A.N.: Bad news, I'm procrastinating again. Good news, here's an update. A longer one. A really long one. Okay, not really, but god, was this one fun to write. So recently, I've become re-obsessed with Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon prequel stories (and I suddenly do have the urge to begin writing in that fandom again but orz I'm such a procrastinator), and now my procrastination is getting worse.

It had been exactly midnight when Alex found the confidence to play the tape Fletcher gave him five days ago. Now, it was three in the morning and he could still feel the tremor in his hands as darkness engulfed him, the computer screen had long darkened in rejection of his unresponsiveness, and the sun didn't dare to show at such early hours.

Finally, he moved. Reaching into his drawer, he pulled out the photograph of him and his father and in the darkness, he felt the edge, feeling the slight dent, chiseled away when his father accidentally dropped it on the ground and felt reassurance flooding him. His father did not die at the time of the videotape. His father had spent all of Alex's life, up to a few months before, with him. He was not dead, shot in the back by some secret agency across the Albert Bridge in a blurry scratched-out videotape.

Clutching the photograph, he must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew was the sun glaring at him through the unveiled edge of the window. The frame was loose in his grasp. But it was there. His father's smile was still brilliant like he remembered. Getting off his bed, Alex quickly dressed upon ejecting the CD and placing it gingerly back into the casing, feeling as if he had committed the biggest sin of his life.

Scorpia was ruthless. If anything, that was what he had learned from the neatly fabricated plastic disk.

Giving a weary sigh, Alex descended the stairs and reached the dining table. Tom, James, and Fletcher looked up and were about to offer a good-morning when they suddenly snorted. He paused in confusion before catching his reflection in the mirror.

"Laugh," Alex groaned at the stiff face of his three companions as they finally greeted him, Tom and James looked like they were ready to topple over in glee and Fletcher had the expression of exasperation, "go ahead. Laugh your stupid heads off at my misfortune."

Tom did.

Fletcher got up and poked gently, yet irritatingly, at the cut and the bruise that littered on the left side of his face. Whoever threw him down that slope was going to get hell. The man reassured him, "it's not that bad."

"Yeah, and I'm the king of crabs," Alex muttered as he took a seat, checking out his reflection in the window as he tilted his head sideways, "at least it's not swollen and all disgusting. It's not half bad."

"You look like a discolored creature," Tom explained, "one spot on the side is heavily bruised. It's like a round circle of blue and purple."

"Keep talking and you will have an identical patch."

"You're not that precise, Al," Tom sighed in mock exasperation as he clapped his friend on the shoulder, "so how do you feel?"

"I feel like someone chucked me down a slope," Alex rolled his eyes as he gently extended his right leg, feeling the muscles pull in pain and slowly retracted it with a wince, "how do you think I feel?"

"I hear The Flash has amazing regeneration power," James quipped, rather irrelevantly, as he munched on his bagel. The smell of garlic reached him and his eyes twitched unconsciously, "but Al's not the Flash."

"Exactly," Alex drummed his fingers on the table and turned to Fletcher, "have we made any progress on the clues yet?"

They seemed to be running around in circles the past days, trying everything but it always ended up with nothing-unless they count that at noon when Tom had fallen asleep and had dreamed that all the clues lead to McDonald's and in which he had made everyone go to McDonald's with him in search for the answer.

"No," frowning, Fletcher shook his head, "the numbers don't match anything reasonable in the government database."

"You said there are more players," Alex paused, "other than us, are the other recruits from around here? Do they have to be from here?"

"No," Fletcher confirmed, nodding slightly as he began to follow the rather depressing train of thoughts, "they're all over UK," they met eyes, "so it might not be in this area, is that what you're saying?"

"It can be in US for all we know," Alex nodded and pursed his lips, "did anyone mention anything about boundaries and rules?"

Fletcher chuckled, "there are no rules in Scorpia's game."

Chucking back the rest of the water, Alex stood up and grabbed his coat, "I'll see if I can figure it out on the way," he paused and turned to Tom, "you two should go back to school. People get suspicious."

Tom snorted, "yeah? Well, if they throw you picture in school database, they'll find your record as well."

