A/N: Hi everyone! First of all, I'd like to say an extra special thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and have stuck with me for this long. I'd like to say a pre-emptive thanks to everyone who reviews this chapter for sticking with me even longer.
Thankfully, I'm drawing close to the end of uni so I'm more likely to be updating, now that I have no coursework and only one exam left to worry about. Well, that and getting a job. Which isn't going so well. Anyone know any job openings that are based in the K, but allow me to travel? Preferably something exciting and both physically and intellectually demanding. And don't say spy. I learnt my lesson from Alex Rider. :P
Also, apparently that whole thing of delete the last section, if you have writer's block, really works! Just saying.
So yeah, enjoy the chapter!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing you recognise.
-o-O-o-
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Alex raised an eyebrow. "Aww, sweetheart, didn't you miss me?"
Tom snarled and punched the assassin.
"That was for Yuri," he snapped. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"What, first you don't want me back, then you want to know where I've been?" said Alex, sarcastically, rubbing his jaw. He hadn't expected the punch; he had thought he was dealing with Tom-the-agent that he had met in Amsterdam, but apparently this was Tom-the-pissed-off-ex-best-friend. Or possibly Tom-the-pissed-off-fiancé-of-Yuri.
"I don't trust you," said Tom, softly.
"I don't blame you," said Alex. "Why did you come and see me?"
"Why did I..? Goddamn it Alex! You were my best friend. Of course I came to see you!"
Alex blinked. "Oh. You… you came to see me because you… wanted to?"
Tom sighed and ran a hand over his face. He didn't like how uncertain, how confused, Alex sounded about the idea.
"The last few years haven't been good to you, have they?" he said softly.
Alex shrugged. "I'm fine," he said.
"Yeah," snorted Tom. "Sure. Isn't that what you said when you were shot?"
Alex looked away.
"Why are you here, Alex? Really?"
Alex shrugged. "Guess I ran out of places to run to," he said finally.
-o-O-o-
"What do you make of our guest?" asked Mrs Jones.
"You're calling him a guest now?" said Tom, slightly disbelievingly.
"Well, what would you call him?" asked Jones, raising an eyebrow. She could ignore the lack of respect this once. "He is here willingly, or he wouldn't be here at all."
"He wants to be here, alright," said Tom. "But I don't think it's because he's run out of world. No offence, ma'am, but if Alex wanted to work for an intelligence agency, MI6 would be his last choice."
Mrs Jones frowned. "Byrne may have taken him, despite everything," she acknowledged, grudgingly. "Did he mention the boy at all?"
"No," said Tom. "But he'll be fine, wherever he is. Alex wouldn't kill a child."
"He threatened to when they first met," said Jones.
"But he didn't kill Agent Hargreaves," Tom pointed out. "Six months ago he was killing your agents as soon as they got close. Now, he tries not to."
"So what would you suggest?" asked Mrs Jones.
Tom shrugged. "Make him see a psychiatrist."
-o-O-o-
It had been two hours since anyone had been to see him, by now, and outside the window, it was getting dark. No one else would be visiting tonight.
He crossed to the window and slid it open. The flag was still there, and it was the work of a moment to jump out onto it, with seven years more experience. Now, he hooked a leg around it and swung his torso sideways until his fingers hooked the windowsill. He dragged himself across and pushed up the window with one hand. Not locked. Good.
He swung back and then swung towards the window and hooked both hands around the edge before dropping his legs from the pole.
He hissed as his weight was dumped onto his wrists, but used the swinging motion to hook a knee up next to them and lever himself through the opening.
He tumbled onto the carpet on the other side and gratefully shook out his wrists. A quick check confirmed that there was no camera in here, as his memory had predicted.
As his eyes finally settled on his objective, he slid into the chair next to it and stabbed at the power button. The monitor flickered to life and a password screen popped up. Alex sighed and reached for the keyboard. He'd have to hack in, and hope that Smithers wouldn't cotton on.
