A/N: I don't own Alex Rider. Anthony Horowitz does.

Read and enjoy!

Blunt looked at the flash drive dourly and Ian placed a picture next to it. "Ma'am, Sir, this is a flash drive detailing all of CIA and Mossad's illegal black bag operations in Yemen during the three years preceding the Yemeni revolution. There are some documents on here that strongly imply that the Agency had a hand in destabilising the region." Ian tapped the photo. "This man is one of my assets, a Yemeni diplomat who has managed to retain his power through the years. Man's a little afraid of Colin, but he and I get on just fine. As I'm sure you've realised, he is currently one of the most powerful men in the new regime."

"I take it you want my participation in these... negotiations, Agent Rider?" Jones asked, popping a peppermint in her mouth.

"I do, Ma'am. As Sir will not be here beyond the next few months, I need someone more permanent for the next... terms of my negotiation, if you will."

"And that would be?"

Ian's expression was calm and intent. "The spy world - all of it - leaves Alex alone, unless and until he willingly makes an approach himself."

Blunt and Jones waited for Ian to continue.

"The information on this drive is the kind of leverage we've been after over the Agency for longer than I've been here." Ian's lips quirked up. "However, the intel can't be accessed without a code. If anyone tries, the information is automatically sent to our diplomatic friend."

"I see," Blunt replied evenly, shifting files on his desk. "Did you know, Agent Rider, that your seat is directly in line with the rooftop of Merck International, 1.5 kilometres due south? This room is soundproofed, and there is a hidden entrance for a clean-up crew. It is especially useful for getting out of the building unseen, in case of a threat."

Ian stiffened slightly.

"Losing our third best operative would be a tragedy, of course, but the Service has managed quite well these past months. Alex would be devastated by your second disappearance, and may even demand we search for you. He may even offer his services as payment. Your body would be found several weeks, perhaps months later, thanks to his efforts."

Ian swallowed, tensing.

Blunt glanced at Jones who sighed. "By the time you even reach the front door, Agent Rider, there could be a sizeable deposit in your Swiss account which can later be traced back to Zeljan Kurst. Your accounts would promptly be frozen, all your communications intercepted, and your movements tracked. You wouldn't be able to make it ten feet out of the city limits before you were taken in. Alex would be devastated, again, that his Uncle went against everything he was taught to believe in. For the people who killed his parents, and tried to kill him, no less. But if there's one thing Alex has learned by now, it's that spies lie."

Blunt returned his gaze to Ian, looking every inch the deadly Head of Special Operations of British Intelligence he was. "You play a good game, Agent Rider, but let's not forget that I still hold authority over you. You have your Jacks and Tens, I have my Kings and Queens."

Ian exhaled slowly. That's right, Jack was still a target, just as much as Alex was. At least she couldn't be touched once she was back on American soil.

"You won't burn me. I have too much to offer the Service."

"Perhaps we're getting off topic," Mrs. Jones cut in, rejoining the conversation. "No one here is denying your talents, Agent Rider, but you're asking for continued blanket protection of your nephew without constructing a new identity for him. That's a fairly considerable allocation of resources for one boy. You're going to need to offer more than implications a good black ops team from any Agency can erase."

Ian swallowed and suddenly realised the heavy losses he could ultimately suffer in this battle. Blunt and Jones weren't Heads of SO for nothing; desk jockeys or not, they were the best of the best. "Is there something you have in mind?"

The corner of Blunt's lips twitched upwards for half a second, and Ian recognised the tell - it always preceded the 'you asked for this' portion of particularly unsavoury missions. Blunt pushed forward a file, and of course he would happen to have it on hand, as if he knew his meeting with Ian would come to this point.

Ian opened the file and bit down hard on his cheek to keep from blurting out 'This is a suicide mission.' "This isn't just a black bag operation, Sir, Ma'am. This is…"

Ian trailed off, feeling exhaustion crash into him and steal the words away. This was his future for Alex's, that's what it was. He exhaled softly. "Alright. Assuming I succeed, but don't make it back, what guarantee do I have that Alex will still be protected?"