"But you took care of it," Alex neatly slid it into the slot, "so no problem there. I just don't want the police questioning you two. They've seen your face, Tom. Once they get suspicious of me, they'll start digging."

"Okay," Tom agreed grudgingly, "we go back to school. But Al, what if you need us? Directions, hacking, and such, I can't do it in school."

"Then I'll try to stay off the trouble radar."

James, at that, snorted, "you are at the center of that radar, mate."

"Mr. Morrison," Alex greeted the man as he walked into the museum. The crime scene tape was gone but the four poles surrounding the scene was still there, warning any visitors that contaminating a crime scene was considered an offense.

"Officer Mayford," the man turned from where he was in the process of logging in visible evidence on a sheet of paper clipped to a clipboard, "how can I help you?"

"Just a few more questions," he smiled disarmingly as he buttoned his coat, "that's all. If you have time…?"

"Can we talk while I work?" Sebastien suggested, gesturing towards his clipboard, "I need to finish a perimeter check on all other paintings. My manager wants to make sure that nothing else has been contaminated or moved."

"Of course," he dropped into steps beside the man, "what can you tell me about this painting?"

A note, a check mark, as the man replied, "nothing much, like before. It was fairly new, not much of a historical artifact. Have I told you about the history of the painting?"

"No," Alex said curiously, "but I heard it was about the Expedition."

"Yes," Sebastien turned, his love for historical artifacts and stories evident in the gleam of his eyes, "a quite remarkable painting. It was donated by a kind gentleman awhile ago. While it isn't what this museum usually accepts-frankly, it isn't even qualified to be within the gallery-but we didn't have the heart decline it with the number of historical references and mind-blowing detail," he turned to Alex, his pen poised as if ready to attack the paper but his stilled hands drew a different story, "Every brush stroke was there for a reason and every stroke needed to be there. The brushes used varied in sizes. The ocean was a single large thick brush stroke, the ticks of the brush brought out the texture and the top of the mast was the thinnest of all, a mere dot with a fine-point brush that I'm afraid can only be used once if not carefully washed and taken care of. It is a masterpiece that will take centuries before people see its significance."

The painting seemed to come to life in his mind-though not as colors and the faint smell of oil, but as structural blueprints, mapping every mentioned detail to something of his own database in an attempt to understand the apparently-so innate power behind the artist.

Alex's half down-cast eyes flickered upward as pieces began to connect, completing the puzzle from an unbelievable perspective that he otherwise had never considered before. Of course. Of course.

"1451," Alex turned, "does that mean anything to you?"

Sebastien regarded him strangely as if the question was within expectation yet at the same time far from the paramount situation presented before them, "no, should I?"

"Does it relate to the painting in any ways," he added in deferential, prompting the man to reconsider his answer, "a date, perhaps? Of significance?"

"A date," Sebastien contemplated, a frown marring his brows, "are you perhaps talking about the year Christopher Columbus was born?"

Precisely what Fletcher and they had started with and exactly where they were stuck at. If it weren't for the situation they were in, Alex would have extolled the gratuitous amount of excessive planning Scorpia had done. Just how in the world did Fletcher piece together the first five puzzles if they were as hard as this? Or perhaps the difficulties had escalated.

"What about VLV?" turning to follow the man's rather brusque stop before the next painting, Alex redirected the questions.

"VLV…" he shook his head, "nothing pops, I'm sorry," marking up another sheet of paper, Sebastien questioned, "is this somehow related to the investigation?"

"Yes," Alex said without hesitation, fabricating the tale even as he spun it to the man, "we believe this robbery might be linked to one of our ongoing investigations," hesitance, "I'm afraid that this might only be the beginning of a series of unfortunate events."

Sebastien's face reflected that of a man who had taken in the information at its face value but that was what Alex had wanted. Without the clandestine identity he held or the aid of an assassin, no average citizens should ever have the train of thoughts he had.

"There will be more thefts?" Clearly worried, the words held a different connotation to the manager of the museum.

Tired of hiding for once, Alex's cerebration made him reply what he would probably regret in a very near future, "it extends a lot further than that."

