Part nine of End of the Road.

[One week later…]

"Ahh," he groaned as the third set of stitches was tugged from his right leg. The jagged gash had been a long one, and the stitching equally so. "Don't they have dissolving, oww, stitches nowadays?"

"Yes, you even have some imbedded beneath the ones I'm takin' out right now," Dr. Reynolds patiently explained, keeping his eyes on the curved tweezers he was twisting and pulling around. "I was told to layer extra stitches over the original ones. If you'd stop runnin' around, there wouldn't be this many to remove."

Fox agreed. "He's got a point there, Alex."

"I didn't do anything!"

"That's not how Wolf puts it."

The teenager groaned. "Really. You got injured more than me and everyone complains that I'm out of bed or walking."

"I don't look like an animated corpse or Frankenstein's monster."

This situation wouldn't have been so maddening if the first thing he had woken up to was a set of handcuffs securing one arm to the side of the hospital bed and another around his opposite ankle. If he needed a restroom break, there was a wheelchair folded up in the corner and Fox had the key on a chain around his neck. The older spy hadn't left the room to his knowledge.

"How long am I going to be immobilized? At least let me walk around before I go insane."

"I'm sure Snake won't mind if you go home in another…oh, three weeks provided things go well and the patient behaves himself."

"What? Tha—ahh! What are you doing?"

"The same thing I've been workin' on for the last hour," Dr. Reynolds muttered. With a last inspection of his work, he applied a thin layer of gauze as he had four times already to his chest and back, left arm, stomach and left leg. "And that's all I can do for now. As your medic friend suggested, a surgery on your knee would be the best suggestion n' if you're in the mood for mass fixin's all at once, the left side of your pelvis should be corrected n' reset."

Alex nodded, which was difficult to tell as he was currently laying on his right forearm, careful not to disturb the bandaging around his recently unstitched left one, a blanket covering him from his bare knees to his shoulders. All hospitals are cold, whether from a constantly below-freezing temperature or because all the patients are stuck in nightgowns that never seem to fit. At St. Dominics, the pale blue gown was just his size and thick enough to actually feel like clothing, so the blame was entirely on the air conditioner blasting out arctic air.

"Other than that, you're doin' surprisingly well. No infections, no need for blood trans, all your stitchin's are out, and none of your friends are goin' to let you so much as bend over for the next month. One thing I need to know before I can put up the next round of painkillers is if you've had a tetanus shot within the past five years. If not, I'll have to order one."

"Two years ago. Last time I was here, they gave me one while treating the burns on my shoulders."

The doctor flipped through the patient file he had brought in, scanning back through the records to the date mentioned. "Same time you came in with the fractured ankle?"

"That would be it."

"Hmm. Someone forgot to write it down, I guess. Obviously wasn't me." He muttered the last part as an aside to some invisible audience. "That's one thing off the list, then. I'll be back with your next rack of drugs in a couple minutes 'n see if there's an openin' in Teresa's schedule for Operatin' Room 3." As if he were a Roman emperor stepping from his throne, the doctor flourished his white coat behind him as he departed from his patient's room*.

Alex stared at the gauze covering every limb except his right arm, which had escaped injury for the sole purpose of it being his shooting arm. He lightly jingled the metal bracelet pinning him on his stomach. "Can I get up, now?"

"I don't know. Can you?" Fox was having much too much fun abusing his power as the bearer of the key.

Growling under his breath, the handcuffs jingled louder. "I am going to kill you the minute Snake lets me free."

"Which gives me another month, if I don't tell him that you've been exerting yourself more than you should."

"You wouldn't!"

"I would, as a matter of fact." But Alex couldn't see the smile that crossed his face as he stood, pulling the chain from his neck and unlocking the cuff. When the teenager had gotten comfortable on his back, the link was immediately secured around the opposite rail. "I'm sure that as soon as he sees everything healing like it should, we can at least get rid of the handcuffs."

"I'd bet a tenner that it wasn't Snake who suggested the cuffs, Ben," he said almost accusingly.

