It's very short; it was meant to be the last chapter, but, a) I don't really like odd numbers, don't know why, so I didn't want to end it on chapter 11, and b) I wanted to get the update out as quick as possible, so I did it this way. It's a filler chapter, really, and not that good, but, meh. It's an update. Don't look a gifthorse in the mouth, people!

DISCLAIMER: I've finally saved up, and bought those books. A beautiful boxed set edition.


By the time Saturday arrived, Alex was exhausted. He'd answered more questions than he'd thought were possible, and dealt with more requests to work with him, get introduced to MI6, and apologies than he thought should be legal; and now, he had to deal with counselling.

Mrs. Jones secretary had rung, and had asked – actually, properly asked – whether he could come in on Saturday to meet with the counsellor they'd arranged to come and speak to him. This man – a Mr. John Richards – was apparently one of the best, and specialised in child trauma.

Alex didn't know whether to be more disturbed that he was a victim of child trauma, or that MI6 actually acknowledged it.

But, this Mr. John Richards was the reason Alex was, at this moment, having his new ID card examined – it had arrived, hand-delivered, obviously, the day after Mrs. Jones had talked to him – and being escorted up to a room he'd never seen before; a comfortable room, where the desk had been pushed into a corner, to make room for a large sofa and armchair.

Mr. Richards was sat on the sofa. He was a tall man, quite thin, with small, frameless glasses, and an impeccably neat black suit. He stood up as Alex walked in, holding a hand out, and saying, in a warm, quiet voice,

"You must be Alex Rider."

Rather warily, Alex nodded, shaking the man's hand gingerly, and gesturing to the armchair. "May I…?"

"Please do."

They both sat down, and Alex watched the man for a few seconds, as he leant forwards, taking his glasses off and laying them on the table.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Mr. Rider." Richards began, finally, straightening and looking at him, seriously. "I think that, at this point in your mental development, what you've been through, and, above all, what you've been through with so little support, may have done irreparable damage to your psyche." Alex opened his mouth to speak, and Richards held up a hand, smiling to show that he wasn't angry at nearly being interrupted. "But, hopefully, it won't be as serious as I fear it will be."

"I don't think it's irreparable." Alex ventured, slowly. "I mean, I wouldn't be able to – well, be normal, if it wasn't, right?"

Richards considered it. "From what I've read about you, I don't think you are normal." He said. "I think, in terms of your mental capacity, you are an extremely intelligent teenager, with an ability to analyse, understand situations, and create solutions which is, for someone your age, little short of unique – but what you have lived through has almost undoubtedly left scars on you."

"So – you'll be able to help?"

Richards smiled. "I can try. So, Alex, I want to talk to you about your first assignment. The affair with the Stormbreakers…?"


The interview with Richards went on for nearly three hours, until the man thought that he had managed to isolate a few of the problems in Alex's psyche. It wasn't what Alex would have termed a 'comfortable' three hours – in fact, it was exhausting, having someone delve through his mind, but he did come out feeling a little clearer, so he supposed it wasn't totally wasted.

He walked into the foyer, determined to get something to eat – it was one o'clock, and he hadn't eaten much that morning – then go back home, and sleep for at least a week. Unfortunately, he got hijacked before he even made it out the door.

"Cub!" he turned to see Wolf striding towards him, and bit back a groan. In the few days the man had spent with him at school, he'd come to appreciate him, even to enjoy his company to a certain extent, but he really didn't feel he could deal with him right now. Luckily for him, Wolf took one look at him, and said, "D'you want to go and grab something to eat? You look exhausted."

Alex nodded, and let Wolf steer him out of the building, and over to a nearby McDonalds.

When they finally sat down with food, Wolf said, slowly, picking up a chip and staring at it for a couple of seconds, "I, er… I got some information on partnerships."

Alex tried to look interested, and knew that he failed. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Nothing that you couldn't have guessed. Some of it won't apply to us, anyway, because of the age difference. Like, mission write ups. We're both supposed to do reports, so there are always two points of view on a mission. You won't have to do that, unless I spend the entire thing unconscious, for some weird reason." He paused. "MI6 is – different. A lot different to the SAS."