"What do you mean?" His reply brought up more questions than he had otherwise intended.

"The Parkour Kid," Alex sighed as if letting go of the pent-up wad of emotions clogging his heart, "he is also related to the whole robbery investigation," he began pacing and Sebastien watched him, "there seem to be a larger influence behind him and the disappearance of this painting. It is as if someone out there is coercing them into committing these crimes."

"Do you know who this…someone is?" Hesitance evident in his voice, Sebastien asked.

Frowning unconsciously, the crease on his forehead tarnished his brilliant features, "perhaps. I have an idea," his eyes sharpened instantly, "but there is nothing I can do. We will have to wait for the future to progress."

Sebastian turned the paper over in his clipboard and with slight difficulties, readjusted the paper without tearing the thin material, "the Parkour Kid returned the money. Will this…girl thief return the painting as well?"

"That I don't know," Alex shook his head then was quick to reassure the man, "but we will let you know first thing if any news about it pops up."

"Thank you."

Alex smiled, "that'd be all. Thank you, as well, for your time, Mr. Morrison."

"Likewise."

VLV.

For all he knew, it could have stood for Very Large Vendor among billion other possibilities that were flying, ricocheting occasionally, in the limited space of his mind. Because face it, he was not a master at Scrabble, he could barely spell arachnophobia correctly half the times and he shouldn't even commence on his, well, sad list of manageable vocabulary list. Therefore there were possibly another two billion possibilities to the arrangement of VLV. That was if it were an abbreviation at all.

"If you think any harder," Alex jerked as if electrocuted in the worst possible way when Wolf spoke up, "I'm afraid your mind will explode, Officer Mayford."

Running a hand through his hair, Alex groaned, "good morning, sir."

The man zeroed in on the colorful bruise on the side of his jawline and arched an eyebrow while keeping a perfectly stoic posture, "you look better."

The intrepid and brazen candor demonstrated the absolute authority of the house and just who the absolute authority of Mayford was. Crossing his arms in Zen-ful acceptance and trying to forget the rather humiliating outburst he had yesterday at the parking lot, Alex acquiesced, "I do. I do look better. Thank you."

Neither looked willing to breach the thick-like-butter tension in the air and so neither decided to take a poke at the bubbling presence. Wolf, with alacrity, redirected the direction before everything could fall into either an awkward confrontation neither wanted to have at ten thirty-two in the morning or another full-blown argument that would probably have them put on probation or extended leave, "have you ever heard of someone named Julia Rothman?"

Alex's eyes sharpened and his action tensed more than he had wanted to, "Julia Rothman?"

"Yes," the man watched his action in interest, "you know her?"

"I know of her," Alex shook his head, "what about her?"

"Remember the maniac who nearly released the scorpions?" Wolf explained, "he confessed to the crime and told us that," the commander paused, eyeing him critically as he announced the information, "this Julia Rothman is forcing him to commit the act by holding his wife and his son hostage."

Alex willed himself to stay still, "blackmailing, huh."

"Doesn't that sound familiar?" So that was what the man was playing at. Putting his foot on it, Alex arched an eyebrow, "no. Should it?"

Sensing the tender path they were getting closer to, Wolf pulled back before the bridge could collapse, "the wife and child are both at his house. I suspect this woman is watching them somewhere so that she did not have to alarm the public or the police by whisking them away."

"And you've sent a few officers undercover to retrieve them," Alex suddenly found it hard to swallow, "did the man mention seeing his wife and child since the woman took them hostage?" He paused, "I mean, has the man ever return home?"

"No," Wolf confirmed, "he paid for a hotel room. Apparently, this woman forbids him from visiting his family or she will kill them."

Wolf sounded awfully sure and Alex asked, "how do you know he's telling the truth?"

"I didn't," the man eyed him, "until you looked like you saw a ghost when I mentioned her name. I honestly wouldn't have really believed the absurdity of his confession but then I remembered you. Frankly, thinking about blackmailing made me thought immediately about you," at Alex's narrowed eyes, Wolf did not back down, "I guess I struck gold, didn't I?"

