for hospital; downward for death"?

Not all that much to talk about either except that I am beginning to truly hate the place I am currently living. Despite having access to huge amounts of books and the like it's boring and the bathrooms are community style so you can just imagine the kind of s*** that goes on in there. Well I'm done with my rant and now on with the fic! (We do not own Alex Rider or any other recognizable characters in the story, they belong to A. Horowitz.)

Chapter 3

Alex opened his eyes carefully; this was the second time in as many weeks that he felt surprised at being alive. That was probably the first sign that he needed help but he just couldn't find the energy to care. A shuffling sound to his right drew his eyes to see Kia sitting there, only now she had a muzzle and leash tied to the headboard of Alex's bed.

Alex shifted and nearly screamed when he felt his shoulder brush across the sheets.

"She clawed through the door and dragged you of the tub by your shoulder before she began barking. That was beyond stupid, kid," Yassen's voice was cold and it took everything in the ex-spy not to cry. I screwed up...he'll want me to leave...I'm alone again...

Yassen lifted one of Alex's hands showing him the bandaged around his wrist before sitting down on the edge of the bed once more. "Normally, when a teenager tries to commit suicide they are thrown into therapy. But I don't think that will work with you." He gave Alex an even look, "I've impressed upon Kia that you are, for all intents and purposes, one of her own. She'll stay with you and keep you from doing anything stupid again." He glared at the wolf who lowered her head submissively.

The teen didn't respond.

A long suffering sigh escape Yassen, "Why are you doing this, Rider? You're free from MI6 and dead to the world; you can do anything you want with your life and you just want to die. Explain this to me, now."

"You don't understand," he rasped, another three days of unconsciousness weighed on his voice. "Freedom has come with a price that I never wanted to pay." He closed his eyes, "You don't understand, Yassen."

Yassen sighed heavily, "I watched my parents be murdered when I was fourteen," Alex froze eyes widening, "We had lived in a small town in the northern plains of Russia, isolated for the most part. It took me a year to find my way to Moscow where a SCORPIA recruiter found me. I started training at Malogosto three weeks later. I have known nothing else since. I did not have a grounding force to keep me in touch with others. I have only been free of SCORPIA for four years, and the price I had to pay for even that..." Yassen paused and sighed, "You think I don't understand?"

"It's not the same price, Yassen. The pain is similar but the price is different."

"How is it different Alex?"

Alex clenched his eyes shut tightly, "Please don't ask me that." Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.

Yassen gazed at Alex silently, "If you cannot speak as to how they are different then you can't say that they are different can you?" His voice was perfectly reasonable, almost clinical.

Alex bit his lip to muffle a sob before he simply broke down. The assassin stood up and walked towards the door. "It doesn't matter anymore...I've already lost the last thing I had left..."

Yassen paused and tilted his head slightly, "You may think that, but you would be wrong." He left once more. There was a pause before Kia hauled herself up onto the bed and proceeded to lick at Alex's hands and face kindly.

"He still doesn't understand," he sobbed. "But you get it, don't you, Kia? Because you would be in the same place as me." Alex buried his face the wolf's soft fur and continued to mourn.

Kia whined and lay down across Alex's thighs. Alex continued to sob even as his breath started coming in sharp gasps as his shoulder and chest began to ache once again. The ache became agony as his wrists joined the chorus of pain. The choking gasps and cries became more difficult. A particularly hard sob tore the stitches in his chest and a red stain bloomed across his shirt. The next gasp caught in his throat as the air left his lungs. Pain was everywhere and a cacophony of shrill beeps and sirens blared in his ears as lost consciousness a third time. I'm sorry...

Later that night Yassen sighed as he watched over the ex-spy. Kia was stretched out next to the boy on the bed, apparently having decided that he was one of her own more so than what Yassen had previously impressed on her. Even though Alex had torn his stitches, forcing Yassen to sew him back up, the assassin was having a hard time getting angry with him.

Even in sleep, Alex's face was contorted in sorrow. He was only seventeen and everything he'd ever known was gone. The assassin tiredly scrubbed a hand over his face; Alex was right, he didn't understand. Was the kid's job so important that he'd kill himself over the loss of it? No, that didn't make sense; the last Rider had always hated working for MI6. Then what was it? It was tied up in spying, that much he could understand. But what was this price that Alex hadn't ever wanted to pay; what was so horrible he'd rather be bound to MI6 than be forced to bear it? And the look of utter defeat and agony in the teen's eyes when he'd compelled his voice to be cold in order not to snap at the young man was heartbreaking. What was going on?

There were times that Yassen truly did not understand others, not that he had tried to in the past, it only made the job more difficult, but now he wished he had.

"Mmmmnnnn, no, please don't – I swear–!" mumbled the young man in front of him, clearly in the grips of some nightmare. "Please! Please don't – don't want to be alone again. Please! I'll do – anything, anything – just don't! Leave me again." Sobs racked his frail frame again; the bullet wound, attempted suicide, and the torn stitches only compounded upon each other. Between the cries and pleas rattling coughs and gasping wore down the already tired body; a delirious fever further fueled the terrors clawing at Alex Rider's tumultuous mind.

Slowly Yassen leaned forward and gripped the sides of the teens head in an attempt to still his thrashing, "ALEX!" he shouted as the boy continued to flail, "Calm down, little Alex. Shhhh," Yassen tried to dredge up faint memories of his own time when ill, being cared for by John Rider, Alex's father. They were faint and very fuzzy but the gist was clear.

"Please! Pleasepleasepleaseplease! Please don't leave me. I'm sorry; . I'm sorry; please don't go. I won't do it again so please don't go. NO! Nonononononononono, NO! YASSEN!" Alex screamed, arching painfully and tearing his stitches again.

With a muttered curse Yassen woke Kia and made her lay atop Alex to keep him still while the Russian pressed his hand against the injury, trying to stem the blood flow, "For the love of God, boy, stay still!" He finally shouted and for some reason Alex began to calm enough that Yassen was able to fashion a quick tourniquet to stem the blood flow long enough to grab his suture kit and to turn up the morphine drip to cast Alex into a deeper sleep.

"M'sowwy, Yassen. I keep skewwing up," Alex slurred still deep in the nightmare but falling into a deeper, dreamless slumber. The assassin sighed tiredly as he slumped back in the chair. Things were just getting more confusing with each passing second.

The next morning Yassen awoke when someone touched to his knee. His response was automatic; he grabbed the hand and twisted it sharply. Alex's sharp cry of surprise broke through his brief second of instinct and he immediately let go of the wrist.

The damage was done though: Alex was curled in on himself, whimpering and mumbling deliriously; his fever igniting deeper self-hatred within the young man. The wrist was bleeding again and was twisted in nauseating way, clearly broken from Yassen's actions and coddled close to the blonde's chest. His eyes were glazed, telling of the deep sickness that could be heard wheezing from Alex's lips. Pneumonia had set in if the assassin had to guess.

Yassen mentally kicked himself and reached out to Alex, intent on fixing his wrist but Alex shied away from him, as if fearing the Russian would lash out again. Yassen cursed, he recognized these symptoms; Alex would be absolutely inconsolable until he recovered. With determinedly slow movements he stood and picked up the phone to call the doctor, again.