Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me.

Sorry for the long wait, I hope it's worth it! Thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapter :D

'Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you'

(Maori proverb)

St Dominic's was a hospital for the wealthy and had been for several years, and as such the doctors and nurses were never as overloaded with patients as they would be in a NHS hospital. Dr Foster, recalling with horror his time at a local London hospital, was grateful for this. Working at St Dominic's meant he had more time to spend with his budding family, and after the fiasco last year when his wife, Katie, had screamed at him for never being home and had left for two days, this was something he could now never underestimate. However, he still had too many patients at the moment for his liking, and he was greatly relieved to be getting rid of one.

The boy on the second floor was the oddest teenager he'd ever had – although admittedly you didn't get many of them in this expensive hospital. The teen was quiet, watchful and displayed none of the exuberance Dr Foster had come to expect from fifteen year old boys. In a way, he was sad to see him go; it was obvious the kid was mixed up in some pretty deep shit. How many kids had bullet wounds and armed soldiers placed constantly inside his room? At least the kid was relatively safe whilst in hospital.

"Alex," he greeted the boy when he arrived at the room. "How are you feeling?"

Alex shrugged. Dr Foster scowled, but then sighed, having had to deal with the nonchalant behaviour when it came to his health since the boy came to the hospital.

"A verbal answer would be nice," he said sarcastically, but with an undertone of amusement.

"I'm ok," Alex said, his voice hoarse and obviously painful.

"Any pain?"

"Some," came the short reply. Dr Foster could almost hear the unspoken words, 'what do you think?'.

"I've prescribed some strong painkillers for you to take at home if the pain becomes too much. I know we've been told to wean you off them, but with injuries like yours . . ."

"Is he ok to be taken home?" A voice asked from the corner of the room, startling the young doctor.

"Wolf, right?" he asked the man, and continued when he nodded. "Alex should be fine, but he needs to rest and take it easy for a few weeks. And I mean that literally," he said, turning to face the teenager again and levelling him with a stern glare. "No walking around too much, just lying on the sofa watching TV or whatever it is boys your age do."

Alex smirked, and nodded his head.

"I'll make sure he does, Doctor," Wolf assured him.

Dr Foster frowned thoughtfully. "You're staying with him still, then?"

"Yeah, though only Fox is adopting him," the soldier said. "That's Ben, by the way," he clarified, when Dr Foster's face became confused.

"Right," he said. "As long as Alex gets lots of rest and doesn't strain his injuries, they should heal fine. I've set up dates with Ben for physiotherapy and check-ups, so that I can keep an eye on him. But other than that, you shouldn't have any problems."

"Good"

"When Ben arrives, you can take him home."

Ben hurried through the hospital, knowing the way to Alex's room off by heart thanks to the many visits he'd been making recently. He nodded to the receptionist but didn't say hello; his mind was stuck on one thing and one thing only – Alex was being discharged.

He didn't pretend to understand how hard it was for the tortured young spy, but he hoped to be able to help him, if only a small bit.

"Ben," Wolf greeted him.

"Hey," he said briefly, then gestured inside Alex's room. "He awake?"

"Nah, not anymore," Wolf replied. "That's why I'm out here. It's a bit freaky sitting watching him sleep if you ask me. Talking to the doctor tired him out, I reckon."

"Damn," Ben muttered. "We're going to have to get him up, I think, or else he'll sleep the whole day and won't be able to leave until tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Wolf agreed.

"Where are the others, anyway?" Ben asked, walking inside the room.

"They stayed at home today, didn't want to freak Cub out too much. We thought it would be a bit overwhelming for him to have all of us there when he first gets to yours."

"Good idea," Ben said.

"I'll get Doctor Foster," Wolf said, unusually helpful.

"Thanks," Ben said absentmindedly. "I'm going to wake him up."

Alex was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, the sound piercing through the fog surrounding his brain. He stirred slightly, wincing at the ever-present pain that seemed to circulate around his body. He had slept fairly peacefully for once, with no nightmares he could remember. He slowly opened his eyes, allowing the soft light to filter through his eyelids and he basked in the glow. After months spent indoors with no windows, he would never again take the warm sun for granted.

"Alex?" he could hear being said from somewhere above him. When his eyes were fully open, he recognized Ben's concerned face, having flinched only a small amount at the sight – an instinctive reaction to people bending over him that he had yet to rid himself of.

"Ben," he rasped out in greeting.

"Sorry to wake you, Alex," he said gently, "but I thought you'd prefer to be woken and go home today rather than tomorrow."