"How do you know the wife and child are still alive?" Alex ignored the jest.

Wolf opened his mouth as if trying to pull the topic toward the dangerous territory before he decided against it, weighing the consequences of the timing and coming to a decision, "we've just sent men over. She won't notice immediately. To the rest of the world, the officers are no more than door-to-door salesmen."

"And if she does notice?" Alex closed his eyes, shutting the world from the future he knew would happen.

"There will be a car waiting immediately outside. The officers are wearing vests and are armed. The car will take them to safety and then 6 will take charge from there."

"6?" His eyes flickered open in confusion.

"MI6," Wolf nodded, "this is starting to get out of our hands. And if what the man had said so far is true, I'm afraid this will escalate far beyond our reach."

"What do you mean?"

"There's something else that the man's not saying. My guess is that this is related to a larger scheme of undercover terrorism involving innocents," his gaze traveled to where the man was still being held in a downstairs waiting cell, "once we secure his wife and child, he will open up to us. There might be something larger brewing."

"And if it turns out to be nothing more than a normal crime?"

"I'll call off 6," Wolf shrugged and straightened, ready to leave, "better safe than sorry."

"Wolf…" exhaling softly, Alex buried his face in his hands for a moment and his comment was muffled by the barrier, "the wife and child won't make it out alive."

As if on cue, fast and curt footsteps were heard and three officers marched toward Wolf, still in their civilian clothes but the edge of the cloth and their hands were splattered with blood. Their face long and drawn, a sense of tender professional bereavement was evident, "sir."

"Officers," Wolf turned, taking in their appearance like Alex had done in one scrutinizing glance, "I take it there was trouble. Start from the beginning."

Hesitance colored the room, "sir…we arrived at the house but there was no response when we knocked so we forced entry."

Wolf looked displeased but that was the only reaction as the leading officer continued, "the wife was dead when we found her. The child was still alive when we found him…but the injury was too severe and he…died a moment later. The mother's body was still warm, which means she died only momentarily, perhaps five or so minutes, before our arrival. The only logical conclusion I reach is that someone must have tipped the killer off."

Wolf glanced sharply at Alex before asking, "what was the cause of death?"

"The wife had multiple gunshot wounds and child had one straight to stomach. The mother must have been trying to put up a fight to protect her child but…" the officer swallowed and dipped his head slightly, "I'm sorry, sir."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Wolf inhaled deeply, "no worries, officers. You're dismissed. Clean yourself up and you can report this in later."

"Yessir," they turned and left the way they came in, exchanging soft spoken words before disappearing over the edge.

Alex knew what was going to happen a moment before Wolf did, but nonetheless, he was still caught unprepared when Wolf grabbed him by his collar and pulled him upright so that he was pressed against the file cabins, "you better give me a damn good explanation, Mayford."

Wildly scrabbling for a foothold, Alex finally breathed in in relief as Wolf noticed the height difference and the air beneath Alex's feet and dropped him roughly back on the ground but not releasing his death grip on his collar. The material was twisted and bounded in his fist and Alex found himself eye to eye with the man. One deadly serious and the other oddly calm.

"About what?"

"You said the mother and child will not make it out alive," Wolf growled, "why? How did you know?" A pause, "did you have something to do with this?"

Fury and anger seeped through the man's incisive eyes and for a moment, Alex could understand the origin of his namesake. Wolf, at the moment, looked exactly like the predator facing the trespasser into his territory.

"No," Alex replied, keeping his tone calm against the raging sea, "I did some research into Scorpia."

The sudden tightening of his collar did more than enough to coerce him into continuing, "it stands for Sabotage, Corruption, Intelligence, and Assassination. It's an organization of contract assassins. They're ruthless."

"That doesn't explain why you knew the wife and child won't make it alive," Wolf's eyes finally stopped seething but suspicion colored the iris.

Alex looked away. His father seemed to have been involved in the whole Scorpia business even before months ago when he disappeared. His disappearance had deeper ties to Scorpia. Fletcher had told him his father was hiding from Scorpia and that he was looking for something. Why was his father, a circumspect honest banker, be hiding from a callous organization like Scorpia? Why would Fletcher be in the possession of a tape recording his father's 'death' dating nearly sixteen years ago?