Fox chortled, putting a receipt in his book to hold his page as he set it to the side. "Speaking of which, someone else has been trying to get in to your room to speak with you. I've told him that you need to sleep, and they have you on steady painkillers, but sooner or later he'll manage."

Shadows fell back over the teenager's eyes and his head thumped back against the pillow. "Blunt."

"I didn't want to bother you with it before, you still recovering and all, but he needs a full report of…the time you were MIA."

"Yeah, because it all has to be recorded. Just like the rest of my life." Propping himself up on his good arm, he took a deep breath and asked, "Is K-Unit still here?"

"'Course. They haven't left. Wolf and Eagle insisted that their security isn't what it should be, so Eagle's been upgrading their systems and Wolf's been yelling at anyone who comes within range." The spy got up from his chair, bending this way and that to get the kinks from his back. Sleeping in plastic chairs, no matter how nice they might look on the surface, just doesn't agree with the human anatomy. "I doubt they'll be leaving anytime soon, if that's what you're wondering."

"I guessed as much," Alex said, glaring at the link around his wrist, like he could burn through it with his eyes. "Hey, Ben?"

"Mmm?"

"Uh, have you ever—"

A knock on the door, followed immediately by Dr. Reynolds entering the room, interrupted his line of speech. "Sorry to interrupt, but Teresa can fit you in so long as you get there within the next ten to fifteen minutes. And," he quickly went on, before either of them could speak up, "you have a guest. Make it quick. I'll be back." The good doctor skirted around the considerably taller man standing in the doorway before making his dramatic leave.

The bland, unassuming face of MI6's director, Alan Blunt, was that of someone who blended into the general majority of any city. He didn't dress expensively, nor the opposite, but his plain suits always fit like he had been born wearing them. This was the exact opposite of the stereotypical spy portrayed by James Bond. This was a married man with two beautiful children, who went to work in a nice car before his family woke, who told the same lies his uncle Ian had, and who would die in honor but anonymity. Only years after any connections to him had died, whether accidentally, naturally, or mysteriously, would the books be written, the stories told, and the man viewed in a new light.

But that was another story for another time. Now, all that mattered was that this 'banker' expected some answers.

"Blunt," he grimaced. "It's been too long."

"I should say the same, but this is not a time for formalities. Tell me everything." The cell phone peeking out from his pocket would ensure that anything not remembered could still be reheard, as all of the business phones handed out to MI6 employees were equipped with flashlights, black lights (to see blood in dark rooms), a GPS tracking system, miniature (but just as powerful) taser, and a recording device.

Pushing the button to elevate the back of his bed, letting him sit up without putting added stress on his back or stomach, and gathering the blanket to cover his cold arms, he glanced over at Fox. "I'd rather you not be in here, if you don't mind. Not that I don't want you to hear," he quickly added as his partner took on a hurt expression, "just that Blunt won't want to stop for Q&A. If you really want, I'll tell you after the surgery." His eyes were truthful, but he was hiding something too.

Still frowning, Fox stepped out as Alex addressed their mutual boss: "The nineteenth of July, I landed in Har—" Even as he was tempted to listen, he closed the door before the teenage spy could finish his sentence.

Wolf, their current 'guard', had dragged one of the benches over from another corridor to sit comfortably by Alex's door, coffee in one hand and the daily newspaper in the other. Lying upside down against the outside of his leg was a clipboard with the names and identification numbers of any personnel/visitors allowed into the room. Even Dr. Reynolds handed over his badge and recited from heart his MI6 ID before entering. K-Unit didn't plan on letting flies past their net. The only incident to date had been a flustered nurse, new to the facility, given the wrong room number. Scanning the vials and records she had had on her person, it was evident that her story was true. The vegetarian meal and high blood pressure medication would never have gotten past anyone, much less the patient himself.

Noticing the extra Styrofoam cup, the spy gratefully accepted the caffeine. "Anything?"

"Nope. Blunt have something to say too top-secret for you to hear?"

"Nope."

The soldier waited for details, but when it stayed silent, he looked back to the opposite wall. "Snake convinced Reynolds and surgeon what's-her-name to let him stand in the operating room, to watch for intentional mistakes or overdoses that the others would be too focused to notice."

