A/N: Ok, so it's Thursday, just, and I said I'd update. And seeing as insomnia has sunk it's evil claws into my brain again, you're getting it at 3AM, my time. I haven't replied to all the reviews yet, because I'm not entirely sure that what I'd say right now would make even a lick of sense. In fact, I'm not completely convinced that this makes sense, either, but there you go. Luckily, the chapter was pre-written, so that will make sense.

Seems slightly ironic that just a few days ago, someone was telling me that she'd assumed I was on her erm… what's it called. GMT thing. TIMEZONE! Yes, rocking the no sleep. :D Anyways, yeah, back to the point. She assumed I was on her timezone, and then realized I couldn't be because that would mean I updated at 3 in the morning.

But yes, I'm just going to switch onto yet another film – I've already watched two. There really isn't much else I can do if I don't want to wake someone up – my brain isn't focused enough to read, which is slightly depressing.

Oh, and my poll doesn't appear to be working, at the moment, but you can always PM me your results? And I'll stop babbling now before I really mess up!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing that you recognise.

-o-O-o-

The room was dull. Situated somewhere on the ninth floor of the Royal and General – because of course, at fifteen, he couldn't live by himself even if he did save the world a dozen times – it was obviously not meant for a permanent room. The grey, office style carpet was rough on his feet, the blue of the faded duvet cover was dull at best and the desk and chest of drawers, shoved into corners of the room, had obviously been added at the last minute in an attempt to make it more habitable. It had failed miserably.

He scowled when he saw the pile of school books on the desk. Apparently MI6 wanted him to continue with his education. He'd thought he was finally finished with that.

He walked out.

Two hours later he had successfully exhausted all possibilities for exploration and entertainment within the walls of the Royal and General and was looking for escape.

He couldn't get out through the reception, he was sure, despite Mrs Jones assurances that he wasn't a prisoner, so he had to look for another way.

Eventually, he found his way to the underground car park and, smirking slightly, he walked out.

-o-O-o-

It was cold, he realised as the bitter wind cut through his light jacket – perfect for in a semi-heated office block, not so perfect for the weather in December.

Shoving his hands into his pockets as slight protection against the encroaching numbness, he walked dejectedly.

He just wished he could have a break, for once. For once, he wished he could forget the world.

But to forget the world was to ignore it... and to ignore it was to die.

With his head down, it took him a while to realise that his feet were carrying him of their own accord to his old haunts.

"Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, seeking to find the old familiar faces," he muttered, dolefully. It was a poem he had read once, on Cobra's insistence. He'd never really liked it, but it seemed to fit now.

Slowly, the streets gave way to a park and the park to playing fields. Figures were darting across the frosted grass, arms wrapped firmly around torsos when the players stood still for a moment, mouths cursing wildly as the ball skittered past them and then, seconds later, legs racing in pursuit.

It belonged to a different life, one he would have to try and fit back into if he was to stay here. He wasn't sure he could do it.

What was to become of him – unable to slip back into being a teenager, but not allowed to remain a soldier? Would he fade out of existence, become a ghost, a spook? Just a rumour in MI6, a forgotten presence on the ninth floor?

Would they let him back into the SAS when he turned sixteen? Or would they make him go back through the army and the SAS selection process and training? He'd already completed it once, surely that was enough?

If he was allowed back, would he still be a member of D-Unit? It would be hard to accept if he wasn't.

Suddenly he realised that someone was watching him, and his eyes snapped up, fixing upon a black haired, blue eyed youth on the far side of the field.

It was Tom.

Alex didn't react, simply stood unmoving, almost transfixed by the never-quite-forgotten link to his past.

And suddenly he realised that maybe his choice to come here wasn't random or automatic. Maybe he had come here precisely for this opportunity.

"Tom," he said, wincing internally at the distance in his voice. The boy was taller than him, he realised with surprise. That was definitely a first.

"Is it really you?" asked Tom, his eyes flitting over Alex's face, as if looking for a flaw, for some proof that he wasn't himself.