Scorpia was ruthless. That was the only result his mind would allow him to churn out.

"Scorpia is ruthless," he accepted it and redirected the answer to attach itself to Wolf's question, "I didn't know. I guessed. No organization like Scorpia will leave liable people alive."

"For all I know," Wolf released his collar, "you might be one of them. Why should I believe you?"

"Because," rubbing his neck and feeling liberty slowly flooding back to him, Alex indulged himself in a flash of humor, "in a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy…his name-Mayford."

"I'll put a bullet through your goddamn thick head if you quote Merlin one more time," Wolf grunted but somehow, the answer seemed sufficient. For the moment, "6 will be here anytime. I want you to present your findings to them."

"But…" Alex trailed off as Wolf shot him a glance, "Yessir."

A silence settled over them and Wolf seemed to be racking his brain inside out to find something to break the solemn and eerie reticence that Alex seemed to have settled himself into, "how's the investigation with Morrison going? How's the leg? I hope you haven't knock yourself out again."

"No sir," Alex sighed before settling himself on the edge of the table for Wolf had taken his chair, "my leg's fine, thank you very much, but the case is not. I felt like I hit a dead end."

Wolf eyed him thoughtfully, "if it's anything, the post you put out for the girl had results. We have a last-seen address."

"That is something," Alex felt a smiling lighting up his face, "what's the address?"

The commander shook his head in refusal, declining Alex the information, "6 will be here anytime soon. I want you to be present before you leave."

A flash of annoyance but Alex quickly suppressed it. Wolf held the upper hand here. Besides, MI6 might offer him valuable information regarding Scorpia that might lead him to his father's whereabouts and the state of his quest, "all right. But can I at least have the address so I can map out the surrounding?"

Wolf snorted, "and as soon as I turn my back, you'll be off in a squad car. I think not, Mayford. I will give you the address after the meeting."

About to retort, Alex bit himself off as he noticed the incoming entrance of the three formally-clad MI6 personnel. Wolf noted his brusque ending and turned, following his gaze before hurriedly walking up to them and introducing himself, gesturing toward his office.

The woman in the center, clearly the head of all three, turned toward Alex and in the close proximity, it carried clearly, "ask him to join us."

"I already did, ma'am," came the reply, then Wolf turned to him and jerked his head toward his office. Alex nodded in acknowledgment and eased himself off the table, rubbing the soreness out of his back. Damn, he was getting old.

As soon as he entered Wolf's office, the man pulled down the blinds and gestured for the officials to take a seat. They declined and instead Alex found himself stuck in a quiet scrutiny of everyone to each other. What was it that his former English teacher had told him? Males always end up sizing everyone up in a room and deciding who he could take on and who he couldn't in case things went south. While the two men on each side of the woman eyed him, the woman merely cast him a quick glance before diverting her attention to Wolf.

"Commander," she greeted, "what can you tell us about this case?"

"A week ago," Wolf began, his posture stiff and in attention and Alex could suddenly see the former soldier in the stoic form, "the man we have in custody, James Thompson, disrupted public peace in a local zoo by attempting to unleash the scorpions…"

Alex smoothed his features over the smirk. Disrupted public peace. Unleash. Such formality. He would have tsked and shaken his head in mock wonders if he weren't in the presence of MI6.

"...confessed," Wolf was saying, "and we sent teams to retrieve his wife and child. But they were both dead-gunshot wounds-when my officers arrived. They believe it was a leak of information."

"An accomplice?" She asked, "from inside?"

"Possibly."

"It could have been a listening device," Alex said quietly then immediately wish he hadn't ever made his presence known. Instantly, four pairs of eyes sharpened and turned toward him as if eyeing the helpless…beaver on a butcher's slab.

Wait.

Beaver? What for fuck's sake was a helpless beaver?

"That's possible," the woman said, now giving him her undivided attention, "tell me what you think."