"You'll just have to trust us, Agent Rider."

Ian scoffed. "With all due respect, you did just abandon me to the most ruthless terrorist group in the world."

He stared at his superiors, shoulders squared and eyes clear. "Make no mistake, Sir, Ma'am, I love this country and I love the Service. But I will call account for what has been done to me and mine."

"No matter the cost?" Mrs. Jones asked, as if curious, as if she didn't already know the answer.

"No matter the cost."

There was something very like victory in Blunt's eyes and Ian forced himself to calm down. He may be desperate and angry, but it wouldn't do to show that. He survived thirteen months in a Scorpia prison camp. He had brought terrorist cells across the world to their knees. One man past his prime wasn't going to deter him.

Ian's mind raced through his options. If he completed the mission himself, he would need to wait several weeks, until his leg healed enough for him to move about without clunking. Those were weeks Alex would be unprotected - though he'd still be around his nephew, at least. However, if he contracted the job out to any of his assets or the people who owed him favours, it would be done much faster - there was just no guarantee it would be done cleanly, or even successfully. Blunt wouldn't care how it got done, as long as there were no ties back to him or MI6.

"You will have to make your own provisions, of course," Blunt continued, proving Ian right. "Once the task is completed, we can begin thinking about Alex' future."

Ian's eyebrow rose. " 'Begin thinking about,' Sir? No, if you want me to go through with this, then I'm going to need a plan of action -"

"Agent Rider, you seem to be under some misconceptions on who holds the power in this argument -"

"I don't think so, Sir," Ian replied firmly. "You want me to clean up some of MI6's old messes. I want my nephew protected. I have skills you need, you have influence that I need. What it comes down to -" Ian leaned forward, ignoring the tightness in his chest, "- Is how badly do you need this cleaned up? Because there are others I can turn to to protect Alex."

"I don't think you will, Agent Rider," Mrs. Jones corrected, "Because the topic wouldn't have come up at all if you were willing to go to… your other sources. You asked Director Blunt not to throw out cards he wasn't willing to play, perhaps you should extend the same courtesy."

Touché.

Ian's gaze dropped down to Mrs. Jones' lap, to see if she was worrying the wrapper of another mint, her usual tell. She wasn't. His bluff had been called, and there was no room for a counter-bluff. Ian swallowed and breathed slowly.

"Alright. Let's see if we can't negotiate our way through this impasse."

"Alright, Desai?"

Sonia Desai, a young woman with dark skin and darker hair, looked up from her computer and crossed her arms. "What do you want, Daniels?"

Ben leaned against the side of her desk and flashed her a grin. "What makes you think I want anything? Can't a bloke stop by and say hello to his classmate every now and again?"

"Except with you, it's more the 'again,' " Sonia replied, but there was no bite to her words. "How's bodyguard duty? I didn't think you cocked up the Brighton mission that badly."

"The Brighton mission went perfectly, thank you," Ben replied eyebrows raised in mock outrage, "I should think it a promotion to spend so much time in close quarters with the Elite."

Sonia smirked. "Bennet still won't go out with you."

"So what do you think of Newcastle's chances this weekend?" Ben continued, his voice slightly raised over Sonia's barb.

The Indian woman scoffed. "If you want to talk sports with me, you can turn right around, mister. Come on, then, let's have it. What are you after?"

Ben shook his head and leaned in. "I may have heard some things around about restructuring SO…"

Sonia shook her head. "You and half the office that voted Labour."

Ben's eyebrows rose.

Sonia resumed typing. "The new Prime Minister, Cross, is big on transparency and efficiency."

Ben groaned. "Oh, God, not another push to make Special Operations -"

"Oh, no, transparency within the government. Less red tape keeping departments from sharing actionable information, more collaboration, that sort of thing. Nothing yet on the public front."

Sonia paused and glanced around, more out of habit than any real concern, and leaned towards Ben. "I've heard it's not just us, either. Thames House, Vauxhall Cross, Beacons, even GCHQ… everybody's come under scrutiny."

"Brecon Beacons? Is he mad? Never mind that. I can understand taking one arm of national security to task, but all of them? Is he going to start in on the RAF, too?"

