Edward had offered their guest room to the soldiers but they had declined and set off back to their motel instead. He couldn't help warming to the soldiers, their protectiveness over Alex was astounding. A couple of the american soldiers were still there, heads bent over the table, listening to Brad's recording over and over. Brad himself had left first, confused and worried. Liz had gone to bed finally looking harassed but Edward couldn't even pretend to sleep. Alex was out there, in the hands of a maniac and they couldn't even call the police on the people who had sent him there. They couldn't even tell their next door neighbours. Sabina's case was trickier. She was in the hands of a (until recently) presumed dead international assassin who had also kidnapped her a year previously. It was true however that Sabina had willingly put herself in that position, even when she could have simply told the man what he needed to know. Her stubbornness had gotten her into trouble. He could easily see why her and Alex got on so well.

A voice interrupted his thoughts

"We're going to get going now." It was Apache. No, he was too short, it was Ghost.

Edward nodded, rising to his feet. "Do you have a number I can get you by? Just in case we hear something? Or if you do- I know it's probably not the done thing, but" he stumbled over his words, "would you, would you call? Please?"

Ghost seemed to think it over. Edward was sure if this was a normal case it would have been a flat out no, but this wasn't a normal case, this was the furthest thing from normal that had ever happened to Edward, and he'd been blown up before.

"Yeah," he said finally, "sure thing. Er..." he mimed the action of writing in the air, "d'you've a pen?"

Edward nodded and walked to the sideboard, searching for a scrap of paper. He pulled out a white sheet. It was Sabina's report card from last year. He swallowed. He flipped the paper over and pulled out a biro, passing it to Ghost.

He took the paper.

"Thanks." he said scribbling down a number. He handed it back to Edward who tucked it in his pocket. Edward produced one of his own business cards from his wallet and passed it to Ghost.

"Look, " Ghost said, rubbing his forehead with the card between his fingers, "we may not be able to remain in contact all the time, but I promise you when we find your daughter we'll call you."

Edward nodded. "We get it, don't worry. Just do your job."

He hadn't meant for it to come out as harsh as it did but Ghost didn't look phased.

"We will, Sir." He said gravely. He turned to the soldier who was still sitting in the living room, "Rex, c'mon."

They traipsed to the door and stepped out into the street. Rex turned back to him "Thank you for your hospitality Sir. We'll do our best and hopefully we'll call with good news soon."

Edward gave him a solemn nod and was offered what could be passed as a smile back. They turned and left. Edward watched them go until he could no longer see them. It had been a long night.

He made his way back into their sitting room and sat down in his armchair. He reached out and poured a measure of whisky into an empty glass. He didn't drink it, just held it in his hands.

None of this would have happened if they hadn't met Alex, he thought. It was a horrible thing to think let alone believe but Edward's mind was panicked and stressed and he couldn't help but dwell on it. He remembered the very first day he'd met Alex. He'd taken a liking to the boy immediately with his quick wit and charm. He loved how Sabina lit up when he walked in the room and how she smiled everytime Alex came up in conversation. It hadn't been until Alex had come to stay with them after Egypt that he realised the full extent of what the boy had been through. He still didn't really know. But he'd promised to take care of him like he was his own son. He'd tried to do that, even when Alex had broken the mirror when getting his haircut, even when he'd been reluctant to actually join in with family nights.

He ran a hand through his hair. He'd found himself doing that a lot lately. He thought about the house in Nice and remembered that none of that had actually been because of Alex. Sure, he'd known the man who had planted the bomb, but it hadn't been his fault. It had been Edward's for investigating the wrong person. Again, in Scotland when the car went into the lake. Everyone had said it was an accident, that the ice had made them skid, but sometimes the way Alex talked about it, it was as if he knew differently. But had it been because of Edward or Alex that they'd taken an unwanted bath?

There were so many secrets surrounding that boy, Edward marvelled that MI6 and the CIA had enough paper to print out OSA's to prevent any of them getting out. Alex was a mystery, even to Edward and Liz who were supposed to be his parents. Some father Edward thought. He'd basically let Alex be taken by Intelligence yet again. If Alex hadn't been kidnapped he would have been able to put up more of a-

Edward paused, drink halfway to his mouth. He set the whiskey down and scrambled for one of the copies of Alex's message. He scanned the page, thinking hard.