Wolf opened his mouth as if wanting to object but a sharp glance shut him up and he offered Alex the floor, his eyes pitying him, "well," Alex began slowly, pushing away the image of an offended beaver from his mind, "the officers mentioned five or so minutes from the time of death to time of arrival, which is about the time it took to travel from police station to the house, give or take a minute."

She nodded encouragingly at his pause, "go on."

"If the officers left immediately after the man confessed and told them the address," Alex took a deep breath to still his nerves, "that means as soon as they heard the confession, the killer shot them," then he shrugged, trying to put as much distance to his claim from him as possible, "of course, someone might have called the killer immediately afterwards, which would mean it was someone from the inside, probably someone who was watching the interrogation or was in the room."

Wolf straightened, "I was the only one in the room."

The woman finally turned toward the commander, "check the man for any listening devices. If he doesn't, find everything who is near the room at the time."

"Yes ma'am," Alex made to follow but the woman stopped him, "Officer Mayford, I want to talk with you."

Pausing at the door, Wolf turned and frowned, "do you need me?"

"No," came the curt reply, "leave us."

Hesitance colored his next words, "yes ma'am."

The door swirled open then clicked shut, the blinds fluttered in a string of metallic plastic before stilling. And then it was just the four of them in the room. Three to one. His odds of surviving didn't look bright at the moment. Perhaps if he…His attention roamed the room without his gaze leaving the woman. There was a window. He could throw himself out, probably ending up killing himself, in the end, either way.

There was also a stapler on the table. He could stab them all with staplers if things got out of hands. Then he noticed the guns in both of the silent men's waistband, revealed when they shifted in their stiff attention. He hadn't really listened in physics, but he was pretty sure bullets from a gun could go faster than staples from staplers. And deadlier too.

"Relax," the woman decided to step back. Wise decision, because Alex was sure if he fainted, he could be heading straight for the woman, "I'm Mrs. Jones and I'm deputy head of MI6."

"I'm Harry Mayford," he managed gracefully with what he called a manly timid voice but what Tom would laugh and call a squeak.

"No," the woman said without missing a beat, "you're Alexander Rider, son of John Rider. Currently in unknown affiliation with Scorpia and for unknown reason infiltrated the police ranks under the alias of Harry Mayford."

Alex felt his blood ran cold.

"Am I right so far?" Without waiting for a response, she continued, "you're also the infamous Parkour Kid, an endearing name I must comment."

They knew.

They knew everything.

"Who are you?"

"Mrs. Jones," she smiled and Alex could smell the peppermint in the air as she popped one into her mouth, "Deputy head of MI6. Now, I want to get down to business before Commander Wolf returns. I would like to offer you a job."

The agents behind her shifted so that their gun was even more visible. She smiled at the slight shift in his attention innocently, "I'd like you to work for me."

"What?" The request threw him off and his eyes narrowed in surprise and skepticism, "work for you?"

"Yes," she said calmly, "in return, we will aid you in finding your father."

"I am not looking for my father," Alex defended, feeling rather naked under her observant gaze. Just who was she? Of course, she was MI6, but how in the hell did she know so much about him when all he knew right now was that she was a bastard in disguise?

Of course, she was MI6. MI6 knew everything. He bet they knew even how many steps it took him to walk to his house or how many flakes of cereal he took every morning-trick question, cereal was never on his menu.

"Don't bother," she dismissed his weak claim with a sigh, "I know you are looking for him, however, what I want to know is why are you affiliating with Scorpia? I know you know how dangerous they are."

"I don't know what you're talking about," his attempt in making himself smaller failed miserably as she advanced on him, the agents followed with their hands on the holster in swift unison, "I have no idea who this…Scopedia is."

Mrs. Jones gave him a withering look, "at least lie better, Alex."

"I'm not Alex," he shot back, "I'm Harry. Harry Mayford."

She ignored him as she continued, "your father. He is one of my agents when he went undercover then disappeared three months ago."

His father was an agent? How fucked up this world was becoming.

He wanted to become a beaver all of a sudden.

"And we know where he is," Mrs. Jones said. It finally caught his full complete attention, "and we can tell you where he is if you help us out."

