Pytor Anatolievich slept soundly in his four poster bed, a blissful smile disrupting the cold features of his face. He was having a good dream. It involved a small sandy island and enough money to make the Queen of England kneel at his feet. He was also smiling because he'd gone to sleep with the knowledge that a very rich, very powerful man was soon to be in his debt.

The man in question was Sir David Friend. Sir David was a billionaire, a very influential man and close friend of the Prime Minister because of this, he'd naturally had created enemies all over the world. Enemies that wanted to get their hands on his family; there had been four different accounts of blackmail and three attempted kidnappings of Friend's daughter Fiona and his wife. The Friend's had gone into protective custody in the UK, with an array of security measures which included armed guards, electric fences and small land mines.

Sir David had called Anatolievich last night however, whispering frantically down the telephone asking for advice. This had been strange, and Anatolievich had checked out the man's story fully before saying a word. Sir David was not a friend of Anatolievich, he'd never even spoken to him, they lived in different countries, spoke different languages, lived very different kinds of lives; but the two had a mutual friend in Michael J. Roscoe, the american electronics billionaire. Roscoe had talked about Anatolievich - a problem he would deal with later - and Friend had decided on Anatolievich to help him with his problem.

The man had telephoned across the atlantic and, in hurried tones told him of his intel that a corrupt CIA agent was behind one of the attempted kidnappings. He'd explained the theory and it was credible when Anatolievich had Amailya check it out for him. He'd agreed to Friend's frenzied request. Friend's son was currently studying in America. He went to boarding school in Washington D.C., it was far from home but it was one of the best high schools in the country and had been the young boy's dream.

Friend couldn't fly the boy back to England without fear of the corrupt agent in the CIA stepping in. He couldn't let them put the boy in protective custody in case it just put him further in harm's way. He'd asked Anatolievich to house the boy somewhere in America until the British secret service had neutralised the threat. Anatolievich had given him his full assurance, that he'd look after him personally.

Alex was to be escorted by one of Anatolievich's own men from the school to Miami. He would be here tomorrow evening. Anatolievich shifted in his sleep, a small, svelte figure with an obscured face appeared on the island.

Alex hadn't enjoyed his helicopter ride at all. Sandwiched between Mrs Jones and Sir David, he'd not been able to panic. In a way he was glad, it helped him practice a charade, but if he was honest, he'd rather have been left alone to deal with the information he'd been given in the past few hours. Sir David's constant apologies and reassurance didn't help in the slightest, in fact it just made him feel sick.

Alex had finally been dumped in St Albans School in Washington D.C.; an all boys school for sons of billionaires, just like Alex was supposed to be. He wouldn't be here long, just overnight; he wouldn't have to talk to any of them thankfully. He'd been given a room, a uniform, a school bag and a set of pyjamas by a matron then was sent off to his room. The bedroom's were all the size of the entire downstairs of Alex's house, all with ornately carved furnishings, with fireplaces and floor to ceiling windows. It was beautiful.

Alex sat down on the bed and he sank into it; memory foam. Only the best for these kids, huh. He stripped off his tattered Lincoln High uniform and stepped into the ensuite. He turned the shower temperature up hot and let the water flow over him, relaxing for the first time in 24 hours. He washed his hair and scrubbed his body thoroughly. The school had provided him with toiletries of the highest quality. He shut off the water, flicking the hair out of his eyes. He stared in the mirror, he looked tired. There was a toothbrush and toothpaste sat in a cup on the side of the sink and he squeezed the toothpaste onto the brush. He wandered back into the bedroom, towelled off and pulled on the pyjamas. They were silk and plum coloured.

He returned the brush to the bathroom and got into bed, sliding between the soft linen sheets; he pulled his school bag toward him. Inside was a spare change of clothes, nothing flashy but an expensive brand and well made, a set of textbooks which looked decidedly unused, a photograph of the Friend family with himself expertly photoshopped in, (Alex wondered when someone had had the time to make it.) a manicure set, a couple of fiction books, a brand new iPhone and a series of small bottles with 'Prozac' and 'Luvox' printed on the labels.

Alex took out the manicure set. It was encased in beautiful leather with the initials AF engraved in silver. He opened it slowly. The first thing he saw was a small sheet of paper, he unfolded it. It was a letter.

Alex, it read,

Very sorry to hear about you being sent on another mission dear boy, I had rather hoped that the higher ups had listened to me when I said you needed rest but obviously they have disappointed both of us yet again.