Alex nodded in agreement, and shifted his weight so that he was sitting upright, wincing only slightly at the pain. Ben had reached out to help, but found he was too late; the young spy was already up.

"I think the hospital is providing you with a wheelchair to use to get to my car so that you don't stretch the wounds on your back," Ben told him.

(blood everywhere, pain, pain, pain, "don't scream now, Rider", gloating, crimson)

Alex nodded.

"Now that Ben has arrived, Alex, you can be going home," Dr Foster's cheery voice announced from the door. Ben grabbed the wheelchair next to the man and held it out to Alex. The spy, dressed in stripy blue pyjamas as seemed to be the custom everywhere, slowly slipped off the bed and onto the chair. He held his back ramrod straight to avoid touching the back of it and stared out the window. Finally, he thought to himself. I'm actually getting out of here.

Wolf appeared behind the doctor, his usual sour expression firmly in place. "Are we going?" he asked shortly.

Ben glanced at Alex. "You ready?"

"Yeah," he murmured quietly. Ben stepped behind him, hands on his wheelchair. Alex tried to stop his back from stiffening, but failed. He knew from Ben's sigh that he had noticed. He bowed his shaven head, and said nothing as they left the room.

"Bring him back if anything gets worse," Alex heard the doctor say to Wolf. The soldier nodded sharply, and muttered his understanding.

"Will it?" Ben asked suddenly. The doctor looked at him in confusion. Ben elaborated, "Is it likely that something will get worse?"

"Hopefully not," Dr Foster answered, "but with wounds like his nothing's ever guaranteed."

"Ok," Ben sighed.

Alex was still staring at the floor, unwilling to join in the conversation and reluctant to look into the passing rooms. He had no desire to see more ill people, alone and suffering in their sickness, their breath blowing in and out routinely, desolate in their loneliness. However, unbidden, his gaze was drawn upwards by the sound of laughter coming from a nearby room. He caught a glance of an old man lying in the bed, propped up by pillows and tubes lacing around his body. A young girl and two adults were sitting next to him, one woman sitting cross-legged on the bed. All were laughing. Alex shut his eyes tightly, attempting to block out the sight. All sick people are lonely, he tried to tell himself, all of them. It's not just you. But somehow, the sight of that family, with the woman sitting so like Jack-

("-Tom was round the other day-")

(-shining red hair, falling gently around her laughing face-)

-made him face the fact that he was alone because he had no one, and everyone else had somebody.

"Alex?" Ben asked.

"Hm?"

"You alright?"

"Fine," he muttered quietly, tearing his gaze away from the rooms filing past and looking at the floor again. He flinched when Ben placed his hand on his shoulder, but felt strangely sad when the hand was immediately removed. Stop it,he told himself firmly. You. Are. Alone. Face it.

Alex jolted out of his thoughts when he heard the ping of the lift. He hadn't even noticed they'd reached the end of the corridor, but now he could feel his heartbeat quicken.

"No." he snapped suddenly at Ben. "I am not taking the lift."

"Alex?" Ben's face twisted in confusion. "Why?"

Wolf gazed at him with what looked like understanding on his face. His normal expression had softened.

"I'm not," Alex said again.

Wolf laid a hand on Ben's arm. "Let him take the stairs," he said.

"He's in a bloody wheelchair, in case you hadn't noticed, Wolf," Ben bit out, looking at Dr Foster for support. The man simply shrugged, out of his depth.

"He won't take the lift," Wolf said in a harsh whisper. "You can't force him, he'll freak out."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Ben replied, also whispering. "We can't exactly wheel him down the stairs."

Wolf turned to look at him. Alex stared at the floor. He had no idea what Wolf had seen in him, but the man soon turned back to Ben.

"I'll carry him," he answered firmly. Alex's head snapped up; he hadn't expected Wolf to do that.

"All the way down?" Ben asked, sounding sceptical. Alex didn't blame him; it would be quite a long way.

"Yes," the SAS soldier replied. "He hardly weighs anything now, anyway."

Alex fiddled with the sides of the wheelchair, wanting to dispute the statement but knowing that it was sadly true. Malnourishment was a bitch.

"It's true," Dr Foster chipped in. He had his arms folded and his expression was of polite interest. It made no difference to him how they got downstairs. "Alex weighs starkly little compared to normal boys his age." He added another sentence, directing his words at Ben, "something that will need to be addressed when he gets home."

"See?" Wolf said, ignoring the doctor's last few words. "It'll be fine."

Ben frowned. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll carry the wheelchair down."