Because my life is pretty blunt, my leaving was unexpectedly due to a fantastic cause.

He read it again

Because my life is pretty blunt, my leaving was unexpectedly due to a fantastic cause.

Pretty was crafty. Crafty Blunt meant a devious Alan Blunt and what had fantastic meant again? Imaginary? An imaginary cause. Alex had left because Blunt had willed it so. It hadn't been a kidnapping, Alan Blunt just needed Alex alone and vulnerable, needed him thinking he was putting others in danger by being somewhere. How had he not realised this before? Edward wanted to shout, he wanted to hit someone. He wanted to-

What did he want to do? What could he do? He couldn't call up the CIA, couldn't shout at them for what they'd done. As far as anyone knew, nothing had happened. Alex had worked it out though, he knew that he wasn't a danger to the rest of the children in the school, he knew Blunt had orchestrated the whole thing, or at least, he suspected it. Once this thing was over Alex could be in peace and live quietly. Nothing was going to happen just because he was there and he'd be able to attend school knowing that.

Edward downed his whiskey. That was stupid, thinking that Alex would ever be able to live quietly. He was so different to the rest of them. He hadn't noticed until Brad had come along, his bright eyes eager and excited, his insatiable energy even when nervous. Alex had long outgrown that. He was too silent, too measured and calculating. When he looked at Edward it wasn't with the nervousness of Brad or the love of Sabina it was with understanding and mutual respect. Edward wondered if that would be the same look Alex gave him when he returned back from wherever he was. He doubted it somehow. He didn't even want to imagine what Alex would be like, it was too painful. Immediately he felt selfish. Alex was going through something indescribable and here Edward was too much of a coward to think about the after effects. He leaned back and grabbed the decanter of whisky. He set the glass aside and too a swig, staring out into the dark street.


Sabina stared into the dingy motel mirror and watched the tears roll down her cheeks as she cried. It was better than looking at her hair. The bleach box was in the bin and the blonde dye sat open on the edge of the sink. Even though it was wet, her hair was obviously lighter and, even worse, it was ginger. It was silly to cry, but she loved her hair. Well, she had loved it. More tears spilt out and she couldn't hold in the whimper. She thought she heard the russian sigh from somewhere in the room and she felt angry. He thought she was a silly, useless schoolgirl. She'd show him. Anyway, she'd always wondered what she'd look like blonde. She flipped her hair over and grabbed the next packet of bleach, dumping it over her head.

Ten minutes later her hair was much much lighter. She grabbed the box of dye and then paused. Though the assassin had been thoughtful enough to buy a multipack of bleach, he'd only bought one packet of dye. There was no way it was going to cover her whole head. Before she could stop herself she strode back into the bedroom and pulled open the draw in the vanity. She grabbed the shaving kit she'd been looking for and headed back to the bathroom. She unrolled the kit and grimaced. The tweezers looked used and she wrinkled her nose up at them. Picking up the scissors, she ran them under the hot tap and made steely eye contact with herself in the mirror. For Alex.

The next morning, or what she assumed was the morning, she was shaken awake.

"Get up, we're leaving."

She blinked at the light that was flooding in through the windows and winced. Her eyes felt crusty, she'd cried herself to sleep. She looked at the alarm clock on the side table; it was 8am. No wonder she felt tired. She'd only been asleep two hours.

She pushed herself up and kicked the duvet off her. Gregorovitch was across the room, sorting out a rucksack. Once again, his gun was tucked back into his waistband.

"We should reach El Paso at 10pm."

She blinked. The assassin was offering conversation, that was unusual.

"Okay." she said, yawning.

He turned around, surveying her. "You can sleep in the car."

"Okay."

He turned back around and she suddenly felt annoyed. He hadn't even looked at her hair. Not even a twitch of an eyebrow. She'd expected at least that.