"Good idea. Hadn't thought about that."

They sat in companionable silence, watching with irritation (and amusement, on Fox's part) as Eagle ran past at one point with a large lump on the back of his head and a tall blonde in mechanic's attire chasing after him, waving what appeared to be a wrench while swearing at the top of her lungs**, until Dr. Reynolds waved his badge impatiently in front of Wolf. Once the doctor had been cleared, he propped open the door. "Time to go!" he informed the room's inhabitants.

No more than a dozen words were exchanged before Blunt abandoned the scene, the typical blankness present tainted by the sense of relief. Dr. Reynolds had disengaged the bed's brakes and now rolled it from the room, aiming for the elevator. All the operating rooms were on the first floor, and the set of four rooms MI6 reserved for their agents was on the third. Fox felt his internal alarms sound as the doctor pressed an oxygen mask over Alex's face, and the normally jumpy teenager didn't react.

Keeping up with the doctor's rapid pace, Fox's question immediately got across to Dr. Reynolds. "His conversation musta been stressful, so knowin' his condition prior to surgery I thought it would be good to bring his heart rate back down. Anesthesia*** can react negatively in some cases and I didn't want to chance that happenin'."

"Oh. Umm, just checking."

"Paranoia," the doctor muttered in a knowing voice while pressing the 'DOWN' arrow. "Everyone should have a healthy dose. No apologies necessary."

"Also, where should the rest of us wait?"

"We have the general waitin' room out front, but seeing as we probably aren't supposed to be seen and all that sneakish sort, bein' a spy business after all, there's a staff lounge outside operatin' room 2 that anyone can lead you to."

Their reflections wavered on the metal doors as the elevator ascended the shaft and the doors slid sideways to let them enter. The doctor slid the ID card around his neck through the thin slit beside the control panel, instructions above reminding personnel that the elevator would not move until verifying the user's identity. When the columns of numbers glowed with the now-illuminated blue backlight, he stabbed a finger at the '1' and went back to holding the plastic see-through over the teenager's mouth and nose.

Over the doctor's large, long-fingered hand, Fox caught Alex's clouded eyes in his own. Despite the haze of sleep descending over the young spy, he managed to convey the message that the surgeon would need the cuffs taken off. Fox obliged albeit warily. He heard the elevator ding as it reached the first floor and watched as the doctor pushed the hospital bed toward a woman in a similar white coat, probably the Teresa he had mentioned was in charge of the surgery. Snake snuck out from the group to join the two, leaving two soldiers with nothing to do. (Eagle was still running for his life.)

Fox tapped a passing nurse on the shoulder. "Could you point us to the staff lounge?"

"Sure." He nodded at a hallway to their right. "Go down that hallway there, at the second intersection, right after Weavers' office turn left and go to the fifth door on your right. It's the one nearest to OR2 and if you miss it, come back to me for some glasses."

"Thanks," and he was right. Most of the doors were unadorned and unpainted, maintaining the simple metal greys and dull whites, but someone had decided at some point that the lounge's door was lacking in color. The trim and sides of it had been painted in a steel blue, and a blindingly bright caduceus a few shades from aquamarine done neatly at eyelevel.

Inside was a small group of doctors in scrubs, gathered around a table splattered with what looked like x-rays and scattered papers from a tan medical file, two nurses standing by the water cooler were giggling at some private joke, and yet another must have still been in university judging by the array of books stacked and open within easy reach and the charts he was was filling in. None of them took notice of the lounge's new occupants.

Seeing a small empty table, Wolf and Fox grabbed two nearby chairs and took a seat in the corner.

"Where's Eagle?" Fox asked.

Wolf shrugged. "No clue, but he'll find us if he wants too."

"And Falcon?"

The newest recruit to K-Unit had cheerfully reported in after ensuring that the ambassador made it safely into the building, and then back to the airport eight hours later. He mentioned that he had run into two MI5 agents and an MI6 one over the course of the day. The American had never encountered an ounce of danger nor been aware of it. Since his check-in six days ago, Fox hadn't spotted hide nor hair of the man, though he had admittedly spent the entire time ensuring that his partner didn't make another of his famous escapes.