They walked over to the stairs, Ben still pushing Alex. Wolf leaned down; an apology in his eyes for the indignity Alex was bound to suffer. He picked the spy up, taking care not to jostle any of his injuries.

Alex closed his eyes, humiliated that he was being carried like a child. Still, it was better than going in the lift. He had sworn to himself, as soon as he woke up in the hospital, that he would never be trapped again. The lift was far too enclosed for his fragile psyche to handle, and he was glad to have been spared the panic attack that he knew would be imminent if they had taken the lift.

Luckily, the indignity didn't last long, and soon Alex was lowered back into the wheelchair, only slightly sorer than he had been when he was picked up. The soldier had gone to great pains to avoid aggravating his damaged body. Alex blinked happily when they finally got outside, after Ben had signed whatever forms he needed to with Dr Foster. It had been too long since Alex had seen the sunlight properly. It wasn't the same looking through the window; you never got the warmth of the light seeping into your body, or the pleasure of knowing that the light circling around you came directly from the sun. He shut his eyes, raising his head to the sky and simply revelled in it. He could see Ben smiling slightly when he opened his eyes again, and smiled back at him. The surprise in the older spy's face was worth it. It was rare for Alex to smile.

"This is my car," Ben said a short while later, when they stopped by a blue Honda. He pushed Alex to the side of the car and opened one of the back doors.

"How are we going to do this?" he mused to himself. Alex solved the problem by pushing himself up on wobbly feet, biting his lip when a fierce pain seared through his body when he put weight on his wounded leg. He stepped carefully into the car, Ben's arm supporting him as he flopped on the seat.

"Well done," said the older spy quietly. Alex inclined his head, frustrated that the small movement could cost so much in terms of effort. Ben got into the front seat, gesturing for Wolf to do the same. Instead, the soldier climbed into the back, seating himself next to Alex. Alex said nothing but appreciated the thought. It was nice not to be alone in the back, feeling like a child while the 'grown-ups' sat in the front.

"Bye," called Dr Foster, smiling slightly and waving. Alex said goodbye in return, thanking him profusely for all he had done. He knew how injured he had been when he arrived at the hospital. He owed his life to the doctor.

Ben pulled out of the hospital car park and Alex turned back to look at the fading hospital. It had been his home for the past few days, and many before that time. He was sad to see it go, but doubted it would be the last time he saw the old building. He closed his eyes, imprinting the image of the white hospital into his memory. Then he twisted in his seat, turning to gaze out of his window. He didn't look back again.

"I was planning on stopping by the house before we went to the bank," Ben said after a few minutes of silence, "but I don't think we'll have time now."

Alex carried on gazing out of the window.

"Alex?" Ben said sharply, trying to get his attention.

"Hmm?"

"I said, we'll have to go straight to the bank," Ben repeated, exasperated at the spy but understanding his distance. Alex looked so young with his shaved head and striped pyjamas and his arm still in a sling, and Ben wanted to rage and scream at the world that had damaged him so badly at so young an age. He frowned momentarily.

"Did you bring some spare clothes?" he asked Wolf, having realised that Alex could hardly walk into MI6 with pyjamas on.

"Yeah," the soldier replied. "They're in the boot."

"We'll have to stop at a petrol station or something then," Ben mused, "so that you can get changed, Alex."

Alex nodded, seemingly uninterested.

Fifteen minutes and a short stop later, they arrived at the Royal and General Bank on Liverpool Street. The old building fitted almost unnoticeably into the rest of the street, as unsuspecting passers-by strolled down the road, never even considering the possibility that there might be something strange about that one bank. Alex waited until Ben had opened his car door before attempting to climb out, accepting Ben's helpful outstretched hand. He limped out of the car, drawing stares with his shaved head and scarred cheek. Ben wrapped an arm around him to steady him as Wolf locked the car. They hobbled together into the bank, Alex's gaze unnervingly blank. The receptionist had obviously been told to expect them as she immediately gestured someone over.

"Agent Rider?" the man asked, face unreadable.

"That's me," confirmed Alex as he shook off Ben's arm. Both men stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. They weren't sure they liked the sudden change in Alex's demeanour. He had gone from an injured, haunted, teenager to a confident young man who knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it.

"Follow me," the unfamiliar man said, gesturing towards the lift. Alex shook his head.

"You must be a poor spy," he said in a low voice, "if you believe that I will get into an enclosed lift with a man I do not know. Where are the stairs?"

Ben and Wolf exchanged a glance. Alex's excuse for not using the lift was sound and he had impressed them with his fluent lying ability. Such is the world of espionage, that lying is a talent and not a crime.