"What do you think of my hair?" she asked loudly.

He paused before answering. "I didn't think you would have the guts to do it." He said plainly.

"Well I did."

The assassin turned, only to give her a raised eyebrow.

She felt annoyed that it hadn't got more of a reaction out of Gregorovitch and went angrily to the bathroom. She pulled the door closed with a small bang and she didn't care if the man thought she was acting childishly, as he no doubt would. She splashed water on her face and brushed her hair out of her eyes. It was much easier now that it was chin length. It didn't suit her, she decided. It made her look too american, a little too sun kissed california girl for her liking. She did look like she could be Alex's sister though she thought absentmindedly.

She clenched her jaw and went back out into the bedroom to find it deserted, all evidence of them being in the room had gone. She strode to the door in panic and stepped out into the sunshine, half expecting to hear the squeal of tires as he left her in the dust. She looked around, eyes darting all over the parking lot, he couldn't have left. He needed her. The sound of a horn ripped through the still morning air and she relaxed. The assassin was waiting for her thirty yards away, looking impatient. She really didn't want to get in the car but she knew she had to. She slid into the passenger seat, feeling a little foolish and without a word, Gregorovitch put it in gear and set off.

The journey was quiet. The assassin had chosen some obscure radio station that only seemed to play music by violin orchestras. Though she was tired, she found that she couldn't sleep. The scenery was flat and dull and Gregorovitch didn't offer any conversation. She wished she had a phone or some paper or anything to distract her from what she was doing. She amused herself for a while by fiddling with the grab handle until Gregorovitch spoke, startling her.

"If you would refrain from doing that Miss Pleasure I would be grateful." He said, tiredly.

Surely it couldn't be that annoying, she thought. If he was going to be unreasonable, so was she. "Well if you put some more interesting music on, then I might not have to play with the handle."

"I never said you couldn't change the station," he said quietly.

Sabina flushed. He hadn't actually said that, come to think of it. She waited a minute for the heat in her cheeks to die down and then reached out to move the dial.

"Do not change the station." Gregorovitch said abruptly.

"But you said-"

"I didn't say you could change it either."

She dropped her hand to her lap and glared at the glove box.

"Don't have a tantrum Miss Pleasure. Go to sleep."

She wanted to yell that she wasn't having a tantrum but thought better of it. Instead she settled for: "I'm not tired.'

"Yes, you are." Gregoorovitch said, not taking his eyes off the road. "Go to sleep, or I will put you to sleep."

Fear rushed through her and she suddenly remembered who she was travelling with. This was an international assassin who had probably killed more people than she'd have hot dinners. He'd killed Alex's uncle and tried to kill her own father. Why did she think this was a good idea? For Alex. her mind supplied. She pressed her head against the edge of the seat and closed her eyes. In seconds she was asleep.


Anatolievich had requested that Alex join him for lunch in the dining room, so with the help of a couple of nurses Alex had never seen before, he got up, dressed and now was trying to make himself presentable. There were dark shadows under his eyes and he looked a little pinched. His throat hurt and he was bone tired. It was probably all the drugs he's been injected with. He hoped he was lucid next time they tried injecting him, he didn't want to get dependent. He limped to the door but was stopped by one of the nurses.

He was a tall man, with olive skin and a slight hook to his nose. "You've got to wait for the chair." he said bluntly. His accent was hard to place. Alex thought it was maybe canadian.

"The what?"

"Your wheelchair."

Alex shook his head, "I'm not getting in a wheelchair."

Last time he'd been in one he'd been drugged up so much he couldn't move and they'd shaved his head. The nurse saw the look on his face and looked conflicted.

"Hey, it's not you that gets punished if you hurt yourself. It's me." He pointed at his chest.

The nurse next to him, a short dumpy woman came forward, a single crutch in her hands.

"Michael, it's okay. He can use this."

The man rolled his eyes at her. "On your head be it."

The woman handed Alex the crutch and he slid his arm through the slot and found that the handle had been modified so he could use his three undamaged fingers.

"It's great, thank you."

"You're lucky that your right elbow isn't broken lad or it would have had to have been the chair."

