Hey everybody! Sorry about the long wait, but my beta and I had a few technical difficulties. I thank awesome XxXmaximuM-RideRXxX for putting up with me, she doesn't have to. (I'm horrible, I really am, ha ha.) But thanks to all my fabulous reveiwers, seriously, I can't get enough of you guys. This is the chapter most of you guys have been waiting for, I really hope it doesn't dissapoint! (Oh and if I didn't answer your reviews, don't be afraid to leave another one and tell me how much you want me to... :) )

RemusAndMe: I'm so glad you think I am the exeception! Ahh, I can't tell you how great that is. I hope this chapter will satisfy!

Beth W: :) ;) Right back at ya. Glad you think it worthwhile! (As if all this gushing wasn't enough.)

..: I don't get it... Am I supposed to be afraid? Honestly, I don't know what to make of this. But hey, I guess I should be happy you, your bf, anf your friends are so attached to this story that you would send me an angry review for updates like that. :D

Ian stood with his hands on his hips and his back to the sun like an American gunslinger. He noticed everything without really registering it. A car honked in the distance. Buildings loomed overhead, as if they wanted to remind people of the mighty power of the modern world. People walked nearby chatting on their mobiles about everything and nothing. But The Englishman was only interested in the information he had learned in the last few hours.

There were twenty-two vantage points for a sniper to hide, not including open windows, or other obstructions such as doorways or parked cars. It had seemed that MI6 had covered them all. They had blocked off all roof access to the surrounding buildings, cameras and motion detectors has been stationed where it was deemed necessary and the windows were made to let in only light, not air. The rest of the 'hot spots' were covered up, torn down, or turned into MI6 outposts, including restricting cars to park on the surrounding roads.

Yet, despite these almost extreme and lengthy defenses one SCORPIA sniper had somehow gotten through and shot a defenseless fourteen-year-old walking out of the building.

The lone man took one last glance at the vague bloodstain that had been all but washed away by rain and the elements. Then he turned to gaze up at the two rooftops the MI6 technicians had determined the shot had come from. The only evidence they had that someone had been up here was a shoeprint.

But a shoeprint wasn't enough to find and convict a sniper with SCORPIA connections. The sheer number of people who had the same kind of shoe…

Ian spat to the side and hefted his bag off the pavement. Now this certain boy would always have to watch his heart. He would always have to make sure he didn't exert himself. That boy would always have to make sure nobody even hit him in the chest.

That same boy had gotten roped into two more 'missions' and had even got sent into space!

So what was Alex now? Was he ruthless or scared? Or could it be worse? Was he desensitized to it all like Ian himself was?

Alex had killed. Yes, it was in self defense, but even that could mess with a person's head. Even the Englishman still had nightmares about his first kill.

He shook his head. Seeing Alex again was going to be… interesting.

Jack had scrubbed the house from top to bottom. She always cleaned whenever she was in emotional turmoil. Alex and Ian had become used to it.

When she had broken up with her boyfriend of almost a year, she cleaned. When her sister was diagnosed with cancer, she had cleaned. When Ian had die- disappeared and MI6 had carted Alex off she had scrubbed the floors so hard, she was surprised no signs of wear had shown. Now, the frazzled housekeeper made sure there wasn't a speck of dust in the house.

She was so tied up in knots. Ian was alive! She had even hugged him just to make sure he wasn't some sick trick of her mind. He wasn't. He was flesh and blood. She knew because she had touched him and smelled his familiar scent.

Gosh Jack, that doesn't sound too stalkerish, she snorted to herself and scrubbed at a stubborn stain on the kitchen floor. Her red hair had once been swept up in a messy bun, but now it was sticking in all directions. She blew a strand of the offending hair away and returned to her thoughts.

Where was I? Oh yeah…

Anyway, Jack was now 100 percent sure that he was alive. She wasn't 100 percent sure that he exactly Ian. He could be some demented imposter from one of those equally demented villains that Alex clashed with. She honestly wouldn't be surprised.

But if he wasn't 100 percent Ian, how did he know about her gun? Not even her own little superspy knew about it.

Maybe they tortured him into giving up information about how to convince me that he was who he said he was.

Jack's eyes widened. She bit her lip and scrubbed harder.

No, if Ian was truly dead, then this guy couldn't be an imposter. Nobody, not even MI6 can find out stuff from a dead man. Unless Ian was alive and he was being tortured right now. Or they could have tortured him before they killed him, and this guy really was an imposter.

"Ugh!" Her mind had been running in circles all freaking day!

She gave up on the stain and briefly checked her watch. Alex would be home in half an hour. Ian had said he would be here by then. Another thought hit her.

What if he wasn't coming back?

Jack quickly wiped at the few tears that had broken through. Leave it to a guy to screw with her emotions.

She made up her mind then. She would not tolerate this anymore. Maybe, just maybe she could plan ahead and finally be prepared no matter what. It was time to follow the Rider family's example and get paranoid. It was time to get her gun.

