A/N: HAPPY MONDAY! Guess who remembered to update on time? This dork.

Hope everyone is staying safe! (And drinking water. And flossing. And wearing sunblock.) (I might be channeling some Mum!Yassen! today.)

Alex watched the car lights shift and change along the road below with rapt attention. They were shapes and colors to him mostly, robbed of their depth partially by the distance and partially from the light snow that had begun to fall sometime in the last half hour. Cold bit into his fingers where they curled around the frigid balcony railing, but it was a distant pain and easy to ignore in the rush of euphoria. Snow had already built up atop the chairs that would no doubt be pleasant to sit in when spring finally came, a foot high in some places and icy beneath. Fortunately for him, Yassen's frequent smoke breaks had necessitated a clearing of a small path.

Cradled on both sides in the concave indentation of snow, Alex kneeled directly on the balcony with his naked arms stretched above him. His thin pajamas were no match for the loose powder snow and had already soaked through. If the gaps between the bars had allowed, he would have dangled his legs through them to help him spread into this dark, sparkly night; to let his bare feet somehow reach for the bustle of people and cars and the sheer sensation of people going places and become one with it.

He laughed.

It was a bit like the vast where Jack was now. The city was kind of like an ocean, the bounce of light across shining auto paint winking like scales here and there. In the vast, everything was connected and smashed together in the here and the now, without meaningful separation or loneliness or dread or cold or-

Somewhere behind him, he heard a door slam shut. "Alex?"

Oh, good. Yassen was back. Alex turned to face him and grinned through the open glass door leading into the living room. "Come see," he called.

"What are you doing?" Yassen asked him, halting suddenly before striding quickly to the door.

Alex agreed with his hurry: he could spend his whole life looking at this and never get tired of it. He turned back and pointed, though his fingers took awhile before they shakily cooperated. "The city. It's so big and together and all wrapped up and full of fish! Just like where Jack lives now."

"What are you talking-?" Yassen broke off, eyes narrowing on his fingers. Alex realized for the first time that they'd turned blue along the edges. "How long have you been out here like this?"

That was the wrong question, of course. The better question would have been how long Alex wanted to be out here. "Forever," he answered firmly.

"Get inside. Now."

"But Yassen, the ocean-"

Alex was moving, though it took him a split second to realize that Yassen had clamped a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. Everything was still fuzzy and moved faster than Alex could properly understand. Alex staggered backwards to his feet and tried to turn around, intent on returning to his spot by the railing, but the older man wasn't having it. He grabbed Alex around the middle and half lifted, half dragged him back into the apartment.

"Stop it, Yassen, you didn't even see-"

He was looking at the TV suddenly. It took him all of a split second to register the memory of a hand moving upside his face. Yassen had smacked him, though not particularly hard. It didn't hurt. Then again, nothing really hurt.

Was Yassen angry with him?

Yassen's voice was flat. "How many did you take?"

Alex looked down at his feet (those were blue-ish too), chewing on his lip and trying to talk his tears ducts into taking the night off. They seemed to consider the proposal, but readied themselves with unshed moisture, as though unwilling to commit to either course of action. "Two."

He'd thought it was the perfect amount a moment ago, but Yassen was obviously unhappy, so it was probably too much and Alex had screwed it up again. It wasn't like last time, though, when he'd taken so much he couldn't actually see or sit up.

How had he screwed up?

A small lance of regret stabbed at him, but the euphoric confusion swirled back into him to fill the empty feeling as quickly as it had come. All things considered, he still felt pretty good. "It's okay, Yassen. Everything's okay."

"Fine." Yassen shut his eyes, his entire body tensing for a split second before he abruptly wrapped an arm around Alex's shoulders only to drag him through the living room. "It's fine. Just- Just get inside and warm up."

More stumbling before Alex realized they were going into the hallway bathroom. Why? He didn't need to use the loo-

Yassen dropped him onto the closed toilet lid. He sat without complaining, dimly registering the sound of running water. Were they going to dye his hair again?

Poor Yassen. Alex couldn't see him particularly well, but he was fairly certain that he was upset. There seemed no point in it considering how much happy-warm-safe Alex could still feel drifting around, despite the sudden shift in his evening. Plenty to share. His hands didn't want to cooperate with him very much right now, but he did his best to run his fingers through Yassen's short hair when the man stooped to drag him fully clothed under the spray. It had always made him feel better when Jack had done it, even when he was grown enough to feel embarrassed by it too. "It's okay," he repeated. "It's going to be okay."

Yassen's look was indecipherable.