This mission is a tricky one Alex, I know they've been planning it for a while now but they only told me about this a week ago so I've had to rush to make you this; I'm sure you understand.

From what I've heard, Anatolievich is a careful, paranoid man so I haven't been allowed to give you much. The iPhone has apps which work exactly like your game boy did during your first mission. There's also a code breaking app located on there disguised as 'Tune Me'. I've set up some social media for you, so looking through those would probably be a good idea.

The manicure set is also full of gadgets Alex, the nail clippers and tweezers when twisted become a tension wrench and a rake for lock picking. The blades on the razor can be taken apart and can cut through pretty much anything apart from reinforced steel and you've got a nail file which when snapped creates a smoke bomb.

The hand cream is a slow acting irritant to your immune system - you could use it to pull a sickie - but don't let me catch you using it for bunking off school when you return.

There are also two earrings, both with small charges which activate when taken apart and then reattached - be careful with them!

Sorry I couldn't be much more use on this one, good luck!

Smithers.

P.S this paper is edible so I suggest you eat it - It's strawberry flavoured!

Alex smiled at Smithers' antics and smelled the paper, sure enough it smelt like artificial strawberry. He read the letter once more and then tore up the paper, digesting it piece by piece. Alex picked up the tweezers, experimented with twisting it to release the hidden lock picks, then inserted it back into its place. He examined the nail file and the razor in turn and then turned his gaze to the earrings.

One was a light, cool blue colour and Alex guessed it was a coloured diamond. The other was small and silver in the shape of a half moon. Using the mirror on the case, Alex inserted the earrings into the old holes in his ear. They'd slightly sealed up over the past year but Alex pushed the stud through the thin layer of skin anyway.

He flicked through a couple of textbooks: they mostly contained what he'd been studying at Lincoln High. He yawned loudly; he'd not quite gotten over the time difference yet. He stuffed everything back into the satchel, hearing the bottles of pills rattle as he did so. He'd forgotten. He was supposed to take two pills from each bottle with every meal, but he'd missed tea.

Sighing, Alex slipped out of bed and pulled the pills out of the pocket of his Lincoln High uniform and headed into the bathroom. He filled the glass with water and stared at the pills in his hand. MI6 wouldn't know if he didn't take them, they would have no contact with him, what was to stop him just flushing these pills down the toilet. He strode over to it and was just about to drop the medication in but a sudden thought struck him.

Withdrawal. Alex would suffer withdrawal from the pills he'd unwittingly been taking for the past two months and without the proper help and expertise-well Alex didn't want to think about it. He was already feeling a little out of sorts. Rage flooded through him. MI6 had planned this perfectly, knowing he would try to ditch the pills the first chance he got, they'd made sure that wasn't an option for him if he wanted to come back alive. He kicked the bath and then immediately wished he hadn't.

He felt tears of pain and anger fell down his face and he sniffed miserably. Alex took in a long, shuddering breath and then threw the pills into his mouth, washing them down with water. He placed the glass back onto the sink and headed back to bed. He hated MI6 but he hated the things Anatolievich did more. He curled up and let his tears fall, all of his bottled up emotions from this morning's debrief pouring out. His body shaking, his heart thumping, the drugs circulating his system, he cried himself to sleep.

"SABINA!"

She turned, ready to glare at whoever it was who had interrupted her thinking. It was Brad; she gave him a hard stare. He was running toward her, his bag swinging wildly by his side, glasses askew, hair rumpled by the wind. He came to a stop a metre from her hiding place beneath the old oak tree in the grounds. It was said to be planted by President Lincoln himself.

"Sabina!" he said, panting, "Have you seen Alex? I want to talk to him."

When she didn't reply he moved closer, "Hey, are you alright? You look like you've been crying."

He was right, she had been crying. Alex had been gone for two days now. They'd had a phone call from an unfeeling agent to say that he was alright but wouldn't be able to call. He was alive and had agreed to do a small favour. Sabina knew, of course, that a 'small favour' was dickhead Special Ops code for 'mission'. Alex had been getting better, back to his witty, sarcastic self and he'd been whisked away once again before he'd had time to recover. Alex had PTSD, that Sabina was sure of. He had difficulty sleeping and when he finally did get to sleep, he had frequent nightmares. He had been constantly on edge and though Sabina knew Alex thought she didn't know about the incident at the hairdressers, she had put two and two together. What Alex needed was counselling, to move past Jack's death and to properly recover. What he didn't need was to be flung unceremoniously back into the same world he had just escaped. He'd had a mere two months at school and then - well, Sabina didn't know what he was doing now.