The Englishman stepped onto the front porch and raised his hand to knock. Everything was so familiar, yet so different. He lost his key that was for sure.

Maybe I lent it to One-eye for safe keeping.

He laughed and noticed the stoop had been swept clean. The new garden had been weeded and the lawn had been mowed. It was obvious to him that Jack had been cleaning.

Ian's lips quirked up in a smile as he knocked on the door instead. At least some things hadn't changed. Maybe this whole affair wouldn't be as painful as he expected.

The door flew open and he looked at Jack's pinched face. A wave of guilt shot through him. Nope. This whole affair was still going to cause Jack and Alex a lot of pain. He would have cursed at that moment if it wasn't for the fact five months of cursing had done him no good when he was bleeding and in extreme pain.

"Ian!"

He nodded at her, his face impassive. "Jack."

She stood there for a few moments and just looked at him. Her striking red hair was wild and her eyes slightly exited but weary. The Englishman let her observe him for a few unnerving moments, and then cleared his throat.

"You know, in civilized countries like Great Britain, it's impolite to stare and keep them on the front doorstep without inviting them in. Now I don't know what country you are from, but…"

Jack averted her gaze and blushed ever so slightly. "Sorry. Come in."

Ian smiled a little at her and came in. Unconsciously, he took a deep breath. The house smelt like… home. It didn't smell like baked cookies or anything strange like that. It smelled like the American's perfume, Alex's smelly socks, and the lemon scented disinfectant that Jack had used to scrub the floors. It was soothing.

The Englishman had missed this smell with an almost heart-breaking desperation. The only odour he was used to was the dank stink of his cell. All he had was the scent of blood, sweat, dirt, and his own excrement.

Jack was staring at him again. That made him more nervous than he had any right to be.

"Jack..."

"Well I'm sorry, but it's not like everyday someone comes back from the dead! It's not every day I have to act like nothing ever happened!"

"I didn't come back from the d-"

"Yes you did," she interrupted. "You were dead to us. Gone. We had to live without you."

Ian inwardly winced. The way she had said it… It sounded like he didn't belong here anymore. Maybe he didn't. Maybe, just maybe he should return to the Bank. He wasn't ready for this. Jack wasn't ready for this. Not to mention how unfair this was to her.

"But I'm alright with this. It doesn't mean we haven't missed you." Ian turned to look down at her. "I made up your bed. We haven't really touched your room."

He nodded, the moment over. There would never be a good time. Alex's time was running out. He needed to do something now before his nephew died… Or worse, before he took his own life.

"I need to go settle back into my room."

"When will we talk?"

"When I'm done."

Jack sighed sadly. "He's so different…"

"We're all different," he whispered before heading up the stairs to his room.

The Englishman grimaced as he observed his room after having put away his sparse belongings. He was slightly dazed. It was so strange being back in his old room. He had gotten used to a cell that wasn't any bigger than his closet here.

Everything reminded him of what used to be. Everything reminded him of what couldn't be anymore. It had seemed like each waking minute he had spent in captivity, he had wished to be home, to be safe, and to have a reprieve. At that time it didn't matter how long he could stay at home, just as long as he had a break.

But now that he was back, he was painfully aware of how he had changed. He realized how proud he had been. He realized how he should have fought Blunt when the man had insisted he start training Alex. He realized that he had never really given any love to the boy, and to be honest, he didn't really think he had tried.

Now Ian walked with a slight limp. Now he was scarred emotionally and physically. Being alone in utter silence was difficult. It reminded him of all time he spent alone destroyed and insane in his cell. For that matter enclosed spaces, touching people, and loud noises bothered him.

He was so broken…

One fleeting look at his arms and chest could attest to that. Scars and welts covered almost every inch his body. He was thinner than he had ever been in his whole life due malnutrition, despite the MI6 medics trying their best to fill him out a little. His nose had been clearly broken more than once, and a jagged scar ran up from his right bicep, up the front of his neck, past his ear and into his hair.

The Englishman sneered and turned from the mirror in his bathroom. He would never be the same Ian Rider and agent again. He needed to accept that and move on.

Well, he would try at least.

Ian was on his second cup of tea when he had finally finished telling his story to Jack. She paced around the room wide eyed for a few minutes.

"How could they-… Why-… Oh my gosh are you okay!" She rushed to him but stopped just short, not knowing what she should do.

The Englishman smiled, slightly relieved that she hadn't decided to touch him. "I'm fine Jack, MI6 had me checked out. I'm the same Ian with a few more scrapes and scars." Well that and he couldn't get tortured for a few months, just because…

Another even more morbid thought hit Jack. "What if, what if that happens to Alex?"

He felt an almost paternal and protective feeling course through him. "That will never happen."

"But what if-"

"No," he growled. "Never in my life, will. That. Happen." Ian didn't add that either Blunt or him would die before that happened. He cleared his throat. "Now, on a lighter note, sit down and tell me about what's going on in your life?"

Jack took a deep breath and began to chat idly about someone she dated briefly and the affairs of the neighborhood. Although The Englishman could care less about the snooping Mrs. McAllister, it was actually pretty soothing.