"I'm sorry, sir," the man said, "but you are not allowed to use the-"

"If Blunt and Jones want to see me," Alex cut him off, "then they can damn well let me use the stairs."

The man blinked, looking uncertain. The receptionist, listening to everything they had said, interrupted.

"The stairs are over there," she said, helpfully pointing to a side door on the left. Alex nodded in thanks and strode over. The man followed quickly, his protests falling on deaf ears. Wolf and Ben shrugged at each other, and swiftly walked to catch up.

They finally reached the correct floor ten minutes later, having stopped several times for Alex to get his breath back. He had refused to show weakness, but Ben had forced him to take a rest every flight of stairs, feigning injury himself to prevent the unfamiliar man from realising that Alex was the one who needed to stop. He couldn't pretend to understand Alex's exact reason for being so stubborn and wanting to hide his pain, but he would respect his wishes and make it easier for him in whatever way he could.

"Mr Blunt and Mrs Jones are waiting for you," the man informed them when they stood outside a nondescript black door. Alex nodded, thanked the man, and opened the door.

Ben's plea to at least knock on the door trailed off when the young spy marched inside, the limp barely noticeable. Ben and Wolf followed him inside cautiously, and sat next to him. The man quietly closed the door behind them, leaving the three facing the heads of MI6. Ben wondered how Alex couldn't be slightly intimidated; these people were responsible for so much of the country.

"Blunt, Jones," Alex greeted them with a nod. Ben and Wolf mumbled greetings themselves.

"Alex," Mrs Jones replied, face blank. Blunt said nothing.

"Why am I here?" Alex asked, leaning casually back in his chair.

"You remember the conversation we had in the hospital?" she answered. He nodded. "Well, we have found out the most likely reason for your sudden kidnapping."

"Which is?" Alex questioned, frustrated at the heads' tendency to skip around the point.

Mrs Jones didn't answer, choosing instead to flick through the files in front of her. Ben wondered what she was looking for.

"Scorpia was almost destroyed a few weeks ago," Blunt took over, "but now it is fully operational again. We wanted to know how that was possible when it is down to you that the organisation was ruined."

Ben and Wolf glanced at Alex, shocked that it was the young spy that had brought such a powerful group to its knees. Alex just looked faintly bored.

"And the answer is . . .?" he asked again.

"Scorpia joined up with another terrorist organisation called Menarc," Mrs Jones said, pushing a piece of paper in front of him. "This is their leader." Ben stretched his neck, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the man. He managed to see a pale skinned, dark haired man with a very sullen expression before Alex pushed the paper back.

"Menarc?" he repeated, checking the name was correct. "Who are they?"

Mrs Jones sighed heavily. "To be honest with you, Alex," she ignored the spy's snort, "we don't know much about them. Their name comes from Ancient Greek – 'me', meaning 'no' or 'not', and 'archo', 'I rule'. It is basically the same meaning as anarchy: no rules. According to some of our best linguists," here she glanced down at one of the papers in front of her, "'an' and 'me' are both negatives in Ancient Greek."

"This is very interesting, Mrs Jones," Wolf interrupted, "but is there a point to this lesson in Ancient Greek?" Ben turned around to face the man. His expression was blank, but Ben could see his fingers tapping against the side of his chair, a sure sign of boredom.

"Their name is the most information we have, really," the deputy head continued. "You can gather that they do not respect international laws or rights, but they never had much of a reputation. From the information we have, we believe that they didn't do much more than supply men and weapons to other terrorists. They were powerful in their own way, but didn't get involved in terrorist acts themselves."

"What changed?" Alex asked abruptly. Lines of tension were visible on his face, and Ben knew how difficult this conversation was for him.

"We don't really know," said Blunt shortly. "The organisation has always been run by one person since it was formed in World War One. The head of it was always appointed by the last. Our best guess is that a new head was chosen as the other stepped down, and they decided they wanted more power."

Alex cut in, "but you don't really know?"

"No," Blunt agreed. "But the motives are fairly irrelevant. What we know is that Menarc saw the destruction of Scorpia and decided to take it over. The head is now in charge of both Scorpia and Menarc and, although there is still a board in Scorpia, the head has control of pretty much the whole organisation. They are still going by the name Scorpia."

"Why?" asked Ben curiously. Mrs Jones looked at him hard, her eyes narrowed as she examined him. He stayed still, unclear what it was she was looking for.