Alex simply nodded.

A look of pain flitted across Tom's face, quickly replaced by rage.

He saw the fist coming, but didn't try to avoid it. His head snapped to the side with the force of the blow and he grimaced in pain.

"I guess I deserved that," he said and Tom nodded stonily.

"Harris!" yelled an angry voice and both boys turned towards the noise. It was the football coach. "What the hell are you doing?"

Alex chuckled. "Right in front of the coach? Same old Tom, huh?"

Tom laughed, all his pain vanishing from his face as tears welled up in his eyes and, smiling, he pulled Alex into a brief one-armed hug.

"I missed you," he said.

"You too, Tom," said Alex. "And I'm really sorry I didn't tell you I was leaving."

He paused and smirked. "I think you confused the coach a bit," he said, nodding to the baffled man standing a few feet away, completely derailed by the boys' show of affection.

Tom laughed again.

"So where have you been?" he asked, curiously.

Alex smiled and flicked over his SAS ID.

"Got chucked out when they realised I was fifteen," he said, carefully hiding a grimace. It still felt like betrayal to him.

He heard footsteps behind him, and glanced around. A suit was slowly approaching. He huffed in annoyance.

"Sorry," he said, "You better get going – my escort has arrived."

"Ok," said Tom, frowning slightly. "Give me a call, sometime soon, ok? My number is still the same."

Alex smiled. "Will do," he promised.

Tom grinned and jogged off, immediately being harangued by the sports couch. Alex was amazed how quickly he had been forgiven, but Tom had never been one to hold a grudge.

And yet, something had been off about the entire meeting, almost as if he, Alex, had been trying too hard. As if he didn't fit in here anymore.

Well, he guessed he didn't. He could hardly go back to school now; he would find it too difficult to obey the teachers after almost a year of being treated as an adult.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, however, as his attention should be fully on the agent slowly approaching behind him, never mind the fact that he wasn't trying to sneak up on him.

Hurriedly, he corrected the oversight and turned towards his reluctant shadow.

"Rider," said the suited man. "Mrs Jones sent me. She says that, while you aren't a prisoner, she requests that you tell her where you are going beforehand and take an escort with you."

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?" he said, slightly disbelievingly. "I'm old enough to work for MI6, old enough to fight in Iraq, but not old enough to walk around town on my own?"

The agent scowled. Apparently he realised exactly how ridiculous it was.

Alex sighed. "Let's get back to the bank then. I'm sure Jones will want to scold me."

-o-O-o-

Mrs Jones did, apparently, want to scold him.

He had been joking when he said that – joking! Whatever deity had heard him and decided to make it a reality needed killing.

Or at least to stop interfering in Alex's already over-complicated life.

"Really, Alex," said Mrs Jones. "You can't just go wondering off! Your fifteen-"

"Going on international spy," said Alex rolling his eyes.

"Be that as it may," said Mrs Jones, reprovingly. "While you're in London you are our responsibility-"

"So I'm not your responsibility when you send me on a mission?" asked Alex, pointedly.

Mrs Jones sighed.

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" she said, wryly.

"Can you think of one reason why I should?" he asked, his tone as cold as the north sea.

She sighed again. "Please, Alex," she said, eventually. "As a favour for me."

He scowled. "I'm not agreeing to the escort – it's ridiculous. You know I can look after myself. But I'll tell you where I'm going. I'll agree to that if it'll keep you off my back."

"Thank you, Alex," she said.

He didn't reply. He really didn't have anything to say to her.

-o-O-o-

A/N: So, what did you think? I'm really curious, I must admit. Will try and update by Monday, but I do have a rather busy weekend – out Friday night, working at a wedding Saturday daytime, and at a BBQ Saturday evening, and then my parents are having a dinner party so I'll be cleaning up all day Sunday. Yay. Not to mention that it's my Dad's birthday. And father's day, I think? I hope I've got a card for that second…

As usual, if I get lots of nice reviews, I'll try to update early!

Oh… and next chapter sees the return of a certain group of soldiers… :D