Sonia bit her lip, her gaze drifting up the bullpen to the door to Director Blunt's office. "Might be. You know these politician types."

Ben narrowed his eyes slightly as Sonia dropped the conversation and stared resolutely at her computer monitor.

"Sonia…"

"What?"

"There's something more, isn't there?"

"Of course not! No, it's nothing."

"Sonia…"

"Oh, no, I know that tone - you're not getting another word out of me, Daniels."

"Come on, Sonia," Ben cajoled, his expression disarming, "It's just me."

Sonia huffed. "Just you, indeed. Don't you bat those pretty blue eyes at me, mate, I know all your tricks."

Ben's lips twitched up into a grin. "I'll find out what actually happened with Rider in Boston."

Sonia froze.

Ben's grin widened and he pressed his advantage. "I'm going to be babysitting Rider for the next couple weeks, and you know he's going to be drugged up to the gills."

The other spy quirked an eyebrow. "If you could get intel like that out of Ian Rider, you wouldn't need to be talking to me."

"Sonia, you know me - when have I ever let you down?"

The blonde gave him a long look.

"You know I'm good for it," Ben pressed.

"Oh, alright, fine. But only so you'll leave me in peace, you understand? And if you breathe a word of this, to anyone -"

"My lips are sealed, I will take your secrets with me to the grave," the ex-SAS soldier replied promptly.

Sonia rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. And you didn't hear this from me, but all these changes? The name 'Rider' may have been thrown about in the making of them."

Ben's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "Rider? As in -"

"As in, 'This conversation is over, thank you for deigning to speak with me, Sonia.'"

Ben inclined his head at Sonia's pointed glare, his expression thoughtful. "Well, well…" He gave her a half-bow. "Thank you for deigning to speak with me, Maharani."

Sonia waved him off. "Oh, go on with you, some of us have actual work to do!"

Back in Blunt's office, Ian found himself struggling to keep his head above water in their negotiations. Blunt and Jones were adamant on their terms - well, Blunt was, Jones seemed to be entertaining herself playing Devil's Advocate, sometimes supporting Ian, sometimes supporting Blunt.

What it boiled down to was this: In return for Alex's future protection, effective immediately, Ian would become an intelligence ghost, an operative who was off the books and completed his missions with no ties to MI6. Ghosts themselves weren't rare, but they had short lives, as they were almost permanently in the field.

Ian stared at his superiors, stunned. His chest ached with the devastation he couldn't afford to show, and he felt cold all over.

"I would barely see Alex again."

"An unfortunate sacrifice."

Alex would hate him.

Ian could see his future spiralling out in front of him, one of barely being home, and never being there when Alex needed him. Alex would worry at first, knowing the kind of work Ian was involved in, but then he would get frustrated. He'd get tired of Ian always putting the job first, would want to know why Ian didn't just quit. Ian could never tell him, of course, even when it was clear his job was chipping away at his soul. It would be more lies and secrets, and Alex would hate that Ian would never trust him with the whole truth. He would get frustrated and bitter, until one day, he gave Ian an ultimatum: him, or the job.

This time, Ian would pick the job, and Alex would hate him.

But he'd be safe.

Mrs. Jones' fist tightened around the mint in her hand as she watched the light die out in Ian's eyes.

Ian's expression melted away into a blank mask. "I'll do it."

The victory was clear in Blunt's eyes. This wasn't about Alex anymore, this was punishment for Ian having survived Scorpia and coming home. Well, he still had cards to play, still had leverage over Blunt and Jones to use. He may have been hit, but he wasn't beaten.

"Before you barter away the rest of your future, Agent Rider, I suggest we finish your debrief," Mrs. Jones cut in, and Ian frowned internally. He wasn't sure whether Mrs. Jones was on his side or Blunt's - though that was probably the point. She knew she was next in line for Directorship, and Ian would be staying in the Service, while Blunt would not.

This would probably go a lot easier if he wasn't down the street from Death's door.

"I want in on the Scorpia investigation."

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?

Thanks for reading!