A/N: This chapter isn't really a chapter, as such. I have a strict plan for eleven chapters (with the names chosen and everything), but I have to add little bits of info here and there, so that it makes more sense. This is the first of, well, probably many. I'm not one to dramatically alter my plans, and I don't like making my FF works more than three pages long at a time (that is, on MW: Verdana 10pt). So… yeah. These won't be very long… maybe a page to a page and a half. They're not supposed to be long. Honest.

Thanks to amitai for reviewing! All loffs!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Alex Rider, Ian Rider, Victoria or Yassen Gregorovich (who doesn't actually make an appearance in this fic, but I love him anyway. Go you good bad guys! squishes). Is it nice to rub it in?

First Interlude

It had been late afternoon when the pair had met at the café table, and evening was drawing in as they left it. Their movements were carefully monitored from a side alley to the left of the café. When they moved, their watcher carefully followed, making sure that the couple did not see them.

Ian found that his new companion was rather good company. He had thought that they would probably have covered most of the things that they could talk about back at the café, but she was a surprisingly robust chatterer. Lucky for him, as the only company Ian had had for the past week was the surly security and the flirty receptionist at CARMAL - not including the big man himself, of course - and the phone calls from Mr Blunt most mornings. It made a nice change to have someone to talk to.

She was here looking for a job. A friend of a friend's boyfriend's cousin's god-daughter had told her that she - this is the god-daughter - would talk to her father, and see if she could get her a job in his firm. Three weeks after the message had been passed back down through the channels of communication, she had been told to go to Victoria for an interview and a probable placement.

"And even if I don't get the job - which doesn't look likely right now - then at least I've seen a bit of Canada. I've got photos and everything, so I can stick them on my walls when I get home." She had looked over at him then, noting his slightly bemused expression. "I stick all my holiday photos on my bedroom walls," she explained. "It reminds me of the good times, when I'm feeling low." She didn't embellish on when or why she might be feeling low, and Ian didn't push her for information. After all, it wasn't as if he was telling her everything, was it?

The sun had almost completely set by now, and the tall surrounding buildings threw vast shadows across the pavements, which were almost devoid of life. It seemed that Canadians - or Victorians, at any rate - had early bedtimes. The road they were on was… oh dear.

"This isn't right," said Ian quietly, looking around him. He spotted a street sign, and swore. They should've taken the previous turning… When he relayed this piece of information to his companion, she too cursed.

"Does that mean we're going to have to backtrack all that way?" she asked. Suddenly, she shivered and rubbed her arms, glancing around. Ian had felt it too. The distinct impression that they were being watched, and not from just one location either. This was definitely not good.

"Come on," he said, taking her elbow and steering her to her right. "There's a short cut through here."

She stared at him. "You said you'd only been in Victoria a week! How on earth do you know your way around so well?"

He smiled tightly. The feeling of being watched had grown in intensity, and he had an uncomfortable sensation in his gut. And his gut had never let him down so far. "I've got a good sense of direction," he said as they stepped into the alley that cut between two darkened superstores.

They were about half way down the alley, and Ian was just about to admit that he had maybe been jumping to conclusions when there was the swift, muted pock of a silenced bullet slicing through the air, and the all-too-familiar crack at it hit a wall to Ian's far right. He swore, and dragged her to one side.

Another gun went off to their right, and Ian realised that they were surrounded. He swore again, and pushed her forward into a run. Soon they were sprinting down the alley. He could hear her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, hear the pounding of their feet on the tarmac. And those were the only sounds, apart from the throbbing pulse of his own heart, hammering in his ears.

The end of the alley was in sight. They could see another road passed the looming black walls of the bordering shops. They were almost there… Something collided with Ian's shoulder, and for a moment he thought he'd been shot. Then he was being thrown to the floor by something barrelling into his side. There was a thud, and a gasped curse from his left as he checked his shoulder. He hadn't been shot, just clipped by a bullet as it whizzed past.

He felt rather than saw her crouch next to him. "Are you okay?" she whispered. He nodded, and accepted her hand to help him up. There was a squishy dark shape on the floor. He looked down at the girl standing next to him. She was nursing her left hand. He saw her teeth flash in the blackness as she grinned at him. "Think we can make it?" she asked, nodding towards the exit. Ian looked at her carefully.

"If you drop that gun, then maybe," he replied softly. There was a clink of fallen metal, and a soft, warm hand slid into his own. He surprised himself by closing his own around it.

Almost as if they had rehearsed it, they dashed off together for the end of the alley. A bullet ricocheted off the wall, and he heard a swift gasp of pain. But there was no time to think as they sprinted out of the alley and off up the street. She pulled him to the right, and then down another alley. This time, they ran straight on up the fire escape so handily provided for them.

She stopped on the fourth floor, bringing him to an abrupt halt as she fumbled with the door. Finally it was open, and they tumbled through.

It was dark in the flat. Ian could just see the outline of her face in the dim light filtering through from the still open door. There was blood in her cheek, and he realised that either the stray bullet or a piece of shattered brickwork had sliced through her cheek. He brought up his hand to touch it. She flinched slightly as he did so. There was a movement, so quick that Ian barely had time to register it.

The next thing he knew, her lips were on his, his tongue clashing with hers as frantic, clumsy hands pushed, pulled, kicked and ripped off pieces of clothing. Somewhere along the line, the door got closed and they were on the bed, but Ian could never quite remember how either happened.

A/N: Okay, so it's just over two pages. So what? Do I hear you complaining? Just remember to review…