"Had to go home. His grandmother, the one who adopted his sister and him, wasn't expected to survive her heart attack, but from his call yesterday, she should pull through just fine. We'll meet up with when we go back to BB. After all this get sorted out, of course."

They sat there fiddling with their fingers, drinking their coffee, and generally just watching the clock more than anything else. Wolf finally spoke after a long stretch of awkward silence. "So. How are the guys that MI6 and Company dragged off? Last time I saw them, they could have been dead."

"Some better than others. Last I heard, one underwent surgery because the doctor feared the trachea may have been nicked. No word on that yet. However, only that one guy had to have a blood transfusion. All of them will be getting some nice-looking stitches to commemorate their visit, but all major blood vessels, including the carotid and jugular, were missed by a long shot. When Alex does these things, he does them right," the spy proudly declared. Then his expression darkened. "Speaking of which, I never did get much of a story behind that. What happened, exactly? They were tied up nice and tight when Eagle carried me out."

The soldier was getting in the bad habit of answering questions with shrugs, as he repeated the gesture. "Nothing, technically. The guy who regained consciousness, Victor, I think Alex called him, wasn't going to answer anything we sent his way, including ones we could've answered ourselves. I guess SCORPIA doesn't treat failure well, and Alex used that to his advantage, promising to kill him and his team in return for information. He…I think SCORPIA changed him more than he'll admit. I would've mistaken him for one of them if I hadn't known better."

"You? Trusting?" Fox scoffed. "I don't think those two words can be put into the same sentence unless the verb is negated. Falcon and you were the ones who doubted him the most, if I recall."

"I did, and for good reasons. It certainly didn't help when his information led to Eagle and you nearly getting shot to bits, on top of other things."

Fox had a nice bundle of bruising on his chest from his bulletproof vest catching the shots aimed for his heart and some bandaging around his leg, though the bullet had been a clean shot that missed everything important. Dr. Reynolds had offered him use of crutches, but after the first two days wobbling around on them, he found it was easier to just limp a little instead of paining his armpits with the uncomfortable instruments.

"Exactly my point! You aren't helping your case."

The soldier took on an almost embarrassed expression. "We had a…uh…chat…that pretty much erased my misgivings about him. Alex acts like he doesn't care, but he wanted me to trust him…"

"And you decide on a whim to eradicate all doubts?" The spy narrowed his eyes, not convinced in the slightest. "Really, what happened?"

"Seriously! We just talked it over—"

"Talked it over, mon œil****." They turned around to see Eagle approaching the table. "The kid's a downright evil genius, if you ask me. An evil, manipulative, scary kid." He pulled a chair over as Wolf glared down at him, and Eagle inched quickly back from his unit's leader. "On the other hand…nothing worth mentioning really happened."

"Wolf isn't going to kill you," Fox sighed, rolling his eyes.

"No one told him that," he pointed out, to which the spy had to agree. "That kid needs to go into show business, because he either has multiple personality disorder or can put on really impressive acts. If he can convince Wolf to do something he doesn't want to, he can do damn near anything as far as I'm concerned."

Wolf protested at this. "Hey, how do you know he wasn't sincere? I was standing three feet from him and it looked pretty damn sincere. I have kids, two girls if you've forgotten, and if anyone can tell when someone's faking emotion to get, say, a cookie or trust, it would be me." He folded his arms over his chest, daring one of them to contradict him

"It doesn't necessarily mean that he wasn't telling the truth," Fox rushed to say. "Al doesn't say things he doesn't mean—well, most of the time anyway—but Eagle has a point. My partner does have a flair for dramatics. And I think your story sounds familiar, Wolf." Tilting his chair back on two legs and propping his feet on the table, one atop the other in a relaxed gesture, the spy cleared his throat. "He appears out of nowhere; you say something outright that you doubt his allegiance, his skill, or something similar that gets to him; there's a short staring contest that he wins; Alex does something overly dramatic and probably detrimental to his health, like…" he thought about the most likely scenario, "…making you hold a knife to his throat," Eagle spit his drink out via his nose, "or standing on the window ledge; then he makes this emotional speech that basically goes along the lines of 'accept me or let me die by your hand for the sake of getting this shit over with'. Everyone hugs and the debate ends there."