He reminded himself to let Jack on a holiday to go see her parents or something. She had already done so much for his nephew.

But then the doorknob rattled and they both froze. Alex was finally home.

"Jack," Alex's voice rang through the house, "sorry I'm late. Some agents were following me for some reason and I had to lose them…" The boy stopped as he stood at the kitchen door and saw they had a visitor. The man's back was to him, but somehow he seemed familiar.

Jack shot up out of her chair as if her rear end was alight. "Alex! Um hey… but… yeah… um…" She rung her hands nervously and for one of those rare moments, didn't know what to say.

The Englishman sipped his tea. Outwardly he was calm. But inside his heart was pounding for some odd reason. He had faced more agony than people had ever thought to have nightmares about and still he couldn't face his nephew. Heh.

"We have a visitor." Alex stated simply.

"Yes! But you actually know him."

"Who?" he asked curiously.

Ian put down his tea, stood and turned to face his nephew. "Hello Alex."

Alex stopped and just stared at Ian bug-eyed. It was obvious he was shell shocked. The Englishman took this reprieve to inspect this now virtual stranger. He looked so much like John, and it was obvious the boy had grown. He was taller, his shoulders a bit wider and it was obvious he was fit and alert. But his brown eyes were his most striking feature. They were dull and lifeless just like Ian's own.

But this child spy had not yet perfected keeping his emotions undetected. Ian tried to name all of them. Anger. Guilt. Greif. Surprise. Disbelief. Anger.

"W-why are you here?" Alex demanded in a menacing voice. Ian felt the urge not to laugh. He had lived with people that were far more intimidating than that.

So he said nothing, just stared back at Alex with his cool gray eyes.

"Y-you're supposed to be dead! MI6 said you were dead!" His voice rose in pitch.

"MI6 believed I was dead. For once they weren't lying to you."

"But… But I saw your car! I talked to Yassen!"

Ian's jaw tightened at the mention of Yassen but shook his head. "Yassen believed I was dead too. He wouldn't have returned home until the job was done."

Alex was flustered and The Englishman could read him like an open book. The boy had seen many things throughout his life, but this was absurd. No one came back from the dead anymore. No one. That was stuff for the Bible not for a fourteen year old spy.

"Then what happened to you?"

"Yassen shot me. I crashed my car. I was dying, and then an extremist group snatched me up, waited until I was healed, and tortured me for information. Pretty simple actually."

Alex's hands balled up into fists and Ian saw him getting ready to strike. He inwardly sighed. This is what MI6 had turned his family into. There was so much distrust nowadays.

"How do I know it's really you?"

Ian brought up a hand and studied it with disinterest. He watched Alex out of the corner of his eye, gauging his reaction. Alex looked like he was getting angry at his uncle's lack of interest. This was a serious matter after all.

"I asked you a-"

"Yes, yes," The Englishman waved it off and returned his attention back to the boy. Head games were overrated anyway. "You asked me how you knew if it was really me. You've gotten impatient haven't you? What happened to the sarcasm?"

Alex narrowed his eyes.

"Okay, sorry. You have a birthmark behind your left ear. But that Grief fellow knew that… Hmm. Oh I know, you're actually afraid of clowns. Well you were, anyway. Who knows what you are afraid of now."

Alex's eyes widened and Ian heard Jack whisper softly to herself.

"Clowns?"

His nephew breathed out slowly and calmly glared at Ian. He had finally gotten his emotions under control. "I have a lot of homework…"

Ian grabbed an apple from the table and tossed it to him. "Then go do it."

Alex nodded and left.

Jack rushed to Ian's side, worried. "Ian…"

He shushed her with an outstretched hand. "Just wait a few minutes. He needs time to process this." And so do I, he added silently.

Jack was right, Alex was very different. It was obvious his time with MI6 had taken a toll on him. He stood alert and confident, but almost hunched as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. In a way it was. God only knew how many times he had saved it.

It was also pretty clear that Alex did not trust him. He didn't say it out loud but he had communicated as much with his actions. Even something as simple as an irrational childhood fear wasn't enough proof for a seasoned spy.

"Jack, can I see you for a second?" Alex called down.

She looked over at Ian.

"You don't have to ask my permission, Jack."

She shrugged and rushed up the stairs.

Ian smiled and picked up his abandoned cup. He could already predict what would be happening up there. Alex would start talking to Jack in hushed tones. They would converse about trusting this "dead man", weighing whether he was the real deal or not. After a few minutes of harsh whispering, Alex would convince Jack to keep an eye on him, and to be ready to protect herself.

Ian was mostly right. He would have done the same thing after all. Maybe he would have done it a little more nonchalantly, but he would have done it all the same.

With this realization, he froze. He would have done the same thing… The look in Alex's eyes mirroring his own…

MI6 had turned Alex into another Ian. This scared The Englishman more than anything else, because only he really knew what that meant. MI6 had seized all the hope out of the boy. Just as One-eye had destroyed The Englishman, they had destroyed him…