It took him a minute to realize his mistake. Those were Jacks' comfort words. Yassen had his own.

"It's fine," Alex said instead. "Everything's fine now. I'll handle it."

Time passed strangely, with Alex only coming in and out for stretches of it. Sleepiness tugged at him. He wasn't sure when he transitioned from standing in the shower to laying back in the bath, watching his thin gray pajama bottoms balloon and trail in the steaming water. His fingers and toes were pinker. That was nice. More painful, though.

Had he hurt himself? Where was Yassen? He twisted, suddenly realizing how heavy he felt.

"I'm right here," Yassen answered, before Alex could say anything.

It took Alex another second to focus his eyes enough to take in Yassen sitting on the floor beside the tub, legs stretched out in front of himself on the off white stone tile, back propped up against the wall while he stared out at nothing. Eyes tight, face lined. He seemed tired.

"Good," Alex mumbled, turning onto his side and shutting his eyes. His overgrown hair was dripping water onto his forehead, but he didn't move it out of his eyes. Too much effort. "I thought you'd gone."

"I know."

"Hm?"

"You keep asking. I haven't left."

"Oh." Alex opened his eyes and reached his fingers over the edge of the ceramic. "Hand."

"I see it. Keep it in the water, Alex. You're not up to temperature yet." Without bothering to move from his position, Yassen extended his arm to grab Alex's wrist and return it to the warmth of the tub.

"Meant yours." Alex didn't bother fighting the relocation of his appendage, but before Yassen's own could retract, he grabbed it and plopped it atop his head. Streams of water vacated his hair in response. "There. Now I won't lose track of you."

More time passed in that strange in and out way. Alex wondered if he'd properly fallen asleep for any of it, though he doubted it since he couldn't exactly recall waking. Yassen's hand remained on his head, so far as he knew, with Alex only reaching up once or twice to confirm that the weight was actually still there from time to time.

"Hm?" Alex said.

"I asked why you were on the balcony."

Alex snorted. "Told you. Was looking at the city-ocean"

Yassen hesitated. "Like the one Jack lives in now."

Good. Yassen had been listening to him, even if he hadn't seen. He shut his eyes again. Maybe they'd look at it again together some other time. He was too tired right now. "That's right, 'cept her ocean is warm. And vast. And everything."

The killer was quiet for a long minute. "Were you trying to… go see her?"

"No." Alex shifted in the tub. His wet cotton shirt might as well have been latex with as hard it was to peel away from his inflamed hip, but weighed as much as lead. "It'd make her sad. She was sad to think I'd join her so soon, last time."

"Right." There was something… extra nothing about Yassens' voice now. Like the taste of gelatin. Or those rice cakes the man kept insisting were healthy. "Remind me of when she told you that?"

"When I got shot," Alex said, rubbing his hip beneath the water. His skin was starting to wrinkle, but the tips of his fingers still felt cold to the rest of his flesh. "Before my parents visited again. They only come when I'm shot."

"Right. The sniper. They came to hold your hand."

"Wanted to. Too heavy that time." That reminded him. His eyes didn't want to open, so Alex quickly double checked that Yassen's hand was still anchoring the man beside him by squeezing it. It was reassuringly corporeal. "Got Mum hugs this time. Just as good as Jack hugs. Dad said you're doing great. Important to him I not forget to tell you that you're doing great. Did I forget to say? I forget seeing them sometimes. It's easier to remember when I'm falling asleep."

"No, you remembered. It sounded like a nice dream."

Alex snickered. "It wasn't a dream, Yassen. They're dead now, not imaginary."

"Okay, little Alex." The words came out of him like a sigh. After a moment, he gave Alex's hand a gentle squeeze back.

It had been a stressful two days for Ben Daniels. As soon as Wolf had returned to active duty, Ben had set about his newfound task of trying to figure out exactly how to get ahold of MI6's top gadget developer and technical specialist. Obviously, approaching his office, assistants, and boss hadn't helped any. Ben knew nothing of Smithers' personal life and it wasn't as though MI6 made a habit of publishing an employee directory for obvious reasons. A cursory internet search didn't reveal much- the man, unsurprisingly, wasn't active on social media nor did he have much of a digital footprint at all apart from the occasional speaking engagement or committee service.

It had been frustratingly fruitless. The man clearly still existed, but no one had heard from the eccentric personality responsible for outfitting the agents assigned the more challenging missions. Ben quickly ran out of viable candidates to even question since it only increased the odds that word would get back to Jones that he was looking into the man with a renewed fervor.

He couldn't have become a ghost, though! Surely, someone knew something.