"Damn, you're good," the bomb and ammunitions expert muttered. "That's…like six and a half points out of eight."

"My lowest score so far." His response was dry, giving the impression that this dialogue had already been done multiple times. "Which ones?"

"Well it was a gun to the temple, but close enough to win half credit."

"Ooo, should've gotten that one. Normally he's too innovative to go with clichés, but still good for an on-the-spot performance. And the second?"

"Isn't it obvious? The hugging. It was more like Wolf beating the crap out of Alex with his own gun."

"I did not beat the crap out of Alex!" he retorted, uncrossing his arms to put his hands on the table. When some of the staff started staring, he lowered his voice. "I just...knocked him over the head once or twice."

"And threw his gun back at him, nearly taking out his eye," his teammate added unhelpfully.

Fox whistled in admiration. "Well maybe this will teach him a lesson. Seriously though, he does it to gain respect especially on solo missions, and always in front of reliable witnesses, coincidentally. At his age, you have to do something drastic to prove that you aren't a naïve gradeschool kid, and once that's taken care of, things have a way of straightening out.

"It's also a roundabout way of making sure that the other person isn't working for the other side. Every time he does it, there's always a trick behind it to ensure that the person holding the gun, or knife or whatever can't actually kill him. A trick knife, for example, that he carried in his back pocket for a couple months, a thin net or conveniently placed rope in case no one kept him from jumping, jamming devices to mess up the workings of a normal gun, etc."

"He would jam his own gun?" That seemed kind of counterproductive to Wolf, messing up the most useful weapon on your person if you really were betrayed.

Fox's reasoning followed the same path. "Never. He would jam the other person's gun, or a cheap one he had on him for just that purpose. Which one did he hand you? The Raven? That would explain things."

"No, he tossed that one to the side and gave me the Beretta he was using when we caught up to him."

"Hmm. I guess I'll have to guess that it was a one-sided thing, then. It was for the sole purpose of gaining your respect or trust at the very least. And he must trust you quite a bit not to rig the situation in his favor. That doesn't happen often."

"Or he didn't care either way." 'Everyone wins.' 'Wolf, the offer still stands.' Fox looked sharply over, the shadows under his eyes deeper than before, and dropped his chair back to sit on all fours. "Speaking of which," he asked the spy, "you said his family is out of the picture along with his last guardian. Who has custody of him, then...or at least, before he disappeared?"

"He's an emancipated teenager, and not of MI6's volition. Before he went MIA, he slept on my couch every night. I'm under the impression that he inherits his uncle's house once he turns eighteen, and that's where he'll stay then. But don't tell him that you know. It's fun letting him think that you haven't seen through his cover story."

"Then why did we get pulled in?"

The question caught the spy off-balance, confusion easily visible. "Because I wanted a unit with capable people, who had already signed the OSA papers and it would be easier to convince people that had already known Alex, as opposed to complete strangers. It wasn't like Blunt said, 'Tell your old unit to get their asses over here double-time.' Why do you ask?"

"Something just bugs me about this one. MI6 has borrowed units before, but almost always the specialized ones. It just sounds suspicious."

"Everything MI6 does sounds suspicious," Fox added. "They specialize in the area."

"Well, sure."

"And if we knew everything they were doing, then they wouldn't be doing their job very well."

"So you admit that they might have something planned?"

"After working for them for…over two years now, I still have no idea how they keep the workers from discussing work with each other. Most of us just don't want to, but someone has to slip at some point. At least, I assumed that much. It hasn't happened yet."

That depressing note squashed their mood for conversation, and the next hour was spent on shallow topics, ones that didn't touch on the three volatile topics: work, Alex and what happened when this was over. When Snake finally waved them into the hallway, they were glad to have something to do. With the hopelessly overused main elevator, getting from the first floor to the third took longer than the stairs would have, so K-Unit and Fox met up with Dr. Reynolds as he was fitting the hospital bed back into Alex's semi-permanent room.