"We believe Menarc wanted to expand from simply helping other terrorists to doing things themselves. However, they were well known as suppliers and it is unlikely they would ever gain a reputation for anything other than that. By taking over – or 'joining with', as they call it – Scorpia, they can expand and build up that reputation," Mrs Jones explained at length.

"But Scorpia's reputation is shot, I thought?" Wolf said in confusion. "Why take over them?"

It was Alex that explained this time, never taking his eyes off Jones and Blunt. "Scorpia's reputation was bad, yes, but they were feared for a long time. Their reputation would improve drastically if they could be seen to be pulling together again and become powerful once more."

"We pondered for a while over how Menarc had taken over Scorpia, when they weren't particularly powerful. But all too soon, bodies started appearing across the globe, all people that have long been suspected of being affiliated with Scorpia," Mrs Jones carried on. "We established that Menarc was simply using its manpower to kill off all those who protested."

"Why kidnap me?" Alex asked after a short pause. He looked Mrs Jones straight in the eye, and if Ben hadn't spent the last few days visiting him in hospital, he wouldn't have been able to tell that Alex's shoulders were tense at all.

"There's been a number of incidences of people who had crossed Scorpia disappearing," she said, looking down at her papers. "Another agent of ours – only minor, of course – turned up dead in the River Thames a few days ago. Police ruled it as a suicide attempt, but we suspected Scorpia. It seems as if Menarc wants to get rid of all those who embarrassed them in some way, regardless of any deals made."

Ben was frowning at the causal mention of another agent's death. He hadn't heard about it, but knew all too well that it could have been him. He was only 'minor' after all.

"I understand," Alex said in a low voice. He had looked no happier than Ben felt when the agent was mentioned.

"Why was that agent killed immediately, and Cub tortured?" Wolf asked, no emotion at all in his voice. Ben glared at him when he saw that Alex had shut his eyes briefly at his words. The man shrugged slightly at him. "It had to be asked," he mouthed. Ben frowned.

"Because I have information," Alex answered heavily, crossing his arms. "I meet with the head of MI6 and his deputy regularly, and they know that."

"Did you tell them anything?" Blunt questioned sharply. Ben saw Alex glance out of the window, staring at the sunlight glimmering on the leaves of a nearby tree, and hoped he found some comfort in the sight.

"No," Alex replied firmly. "I didn't say a word."

"We'll have to be on our guard, though," Blunt said to Jones, ignoring the others in the room. "If they're asking for information, they're planning something." Alex rolled his eyes.

"When aren't they planning something?" he said exasperatedly. "It's what they do."

"Still . . ." Blunt said, looking at Mrs Jones. She nodded almost imperceptibly and stood up.

"Is there anything else you want to ask?" she said, glancing at Alex's faraway expression.

Ben had seen it too, so decided he might as well speak. It didn't look like the young spy was going to. "How do you know all this?"

"How do you think?" Blunt asked. "We have a spy in place."

"John," the woman smiled at him, reaching out to take his hand. "We have another mission for you."

"A pleasure to see you, Julia, like always," the man replied. "This mission . . . is it for Yassen as well?"

She frowned momentarily, clearly disapproving of his attachment to the young assassin. "If you believe he is ready," she answered.

"He is," the man said firmly. "He's been ready for a long time."

"Then bring him to the meeting tonight, 7pm," she told him. "I'll see you there." She blew him a kiss and he pretended to catch it.

"Till later, then, Julia," he said to her as she walked away. His smile dropped as she left the room, and his lips pursed. He hated having to flirt with that God-forsaken woman who would kill him if she even got a glimpse of treachery. He wanted to be at home, with Helen, cuddling up next to the fire watching the TV and laughing at the shows. He didn't want to be here, anymore, but he knew his duty.

He sighed. Hopefully, it wouldn't be for too long.

-finis-

AN: There you have it, another chapter at last. At least it's longer this time - it kind of got away from me. I was supposed to be putting Alex getting to Ben's in this chapter, but that didn't happen :) oh well, now you know what you'll see next time.

I know, shock horror, this fic might actually have a plot! It does, I promise. You'll be hearing more about Menarc and Scorpia. And that Ancient Greek is actually true, although menarc does not exist as a word in this language. I typed the 'me' and 'archo' originally in Ancient Greek, but this wouldn't let me keep it. Hence, I translated it into the English alphabet. Sad times :(

The last part is a . . . flashback I suppose you could say. Just to illustrate what Alex thinks of when Blunt said they had a 'spy in place'. It is not important to the plot. We will not be seeing any resurrections in this fic.

Thanks again to those who reviewed, and please tell me what you think of this new chapter!

ForeverChasingDreams