Cross and bitterly trying to at least give the appearance that he was focused on his actual paid work in Special Operations, Ben had just been about to give it up as a dead end as he stalked into the break room to grab a quick cup of tea. Smithers had been fond of tea. Had this odd little habit of adding toffee bits to sweeten his drink, which he'd apparently read about on-

Ben had frozen, holding the mug cabinet open, face to face with a little purple tin of baking toffee bits he was certain hadn't been there the day before.

Well aware that most of the building was under some kind of surveillance, he gently plucked the little tin from the shelf and continued making his tea as though he'd only been temporarily lost in thought. Nothing had seemed unusual about the exterior of the little container, so he carefully opened it and scooped a small amount of chips into his drink to sweeten it. Affixed to the inside of the lid was a small, glossy advert for baking morsels with a little coupon code printed to it. Ben crumpled it in his hand as he stirred his drink, returning to his desk. If anyone reviewed the tape, they might catch him taking something out of the tin, but that could easily be attributed to the toffee bits.

It had taken ages and ages of wrestling the impulse to look at it, but somehow Ben made it through the work day without caving. At a small cafe along his route to his flat, he gave in and stopped long enough to fish it from his pocket and examine it more closely. Nothing terribly unusual about it, except for the barcode: it was far too short to be standard and it didn't take a genius to realize it was a phone number when you removed all the zero digits. This was meant to be found and recognized, just not by anybody else. Calling it yielded an error message, but his text was answered immediately.

Brookland Comprehensive School. Two hours. Don't be late.

Now, two hours later, Ben found himself pacing absently in front of the main office. He checked his phone again, unsurprised to see nothing. Calling him would be out of the question, but he didn't see any obvious destination or meet point. Surely he wasn't supposed to wander the property indefinitely? The front doors had been left unlocked and the only other sould he'd seen had been a janitor that hadn't seemed terribly interested in him.

If Ben had any doubt that this was Smithers and that he knew about Alex, it was gone now. He'd never asked Alex what school he attended, though it had been passingly mentioned in a report about a sniper attack on a schoolroom in one of his files. If Ben hadn't recognized the name, the fact that he was having a secret meeting at a children's school would have been a clear enough allusion.

On a small bench in front of him, something began to ring.

Ben approached slowly, warily. A graphing calculator had been left clumsily to the side as though it had carelessly tumbled from a backpack earlier. It was obviously for him. Surely the janitor would have collected it by now, not to mention that calculators didn't usually have a ringtone to begin with.

Ben cautiously picked it up. The ringing stopped, and instead, the small digital screen illuminated green.

Please hold steady, one foot from eye, and try not to blink.

Ben did as instructed, fighting his wince as it scanned his iris with a short burst of light. After the little device seemed to contemplate this new information, the screen changed.

Text chat initiated!

He blinked. He'd rather been expecting a phone call after the little ringing had gone off, but he supposed this would do. Normally, he might take this level of obfuscation as a hint that he might not be speaking to whom he thought, but this was all just so… Smithers. So long as he got some kind of answers. It would be a bit of a pain to try and type using the alternate text functions, though-

Almost as soon as he thought that, a little slide out keyboard revealed itself, spanning the entire length of the device. Squinting, he turned the calculator on it's side, it now functioning as an almost comically oversized cell phone rather forcing him to peck at the little numbers to select each letter. Did all calculators have that now or was this a Smithers original? He supposed that could be a new model. It had been less than a decade since he'd been in school himself though...

Hello, Agent Daniels! I'm so glad you took my advice about the toffee chips. They really do add a nice caramel flavor without overpowering the rest.

Ben typed as quickly as he could. Did you really plan this so far in advance? That's one hell of a hint. All these months?

Of course not, old bean. I just really like using toffee chips. Hoping you'd remember the tip was a bit of a gamble, to be perfectly upfront. I hear you've been asking after me and Alex. Do you know where you are right now?

His school.

Absolutely correct! And why do you think I have suggested this as a drop point?

Ben stared at the screen for a good ten seconds before he decided to err on the side of brevity. I'm not sure I understand your question.

Why do you think I chose this place, despite all others I could have sent you to? Come now, take a minute, my good fellow. Think carefully.

Ben sucked air through his teeth. Now wasn't the time for riddles, though he got the distinct impression that this was more of a password question rather than a fun brain teaser. The problem was, he had no earthly idea what it was.'Toffee chips' probably wasn't the answer.

