A/N: I think I may actually be going insane. Yesterday, I found myself trying to explain to my boyfriend what a Shakey day was and it only just occurred to me that not everyone has Shakey days. Guess it's just one more thing to make me Odd! But, it did inspire me to post this chapter – just so you could have an update before the men in white coats come to take me away.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise.

-o-O-o-

Alex waved Smithers out of the door and went back to the kitchen.

He efficiently whisked the abandoned mugs of tea from the table to the sink and went to store the briefcase and file in the Snug, his thoughts racing.

Something was obviously going very, very wrong at MI6, and if Alex was right, Smithers had only scratched the tip of the iceberg.

Alan Blunt had supposedly retired. In public, Alex was sure that was true. Smithers wouldn't lie to him of his own volition, and neither Blunt nor Jones were idiotic enough to try and tell him that Blunt didn't work there when he had had a meeting with the man.

So, Smithers, one of the key players at MI6 thought that the man had left.

Crowley, Blunt's lackey, knew otherwise, and would probably have a great deal more information, but how to get it from him?

Interrogation would get him nowhere without… indecent motivation, which he refused to use, and he doubted he would be able to capture Crawley anyway – not without drawing suspicion certainly.

Hacking wouldn't work. Nothing was hidden from Smithers on the network at MI6. If he hadn't found it, it wasn't there. And he obviously hadn't found it.

Perhaps, he was best off trying to work out why Blunt had/had not retired.

It could simply be that he had destroyed his reputation so thoroughly that he had been forced to retire – which had sounded like the case – then why hadn't he retired in truth? He was obviously getting on in life – and not just for a spy. Alex would have thought that the man would be looking forward to sometime with the fate of the world not hanging in the balance. God knows, that was how Alex had felt when he went back to school. Why would he want to run MI6 through Jones like a puppet master?

And if Blunt was the puppet master, did that make Jones little more than a puppet?

Alex blinked at the thought, then frowned as he realised he was holding a cloth in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant in the other. Cleaning had always helped him organise his thoughts, but he seldom started doing it subconsciously. He surveyed his handiwork with a critical eye. The kitchen had not been exactly dirty to start with, but there was a definite improvement. He doubted that F-Unit would complain, anyway.

Sighing, he stowed the bottle and cloth under the sink and turned to lean against the counter. That lasted barely two seconds before he began pacing.

What he was sorely lacking was information. Some of it would be in the file Smither's had brought over and more between the lines information would be available from whatever Hawk and Jackal managed to obtain, but he doubted that that would be enough. If this was related to the reason K-Unit and D-Unit had disappeared, the reason Eagle had died, then he needed to get to the bottom of it.

Christ! This was getting him nowhere. He could find out more just walking up to Jones and asking her.

Alex stopped dead. It couldn't be that simple, could it?

-o-O-o-

The call had come in half an hour ago. Two wrecked cars at a traffic light, only one with people in. John couldn't quite let that part go. The car had to have had a driver, but whoever it was had vanished without a trace. He shook his head. He was well known for his like of conspiracy theories, but he wasn't here to play at being a cop.

The ambulance stopped and John leapt out, his partner, Sarah, at his side. Ahead of him Gerry and Kyle were already checking the pulse of the driver, so he ran to the passenger side. A soldier, in dress uniform, was passed out in the seat. Blood was staining his front and his skin was pale, but there was no immediately obvious wound. He couldn't say whether that was a good or bad thing.

"Sir, can you hear me?" shouted Sarah, but there was no response.

"He's got a pulse," said John, calmly, being careful not cut himself on the shattered glass of the window. "No response to pain," he added, pinching the man's ear. "Can we get this bloody door off, yet?"

On the far side of the car, Gerry and Kyle had already opened the driver's door, and pulled the man out. From the look of it, he had a fairly serious head injury, and some nasty burns from the airbag, but it could have been a whole lot worse. The airbag on the passenger side had failed to deploy, and he could move the soldier until he knew if there was a neck injury. Which he couldn't do with a useless, twisted sheet of metal blocking his way.

"I'll go around," muttered Sarah, and disappeared from his back.

Moments later, she appeared on the other side of the soldier, skilled hands running down his neck and over joints.

"I'm not sure about his ribs," she said, "And something has happened to his shoulder. His nose is broken – I think that's the blood. But his neck it fine. We can move him."

"Kyle! Get over here, we need a hand!" hollered Sarah. She reached over and unclipped the seat belt as John used his elbow to push the rest of the glass through the window.

"Yours good to go?" he asked, as Kyle appeared at his shoulder.

"Let's just worry about yours," said Kyle, as Sarah began to lift his hips.

With synchronicity born of months working together, Kyle and John slid the soldier gently through the window and lowered him to the ground.

"Right," said Kyle. "We better get them both to the hospital. I'll see you there, mate."

Kyle dashed back to his ambulance, and Sarah helped John slide the soldier onto a stretcher and lift him up. As the ambulance doors closed, John cast one dark look at the side of the car, and the fender imprint there. No way had this been an accident.

-o-O-o-

The moment following Alex's bombshell was shattered by the ringing of a phone, with Cougar following quickly on it's heels to answer it. He cast an appraising eye at the kitchen, raised an eyebrow at Alex, then picked up.

"Yes? What? Yes, of course. We'll be right there."

He hung up.

"That was the hospital," he explained. "Hawk and Jackal were in a car accident. I'll go and get Hawk. We need to head get there. Are you...?"

"I'll come with you," sad Alex, firmly, hoping the tone would hide the ice sinking into his stomach.

"Good," said Cougar, scraping a hand through his hair. "That's good. Get a coat and we'll go."

-o-O-o-

At the hospital, Alex hung back while Cougar and Otter went in to see their teammates. It wasn't that he wasn't close to them - he was; he'd trained with them after all, and when they found him alive when sent to retrieve his body from the bottom of the ledges, it had only made them closer - but he still wasn't part of their unit. And unit was family.

Instead, he waited outside the door, his back and one foot pressed casually against the wall, and his eyes scanning the corridor.

He would not blame himself for this. He wanted to, but they had made a choice to help. He would not take that right away from them by blaming himself.

But there was still no way this was an accident. It was too convenient.

He looked up as he heard someone approaching.

A policeman stood there, watching him.

"Don't go in yet," said Alex, quietly. "Not if you want anything useful. Cougar and Otter will be really over protective and aggressive and Hawk and Jackal are in no state to answer anyway."

"Would you care to answer some questions, then, son?"

Alex shrugged. "Erm, sure, I guess. I don't really know that much though."

"Good lad," smiled the police officer. "I think that room is empty, shall we talk in there?"

Alex frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the men in the room behind him.

"Why do we have to go anywhere?" he asked, warily.

"I just don't want anyone to interrupt us when we talk, Alex. No need to worry."

"I thought it was only a few questions? Wait... How do you know my name?"

Something in the man's face flickered and Alex edged away from him and pushed off the wall.

"I think I'd like to see some ID, now," he said quietly.

The man sighed.

"You just had to go and be suspicious, didn't you, Rider? Come with me into this nice empty room and no one has to get hurt."

"No way in hell," snapped Alex.

The man sighed again and drew a gun.

"Now, Rider. Unless you want me to start shooting the nurses."

-o-O-o-

A/N: See? I'm not mean enough to kill off those two so soon!

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