"Sabina?" came a voice from her left.

"Oh, piss off Brad" she snapped, "just leave me alone!"

He sat down next to her. She glared at him again and he moved a few inches away from her.

"What's wrong?"

He asked it with such sincerity that Sabina wanted to tell him everything, but she knew she couldn't. How could Alex bare this? Not letting anyone know the truth? He'd told Sabina, Tom and Jack but that was it. The temptation to tell people was overwhelming. Sabina found it difficult to make new friends when in the presence of Alex, she felt like she was lying by not telling them the truth. She couldn't imagine how hard it was for Alex to get close to people.

"It's Alex," she said finally "His...previous guardians won custody of him again and-" she felt a sob rising in her throat, "they're absolute bastards."

She wiped away her tears, she knew Brad would probably put this in the Lincoln Post. Tomorrow's comic sans headline would read 'Adoptive sister Sabina Pleasure cries like a little girl as brother is ripped away from family'. To her surprise Brad didn't ask a follow up question like he usually did, but instead put his arm around her. His arm was boney and stick-like but she was glad of it all the same.

They sat there in silence for a while longer, every now and then Sabina's sniffs and hiccups disrupting the quiet. The bell sounded and Sabina got to her feet. She'd missed her third period english lesson, but she didn't much care. She looked at Brad; his weedy face staring up at her.

"Thanks." she said sincerely. He gave her a small smile back. She turned to leave and then remembered why Brad was here in the first place. "Hey-" she said, getting the boy's attention, "why did you want to talk to Alex?"

He blinked and then recovered, his hand going into his bag. He retrieved a battered looking smartphone.

"I was looking into him," he said guiltily "I wanted to find out where he was from. I don't know his real last name so all I had to go on was that he's from London." Sabina raised an eyebrow "He supports Chelsea," Brad explained quickly "which means he's got to be local to them and well, I started looking at different schools round there and then I found this."

He held his phone out to her; she looked at it. On the screen there was a picture, screenshotted from an Instagram account named 'Tom_Harris'. The picture was of Alex and a shorter, black haired boy, their arms around each other, both dressed in the same football kit. Alex was holding a First Place football trophy, and surrounded by what looked like the rest of the team. Evidently they had just won a tournament, all of them were caked in mud and all looked very pleased with themselves.

Underneath the picture was a caption. "Brookland - 3 - Regent High - 1. Thanks, Alex."

Sabina smiled. The short kid next to him must be Alex's friend, Tom. She looked up at Brad. She couldn't see the harm in telling him.

"Yeah, that's Alex at his old school."

Instead of the frown on Brad's face clearing like she'd expected, the expression deepened.

"What?" she asked impatiently.

"I also found this," he said tapping on his screen, "It's an account for this guy called Alex Friend, he goes to a fancy school in Virginia."

He showed her the screen. The account undoubtedly belonged to Alex. It was full of pictures of him playing football, dinners out with his family and birthday posts for his sister Fiona. Sabina stared at it. The last post was from two days ago. The mission at the school in France had been ages ago. Why were MI6 still using the alias? A cold feeling crept its way up Sabina's spine.

Could Alex be using the Alex Friend persona for this 'small favour'? It had to be! She took off at a run. Her father had interviewed Friend for one of his articles and they'd gotten on well. If she could get ahold of his number...

"Sabina?" called Brad from behind her, "where are you going? Is that Alex? Is that his family? The one you said got custody of him?"

She ignored him. He could guess all he wanted, he was never going to realise the truth. Sabina was going to find Alex and bring him home. And if the CIA or MI6 tried to stop her well, she wasn't going to go down easily.

"There are so many fics where Sabina is an absolute bitch to Alex but that's so out of character in my opinion. So in this, she's going to try everything to get him back 'cause she's awesome like that. I have so many plans. Sorry It's a little short folks.
"Also what do we think are in those pills?
And how long have MI6 and the CIA been planning this operation? Ever since Alex got back from Egypt? Could they be that heartless?/span/p
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, I'm so happy I'm still invested in the story. "Reviews are my motivation. :)