What was it that Smithers wanted to know from him that he didn't already? Ben was almost certain the man knew far more than him if he'd been in contact with Alex directly. Maybe the question was of Ben's intent. The purity of his motivations, perhaps. He didn't exactly blame him, he supposed, given the utter nightmare it had been trying to navigate around Jones and whatever song and dance was-

He got it abruptly. It's where Alex should be, according to MI6 files. Except they put him in some kind of secret prison instead. Before all this mess, school is where he was supposed to be. Where Blunt and Jones should have left him. Ben hesitated but couldn't stop himself from adding, Do you know if he's alright?

Each second seemed to increase his heart rate, until finally...

"Alright" is a relative term, I'm afraid, old chap. There's a few questions I'm willing to answer. But first, answer another of mine. Why are you looking into all of this?

Ben considered answering that it was his job, but knew better. Obviously, something was going on with MI6 and Smithers, else Smithers would be checking his emails and not sneaking coded adverts into toffee tins. Besides, Ben was past the point of being merely assigned to bring Alex in based on the vain hope the kid would recognize and trust him. Kingman had been officially declared a failed mission and his workload had long since moved on. His handler had told him to expect to be sent out into the field in a few weeks- his medical leave had ended awhile back, though he had been kept in London long enough to worry Jones was punishing him for asking too many questions. Now she couldn't wait to get rid of him.

Honesty was probably the only thing Smithers would accept.

I'm worried about Alex. He's in some kind of trouble but no one here is telling the truth, and I don't know if he's getting the help he needs. He's probably not if he's still with Gregorovich.

If no one in MI6 is telling the truth, what makes you think I will be any better?

I don't, honestly. I just know that you helped him get away in Kingman and now you aren't at MI6. Ben paused, trying to sort out his words, well aware that Smithers could cut the connection and walk away if he were less than satisfied with responses at any time. Jones says one thing, but does another. Alex's safety doesn't seem to be the actual priority. The weird injections. The lies about where Alex has been and the treatment he was getting. Something's not right. Something very bad for Alex.

Many bad things have happened to Alex. You witnessed several such instances yourself. Why object now?

Ben hissed through his teeth. He couldn't be imagining the sudden accusational tone in the man's words. The truth stung, however much he didn't like it.

Because it was always supposed to be temporary. He wasn't supposed to be damaged. Not like this.

Lots of heroes come back damaged. He served his country. Saved millions of people. The lives of the many outweigh the few. Isn't that why we sacrifice our own?

But those are ours to give. Ben swallowed. I used to think it was… just, in a way. A bad thing for a good reason. Alex certainly seemed to believe in the collective good; that's why he agreed to help. It was foolish of me to believe that made it okay. I should have made a bigger fuss, but that doesn't matter anymore. He's in trouble now. Unwell. I want him to get better. To be safe.

As do I. Tell me, though, exactly who you think he needs the most protection from?

Ben shut his eyes. The pressure was on. In this game of riddles that didn't sound like riddles, he knew the obvious answers would end the conversation right here and now. The truth wasn't lurking in the obvious answers anyway. It had kept him up at night for weeks now, as he'd laid there, deading this inevitable conclusion. Of solidifying it, even if his mind had brushed up against the thought long ago. Part of him had accepted it, but it was only a small part.

Time for treason. Fuck.

It was now or never. It had been a short, stressful career he'd had, should the worst happen and he be discovered. If he were fortunate, he would spend the rest of his days locked in a jail cell for even having this conversation. Then again, that was assuming he didn't end up otherwise disposed of, ironically for trying to do the right thing. The only real difference between the two would be the story they fed others about what really became of him.

The problem was, you could say almost all the same things about Alex.

It's Jones, isn't it? There's just too much amiss to be otherwise. I've been thinking about the last time I saw him. I can't stop going over it, ever since I realized you'd been the one who had to have helped Alex in Arizona. Why leave him with G? I've seen your work. You could have taken him with you or immobilized G so he would be caught, but you didn't. It's us. MI6 is who Alex needs protecting from, at least more than anyone else.

Yes.

It was the first, simple, straightforward answer he'd gotten so far. It made Ben's stomach sink, to hear his worst fears confirmed. More terrible things are going to happen to him, aren't they? If Jones finds him.

I'll contact you again soon.

Without much more warning than that, the little calculator let out an almost roman-candle-esque whistle before firing off a neat flare. Ben yelped and dropped the little device as the firework crackled and dispersed against the wall. It turned out to be the first of many. Crackling and hissing loudly, spark after spark and wave after wave of multi colored flames and lights billowed forth, echoing loudly off the hallway walls. When all was said and done, Ben was left with a hammering heart in a dead silent hallway, standing next to a scorched section of floor, covered in plastic remnants and ash.