At least he knew his father was safe and sound.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Suddenly, before he knew what had happened, he was pushed against the wall, an agent pressing his forearm firmly against his chest and holding a gun to his head as Mrs. Jones walked closer, "see, Alex? You can't oppose us. You can't oppose me. You will accept my offer."

"Or else?"

"Or else your police friend might just accidentally die in the line of duty."

"Police friend?" Confused, Alex asked.

"A certain Officer Fletcher Lionel."

Fletcher Lionel?

"Who?"

"Don't bother," she said, "we've seen you entering and exiting your friend's house with him. Recently transferred, wasn't he? He seems to play a very important part of your life."

Entering and exiting Tom's house with Fletcher who?

Wait. Fletcher?

They were threatening to kill Fletcher.

They were threatening to kill Fletcher for Heaven's sake.

They were threatening to kill a Scorpia assassin without knowing that he was from Scorpia.

In short, Alex was on the brink of hysterical laughter. But goddammit, he gotta ask how Fletcher managed to get himself an officer position and not bother telling him about it.

Alex smoothed his face into a calm neutral feature and let a small amount of pretended fear snake onto his face. Let's see how she wanted to play this, "w-"

He was cut short when Wolf entered, "we've found a…"

In swift seconds, the man took in the situation through a rather warped perspective and his gun was out, pointing at the agent in confusion and anger, "guns down! Guns down!"

"It's within control, Wolf," Mrs. Jones raised her hand and the agents stood back, holstering their gun like obedient puppets, "we were just having a conversation."

"With guns?" Wolf's gun was still pointed and his eyes narrowed, "what is happening?"

"Soldier!" Mrs. Jones snapped and Wolf froze, apprehension in his eyes then he slowly lowered the gun, "thank you. Tell us your findings."

Wolf holstered his gun but still glanced suspiciously between Alex and Mrs. Jones as he walked closer, "we found a listening device on the nape of his neck. It is concealed. Someone had taken extra time to do the job and James Thompson had no recall of ever having that added."

"Your suspicion was confirmed, Officer Mayford" Mrs. Jones smiled dangerously at Alex, her eyes flashing in warning that was lost to Wolf, "we will take the device and examine it in our own lab."

Wolf handed it over gingerly within the plastic bag, "yes ma'am."

Then they were out the door, their boots and shoes clattering on the shiny wood floor, and leaving him alone with Wolf who looked like he was about to strangle him for answers. And for a moment, the only thing Alex could think about was beaver.

"Beaver," he said it. He finally said it. It felt so good, "beaver."

"Are you insane?" Wolf finally said wearily, leaning himself against the table and crossed his arms, feeling extremely relieved at the disarming of a potentially dangerous shoot-out between his boss and his colleague.

"I like beavers," without waiting for the commander's consent, Alex dropped himself onto the sofa, "did I mention how much I love beavers?"

"You have," Wolf growled, "what the fuck was that?"

"What was what? Beavers?"

"Why did they point their guns at you?" He snapped in frustration, "goddammit, what did you do this time, Mayford? I told you to keep your smart mouth to yourself or you will get in trouble. I believe that was exactly what happened."

How very far from the truth he was.

"We had a disagreement," Alex grinned, "it escalated."

"I can see that but what was the disagreement?"

Alex mused it over, "they said they can find my beaver if I do something for them," Wolf arched an eyebrow, "but I said I don't need their help. They got frustrated and pointed their guns at me, threatening to kill my lion the same way," Wolf opened his mouth but Alex added before he could, "I said no because my lion is very powerful, they just don't know it." He nodded as if the explanation was satisfactory, "then you barged in."

"...That was fucked up," Wolf finally managed, "your life is one fucked up zoo."

"Yeah," Alex nodded, "It is," he then stood up, "I've gotta go find the missing girl. Care to give me the address now?"

ahahahhh, I've no idea what I'm doing anymore...Updates will be late, I'm sorry.

Also, this story should be taking place some year around 2005 - 2006 ish and I know Merlin came out in about 2008 so technically it's a messed-up timeline, but ehhhhh, I'm lazy...