Fox and Eagle clicked the brakes into place as the doctor finished filling out a chart attached to the door. "He'll start wakin' up anytime now, but give him some time to adjust before speakin' too loudly. Sensitivity to light 'n sound while the anesthesia finishes drainin' out are common, so keep the curtains closed and conversations down to a whisper."

"I think we can manage that much," Snake assured him.

"Good. Next twenty-four hours, he'll be asleep more often than awake. Don't let 'im have any solid foods, either. The nurses should bring in soup and soft vegetables 'til the day-long period is over. No caffeine. Water whenever possible." Circling something on his clipboard and scrawling a messy, illegible signature typical to those in the medical profession, he clipped the pen to the board and re-hung it from the hook on the door. "Also, to be strictly enforced, his feet may not touch the floor for at least another week, when his knee and pelvis can withstand pressure."

"Like hell," Alex's quiet voice rasped.

Dr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow, lowering his voice to a borderline whisper. "Huh. I thought I was the one with the medical degree and power to keep you sedated for the next week, but I must've confused myself with someone else." Exasperated, the doctor turned back to Fox. "If he's in pain, looks like he's in pain or you just want him to shut up,—"

"Hey!"

"—push the button on the IV rack next to his bed."

"I will keep that one at the foremost part of my memory, doctor."

"In fact, if Rider is awake for more than an hour and a half during the first day at any particular time, it means he is fighting the medicine. Press the button if he doesn't get back to sleep within that time."

Alex couldn't pull off his usual irritable look, the effort to stay awake negating all other functions (like attitude), but he certainly made an attempt.

"Like now, for example."

As the doctor reached to press the button, the teenager locked his wrist in place with three fingers, a move he had learned at some point while he was really little and engaged in all manner of fighting classes. "Give me a minute and I'll get to sleep."

"One minute."

He gestured at Fox to come over, pulling him down to talk as quietly as possible while still being heard. "Don't say anything out loud in here that you want to keep in this room. Just nod or shake your head. Do you have a bug searching device handy on you?" Fox nodded. "Find a room on this floor that MI6 and MI5 aren't listening to and get Eagle to turn off the security in there for an hour." Another nod. "I have some explanations that you all deserve to hear, but MI6 cannot know some parts of the real story." The teen yawned, nearly falling asleep on Fox's shoulder before the spy guided his head back to the pillow.

A/N: I wrote this over the course of two days, but for some odd/stupid/ completely insane/sleep-depriving reason, I haven't written a single word outside of the 2200 (8 PM) to 0600 (6 AM) time range. So if at any point you thought, "Was she actually conscious when she wrote this?" then you have a valid reason for believing just that. And HOLY TROMBONE ON A POGO STICK*! I did not intend to have five thousand and a half words. Now…time to upload and get some well-deserved sleep.

*Firefly/Serenity fans: For anyone who doesn't think this guy sounds almost exactly like Mal's twin brother, you must be on something or have never watched Firefly. Or I'm just tired and delusional…

**Fullmetal Alchemist fans: What the hell is wrong with me? I swear I didn't realize what I was doing until the editing stage, then I thought, "Blonde waving a wrench and swearing? That sounds familiar…" As I told the browncoats, no, not the prelude to a future crossover. Just trying to see who is paying attention. (Evidently, I'm not. XP)

***It is two in the morning and my internet is so slow that it might as well be nonexistent. If this isn't true, then…sorry. I'm a little tired and still have to proof. (Normally, I would go in-depth and figure out exactly how anesthesia works, as you've seen countless times, but…y'know…simple math: thirty-five hours without sleep + snail-paced internet = tired-as-shit author.)

****I'm really tired, so sorry about this. The translation is essentially like saying, "Yeah, right." Sarcastic tone intended. The technical translation is "my eye," which is similar to us using the phrase "my foot" or "my ass".

*Search "eddsworld" on youtube... I can't remember if there was inappropriate language/sexual innuendos/gore (okay, there was gore but it's animated), soooo...have fun.