Alex resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows. He didn't manage to stop a quiet sarcastic "Lucky" from escaping between his lips.

Five minutes later he'd managed to make it down the first flight of stairs. The dining room door was in view. Alex stopped to catch his breath; just one more flight. A quiet murmur of voices grew louder and footsteps began to accompany them. That must be the new security man Anatolievich had mentioned. Lindsay was supposed to be interviewing him, but it sounded as if the russian had joined them. The drawing room door opened and Georges stepped out first, looking bored out of his mind.

The next man was walking backward, still chatting with Lindsay. He had a british accent and Alex only had a second before he realised who it was. He was in plain view, he couldn't hide anywhere, he'd be too slow with the crutch. He took in a deep breath and prepared himself as the man turned around. He didn't look up at the stairs and for a brief moment Alex thought he'd got away with it until-

"Ah! Alexander!" Anatolievich called loudly.

The man looked up and they met each other's gaze. Ben Daniels' eyes widened in surprise.

"Good afternoon, Sir." Alex replied quietly, beginning to make his way down the last flight. Anatolievich, Lindsay, Georges and Daniels watched him descend the stairs until he stood between them.

"This is Benedict Wicks," Anatolievich said gesturing to Daniels, "he's the new head of security I mentioned."

"Nice to meet you," Alex said, holding out his hand, "I'm Alexander Friend." he stared into Daniels' eyes, trying to communicate to keep silent, hoping that he wasn't about to give him away. Luckily, the man seemed to notice something was off.

Daniels took his hand, shaking it. "As Mr Anatolievich said, I'm Mr Wicks. I'll be heading all security systems here for the next few months. I'll be living here too so I should get to see quite a lot of you." he squeezed Alex's hand as he released it. Something Alex was sure Anatolievich had noticed.

"I look forward to it." he said politely, looking at Anatolievich for reassurance.

"Well Mr Wicks," Anatolievich said, gesturing a little to the front door "we'll see you tomorrow afternoon. My driver will show you out."

Daniels left and Alex was stood, almost frozen, his mind whirling. Ben Daniels was here. Had he been sent to get Alex out? Had MI6 thought he needed help? What was going on? He needed to talk to him but now he was going to have to wait until t

"Al, you alright?" Georges whispered.

Alex nodded. "Sorry, just a little dizzy." He demonstrated this by wobbling a little, cockling his ankle slightly. "I've not stood up for about twenty four hours."

Anatolievich, who was on his way back from showing Daniels out, ran the last couple of steps to support Alex, placing his hand under his elbow.

"Alexander," Anatolievich said sternly, "where is your chair?"

Alex bit his lip, he didn't think Anatolievich would mind. Evidently he did. "I'm sorry sir, I am grateful for it, really. I'd just prefer the crutch is all. I don't want to feel like a burden."

Immediately Anatolievich's gaze softened. "You could never be Alexander, not to me."

Alex met his gaze deliberately. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment too long and Alex felt yet another pair of eyes on him, staring into the back of his head; Georges. Anatolievich looked away first and turned to Lindsay who was standing there, slightly uncomfortable.

"What do you think of Wicks then?" he asked

"I like the man, he seems capable and trustworthy." They set off walking towards the dining room. Alex fell into step besides George, trailing after the two men. "You said you'd had him completely background checked?"

"Yes." Anatolievich glanced behind at Alex and Georges and lowered his voice, walking a little quicker. As much as Alex wanted to know what they were saying he couldn't keep up with his crutch and it would have been suspicious to follow so closely anyway. There was an uncomfortable silence between himself and Georges and he risked a glance at the other boy. Georges was staring at his feet.

A cold rush went through Alex. He knew Georges had been looking at him when he'd been staring into Anatolievich's eyes. He wasn't sure that his message earlier had been clear enough.

They stepped into the dining room where Anatolievich and Lindsay were already seated. Georges moved to sit down but Alex tugged him back by his sleeve. He had to use his right hand to do so and almost fell.