It took him twenty minutes to get passed the firewall, but he doubt he would have managed it at all from an external site. He avoided all the mission files, that would get him caught in moments, instead he booted up the calendar to look for available rooms. It was all kinds of wrong that cells were marked on here, he thought, but at the moment it was playing right into his hands.
There were three cells – two on the tenth floor, and one marked manually on the fifteenth. At a guess, he would think that that might be his temporary room. He was about to close the calendar when a box in the corner caught his eyes. Interrogation 1 and 2 were in alternate use.
Well, that would be David. Poor kid.
He shut down the computer and began to plot the best way down to the basement when he heard footsteps scuff passed the door, and the clink of metal on wood, as if cutlery had been placed on a tray.
They were actually feeding him?
With a hushed curse, he slipped back out of the window and across the flagpole to his uncle's former office. He'd just slid the window closed when the door opened.
"Dinner," muttered the guard, curtly, putting the tray down on the table.
"Thanks," said Alex with a small smile that the guard didn't return. The guard left and Alex sagged in his chair. He'd eat in a minute. First, he had to close Crawley's window.
-o-O-o-
It's just painkillers, Good Cop insisted in David's hazy memory. Don't worry. Just relax.
The needle sliding in and blood beading from the puncture. Then the pain rushed out and this haziness rushed in. The room was rocking around him and he felt as if he were dreaming.
The door opened and he flinched back, praying for Good Cop and dreading Sparks or Tan.
He stared at the figure in the door way, his hair shining like gold and warm brown eyes focused on him.
"David?" said the figure. "Fucking Hell, David. What did they do to you?"
"Sir?" asked David, as Thanatos slid in and out of focus. "You're shining."
"Ah shit," cursed Thanatos under his breath. "They drugged you as well, huh?"
David didn't respond, simply curling into his teacher's shoulder. He was safe now.
"No, David, don't sleep. I need you to walk for me."
Don't sleep. David could do that. Thanatos was going to rescue him, he would stay awake and he could walk.
"Up you get."
A strong shoulder was levering him up and David sighed happily. "Come on, David. You're safe now."
He wasn't sure what David had been given, but the boy was curling into his shoulder and purring like a cat. It made Alex feel faintly ridiculous, and only the horrendous injuries on the boy had stopped him from shaking the kid off.
He manoeuvred the pair of them out and down the narrow corridor, eyeing the wall where he was fairly sure the hidden doorway to the stairs was.
He had no idea how to access it, though the other side had been easy enough. Just as he was considering the problem, the lift dinged and he raised a gun in the direction of the opening doors.
"Alex," said Mrs Jones, calmly, two burly men stepping out behind her. Beside him, David whimpered and one of the men smirked. Alex scowled.
"Torturing kids again, Jones?" he asked, coldly.
Mrs Jones smiled and took a step forward. "I have to admit, I wasn't sure you would recognise the effects."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "Come any closer and I shoot," he said, raising the gun to point at her.
"He can't take out both of us, ma'am," said one of the henchman, stepping up beside her, but Mrs Jones raised a hand.
"Trust me when I say he can," said the woman, softly.
"Recognise the effects of what?" asked Alex, his gun not wavering.
"Ah," said Jones. "So you didn't. He's drugged on the same subconscious-programmer as you were. We never did manage to get it to work on adults, though. They just aren't… flexible enough."
"You bitch," snarled Alex.
Mrs Jones simply tutted at the language, and turned sharply to the left. Alex's gun followed her, but she was only smoothing her skirt. Suspicious, Alex kept a close watch. That action wasn't within her usual repertoire. There was every chance it was a feint, trying to get something out of a hidden pocket.
Something sharp stung his neck.
Or it could be a distraction, he realised.
With a snarl, he shot the two agents in the head, barely noticing David's whimper of relief.
"Where are the stairs?" he asked, pointing the gun at her.
She moved for the gun in the small of her back, but Alex shot it out of her hand.
"Now, Jones," he snapped. The sting in his neck had to be some sort of dart, he realised, but did not have a free hand to remove it with.
He could ask David, but he was loath to interact with the teen more than necessary now he knew what they had drugged him with.