"Well, yes." Alex was starting to feel a bit better for the food. "It's a lot less military, and there's a lot less cam cream (1)."

"Yeah." He bit the chip in half, and chewed, thoughtfully, for a couple of seconds. "So, I'm training with you, for the moment."

"Training?"

"You know. The training Mrs. Jones mentioned – shooting, poisons, antidotes, a new martial art, languages…"

"I'm learning a new language?"

"Apparently. Something about Chinese was mentioned…?"

"Oh. OK, then." He shrugged, and took a bite of his burger. "If that's what they want."

"Yeah. I'm doing that with you." There was silence for a few minutes, until Alex swallowed his mouthful, and said, quietly,

"I meant to ask – where's the accent from?"

"What?"

"Your accent." He clarified, stealing some of his new partner's ketchup. "Where's it from?"

"Oh, right. Argentina. My father's from Buenos Aires."

"Ah." There was silence for a few minutes, until Alex said, finally, "So, you speak fluent Spanish, then?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "Spoke it at home a lot." He paused. "Your file said you speak German, French and Spanish?"

Alex nodded. "Um, yeah." This was, without a doubt, the most awkward conversation they'd had since Wolf had applied for the working partnership. Alex supposed it was easier to find things to talk about when you were trying to hold off curious school children. "My uncle, he – he was pretty keen that I should learn to be a spy." He said, finally. "I had extra lessons, to learn languages. We used to go places, Madrid, Paris, Berlin, wherever. He'd make me do all the talking, so I learnt the language properly."

"How old were you then?" Wolf was frowning, but Alex couldn't think why.

"The first time I remember, I was about four." He said, quietly. "So… if your father's from Buenos Aires, how come you're living in England?"

"He was a diplomat. He lived here for twenty three years, and when he retired, he decided to stay." Wolf told him, absently. "Didn't you get my file?" Alex shook his head. "Damn." The older man bit his lip. "I'll try and get it to you, OK? You should know stuff like this already."

"Stuff like, how old you are?"

"Yes." Wolf frowned. "You don't know?"

"Wolf, I don't even know your real name."

Wolf sat back in his chair. "Shit. Right, OK. My name's James san Luca. I'm twenty nine. My dad's from Argentina, my mother's from Kensington." Alex smirked a little; Wolf just shrugged in response. "I've got two older brothers, and an older sister. My sister's a lawyer, one of my brother's is a banker, the other's a builder." Alex raised his eyebrows. "That's what he wanted to do!" Wolf defended

"And, you decided to be a soldier – why?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I just did." He glanced at his watch. "I've got to go. I'm – well, I've got to explain to the rest of my team why I'm leaving the SAS."

"D'you still work with Snake, Eagle, and Fox?"

"Yes." Wolf nodded, standing up. "And, from when I last spoke to them, they're – annoyed. With me, I mean. I think they think I'm doing this on the spur of the moment."

"I'm kind of agreeing with them." Alex muttered, standing up as well.

"Oh, no, Cub." Wolf gave him a sudden smirk of his own. "I thought this through. But, you're going to have to work on your issues with following the rules."

"My 'issues with following rules' have never been a problem." Alex retorted. "Mostly because there aren't any. If you think there are rules, that might turn out to be the biggest issue we have."

"Whatever you say." They'd made it to the street by now, and Wolf grinned at him, properly. "I'll see you on Monday." Alex gave him a questioning look. "We have tests."


(1) Cam cream. It's lovely stuff; my CCF (Combined Cadet Forces, in case anyone is wondering) experiences have taught me to loathe and fear the disgusting goop. It comes in three attractive shades – green, brown and black. You smear it over your face, and, hey presto!

Well, theoretically. If you're practicing this 'army stuff' in a town, like I was, it's not really that camouflaged. You just look very stupid. Take my word for it. Cam cream – or camouflage cream, as most 'army' type people call it – is nasty. Nasty.

Right. Well, that's all for now, folks. Go read some of my other stuff. :-D

Ami xxx