"Please don't think less of me." he whispered intently, repeating his earlier sentiment. Hoping against hope that Georges would get his meaning now he had seen Alex making eyes at Anatolievich. Georges' eyes narrowed in confusion but he nodded slowly.

"Alexander, Georges, join us."

Alex limpled over to the table, sitting down on Anatolievich's left. He propped the crutch against the table and a second later someone was there to take it away. Alex hadn't even seen anyone else enter the room. Anatolievich chatted to Lindsay for a while whilst Alex made small talk with Georges.

A minute later someone else appeared and laid plates and glasses down in front of them. Alex looked curiously at it. He wasn't exactly sure what was on his plate. There was a collection of miniature sandwiches, all cut into different shapes, each with what looked like overly fancy, complicated fillings. None of them looked like a plain ham or cheese. Alex figured that Alexander Friend would probably know what they were and forced a bright smile onto his face. Anatolievich and Georges had already begun so he dug in.

Picking one up with his thumb and middle two fingers he took a small bite. He still didn't know what it was but it was exquisite.

"So tell me Georges," Anatolievich said loudly, "what did you and Alexander get up to in school?" Another cold rush flooded his body but he needn't have worried. Georges immediately leapt into a story about the time when they'd snuck into the kitchens to steal snacks at three AM and got caught by the matron. Georges went into detail about the cook, Mrs March and Alex listened with rapture in case he ever had to repeat the story to Anatolievich or Lindsay.

He ate his sandwiches in silence, sampling each before eating the whole thing. The topic changed from school to politics and Lindsay began telling Anatolievich ang Georges all about Mexico and the government struggles. Alex ate his food quietly, feeling himself growing tired. He must have zoned out as in what seemed like no time at all Lindsay was rising from the table.

"I'm afraid I must leave prematurely, Anatolievich, I have business in Tallahassee this afternoon." he stepped out from his chair and moved towards the door, Anatolievich following his movement a second later. "I will be back in two days to collect Georges and take him back to school."

Alex watched the men with interest as they walked to the door. It was interesting, he thought. They conversed so formally though they seemed like close friends. Georges leant towards him.

"What the fuck was that earlier?" he whispered incredulously, "staring into that creeps eyes?"

Alex swallowed the bite of sandwich he'd just taken. His throat was dry and the bread dragged on the way down.

"I can't tell you, just-" but he was cut short as Anatolievich returned to the table.

"What are you two boys talking about?" he smiled. It was like a shark's smile.

Alex started, dropping his sandwich. He hadn't sensed the man coming. He kicked himself mentally, but knew that it must be the lingering effects of the drugs in his system. He tried to pick up the sandwich but it had fallen between his plate and his glass of water. He couldn't pick it up without jostling his injured fingers. He moved to push the plate out the way so he could reach it more easily but Anatolievich's hand got there first.

"Let me get that for you." Anatolievich said hurriedly, picking up the sandwich. He held it up to Alex's mouth and he knew he was supposed to take the cue and take a bite. It was humiliating to do this in front of Georges, especially when the other boy didn't understand. He closed his eyes and took a bite, chewing as quick as he could though it was suddenly incredibly difficult. His mouth was still dry and the sensational flavour he had tasted earlier was non existent. He gave a nervous smile and saw his expression mirrored on Anatolievich's face. Alex continued to eat out of Anatolievich's hand, desperate to get it over with. He knew Georges was watching him. It probably disgusted him to see the exchange and Alex didn't blame him.

On his last bite of the sandwich, Anatolievich's thumb brushed Alex's lips, followed closely by the feeling of his finger stroking his cheek. Alex recoiled a little and Anatolievich's face fell.

"Sorry" Alex said quickly, mind searching for an excuse."The men who kidnapped me - they-"

"I understand Alexander, don't apologise. I know that even the smallest touch, however innocent, can bring you back to terrible moments."

Alex nodded in agreement though his mind was angry. 'However innocent' indeed. Bullshit. There was nothing innocent behind that touch and Alex knew it. He turned back and risked a glance at Georges. The boys eyes were alight with understanding. There was still confusion and a little repulsion there, but there was understanding, and that was all Alex needed.