Mrs Jones was eyeing him warily and when he gestured towards her with the gun, she backed up and crossed to the wall, holding her badge to a section that didn't seem any different to any other part. There was a click and the wall swung open.
"Over there," he snarled, gesturing to the far wall with his gun. She obeyed warily.
"Get behind me, kid," murmured Alex, slowly de-tangling David. "Start up the stairs, I'll catch up."
With one hand now free, he tugged the dart out of his neck and pocketed it, before grabbing the edge of the door.
"Throw me your pass," he said.
"You're not going to get far," said Jones, softly. "The boy is drugged into insensibility and you're going to be experiencing some nasty side effects soon."
"Like what?" asked Alex, refusing to let his nerves show.
"Flashbacks. Hallucinations. A lot of pain, I would imagine. That was the antidote to the drug we gave him. Well, I say antidote. It won't do much for him until the drug wears off initially.
Alex snarled. "Throw me your pass," he repeated.
"No," she said, calmly. "You're going to be doing a very good impression of a madman in about thirty seconds. I would like to see you try to escape then."
"Now," snarled Alex, but she didn't move.
He pursed his lips and fired. Call it sentimentality, but once upon a time she had helped him, when he had needed it most and he didn't want to kill her. Instead, the bullet struck her knee cap, shattering it instantly and making her slump over with a raw cry of pain.
Quickly, Alex crossed to her and took her badge before checking for a radio, but there was none.
"Thanks," he said, calmly, before crossing to the door and slamming it behind him.
He caught David up half way to the ground floor, clutching at his ribs.
"I need you to move faster, David," said Alex softly. "I know it hurts, but it will hurt a hell of a lot more if we get shot."
David swallowed and began to run up the stairs, Alex right behind him.
He pushed David on up past the ground floor. He wanted to dive across the reception area and out into the streets, but that would just lead to a chase through London, most likely with bullet wounds from security in the bank. They would be expecting him to go that way.
Instead, the two of them carried on up and Alex thanked God that MI6 didn't want video proof of what went on within their walls. The cells, reception area and exterior were covered, as well as numerous security protocols on the lift, but there were no cameras. MI6 would know they were in the stairs, but not which floor they would come out at.
Even as they ran, eight agents came through the doorway from the ground floor and Alex cursed silently, pushing David to move faster.
A flash of pain shot up his arm and Alex jerked to look at it. Was this the drug?
There was no cut, no tension, nothing that could explain the pain that had gone as quickly as it came.
But he didn't have the luxury of worry right now. The stairwell was well lit and they had no chance of hiding. They had to outrun these men.
Or did they? The door to the seventh floor was coming up rapidly. They could cut through to the northern staircase. Alex dived at the door and shoved David through it. He had barely closed it behind them before he heard the men round the corner and continue on up.
He sighed. They could not stop long, but he wanted to check David over, quickly, if he could.
He turned towards the teen, but staggered back as he was faced with the cold white of an interrogation cell. With a pained whimper, he shook his head and the corridor came back into view. Were these the hallucinations that Jones had mentioned?
"David, look at me a moment," he instructed, brushing the issue aside until he was safe. The boy's pupils were dilated with the drug and he was still curling into Alex as if the blond was his own personal security blanket.
"Crap," muttered Alex, before moving on to the purely physical aspect of the exam. A quick hand down either arm revealed no injuries, while the inspection on the boy's legs only produced a moan that Alex was trying really hard not to think about because it was definitely not pain and he didn't want to deal with anything else. He thought the teen's ribs might be cracked, but he couldn't wrap them here.
Fire ran down his back and he couldn't hold back a whimper.
Shut it boy, hissed a voice. Look at you. Weak. Useless. Can't even stop crying.
"Shut up!" snapped Alex, viciously shaking and clutching at his head. He had to get out of here.
There was a click of a gun loading and Alex looked up.
"Tom," he whispered, forcing himself to his feet.
-o-O-o-
A/N: So...? Good? Bad? Review and let me know. I'm interested to see what you make of drugged!David. I had a few issues with writing him. And sorry, guess Good Cop wasn't so good after all.