A/N: I know, I'm fantastic. Semi. I updated within a month or so (October, you say? Weird . . .) and even I'm surprised :D Very stressful time for me at the moment, but hey, it's nearly christmas, so I decided to write this instead of the million other things I'm supposed to be doing. Consider it an early xmas present!

By the way, chapters 1 and 2 have been edited - nothing has changed apart from a few tweakings and checking of grammar (which was appalling two years ago :o)

DISCLAIMER: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz

'When it hurts to look back and you're scared to look ahead, you can look beside you and your best friend will be there'

(Anonymous)

"Ben?" Alex asked the next day. Snake was the only other person in the house and he was sprawled in front of the TV. The soldiers seemed to be incapable of amusing themselves without Sky Sports.

"Yeah?" Ben replied absently, unloading the dishwasher, the plates clinking as he piled them on top of each other.

"I want to go back to school," Alex said. He'd thought carefully about the decision, remembering the problems that had arisen when he'd last been there. Brooklands was a typical state school, and rumours were the most important form of knowledge there. There was a lot of gossip about him, even if he had Tom and a few other friends to help keep the worst away. But Alex found that he couldn't stand to be stuck in Ben's house for much longer with just the older spy and K-Unit for company the whole time. He was a teenager and a spy, and neither attribute made him good at being cooped up.

"Now?" Ben asked in surprise, twisting around to look at him.

Alex nodded firmly. "As soon as possible," he answered. "I've missed so much school already . . ."

"It's only been a few weeks, Alex," Ben said, a small frown playing on his face. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Alex responded. "I'm probably going to have to repeat a year as it is . . ." Alex sighed, considering how hard he was going to have to work to catch up with everyone. He really didn't want to stay back a year; it would only make the rumours worse. Hardly anyone did; the only person he knew who had dropped back was an anorexic girl in his year who had been in and out of hospital so much that she was hardly in school at all. The girl was scarily thin and horribly hurt; her mind so messed up that she had to starve herself to feel something. Alex had been a friend of hers, long ago, before all this started and before she started to torture her body in a way that no person should even consider. The similarities between the two of them were startling and scary. Both hurt, suffering and abandoned, thin and alone but too wrapped up in their own minds to get any help and too frightened to try. Except that Alex's pain was because of others' sadism and hers was the result of her own doing.

"How much school have you missed?" Ben asked in concern.

Alex pursed his lips. How to explain this to Ben without more fussing . . .?

"I work for MI6," he said simply at last. "I miss a fair bit."

"We could probably help, you know," Ben said slowly. "I studied French as well as politics at university."

"Thanks for the offer," Alex said, smiling slightly at him, "but I'm already fluent in French and I don't study politics." If only he did . . . He would pass that class without any study at all. After all, you can't spy without picking up on the politics that governed every situation.

"Well, Wolf did chemistry at uni and Snake has a biology degree, so they could help," Ben offered, not looking put out that his degree was slightly useless to Alex.

"Yeah," Alex said sarcastically, "I'm sure both of them would love to give up their free time to tutor me." He still hadn't spoken to Snake after the argument a couple of days ago, and Wolf was quite possibly the most antisocial person he'd ever met. That man hardly ever wanted to talk.

"You never know until you try," Ben said philosophically. "But I'll talk to Dr. Foster for you and if he clears it, I'll tell your school you're returning."

"Thanks," Alex responded, but told himself he was not going to ask the two SAS soldiers for help. He really didn't want to face their patronising faces when they were reminded just how young he was.

"But Alex," Ben said hesitantly before he could leave the kitchen again, "you might want to consider talking to Dr. King first."

Alex looked at him sharply. "Why?" he retorted. "There's nothing wrong with me."

"Alex," Ben sighed, "I thought we reached an agreement on this."

Alex frowned mutinously. "No," he snapped, "you decided I needed a psychiatrist. I didn't."

Ben looked at him, eyebrows raised. Then, suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed Alex's wrist. Alex flinched, automatically pulling away-

(-pain and blood and fear and screams and falling falling-)

- fighting the flashbacks as they flickered through his mind. Ben let go immediately, drawing back to lean against the sink. Alex breathed heavily, tugging his mind back under control whilst Ben watched with a sharp gaze.

"You can't go to school if you react like that every time someone touches you," Ben said softly, without apologising.

Alex turned his head away. "I- I don't know how to stop," he admitted quietly.

"Talk to someone," Ben advised earnestly. Alex looked down, unsure how to voice his thoughts. He couldn'ttalk to Dr. King, knowing that the man was there to evaluate him, to peer into his mind and label him just because every person in this world had to have an identity. What if he didn't want to be labelled? What if he couldn't possibly bear to give voice to his deepest fears, his worst memories?

"You can talk to me, you know," Ben said gently. "It doesn't have to be Dr. King."

Alex thought about it. It would be better than talking to Dr. King, a stranger in every sense of the word, but he still had no desire to relate his experiences. He shook his head, looking down.

"I- I don't-" he began, attempting to put his hesitance into speech. He shrugged, unable to articulate the desperate panic he felt at remembering the events that had led him to where he was today.

"It's ok," Ben assured him. "Whenever you're ready."

Alex sighed to himself. He didn't think he would ever be ready. Ben had returned to putting the dishes away, humming to himself softly as he did it. Alex stood still for a few seconds, before slowly moving forward and grabbing a plate from the dishwasher. Ben turned, startled, and smiled at him. Neither spoke as they completed the soothing motions of going back and forth between the dishwasher and the cupboard. It felt strangely domestic, Alex mused, and his lips turned upwards as he realised Ben was humming the Scouting For Girls song, 'I wish I was James Bond'.

'And I wish I was James Bond, just for the day,

Kissing all the girls, blow the bad guys away . . .'

If only it was that easy.

"How sweet," Snake said sarcastically, leaning against the wall of the kitchen. Alex didn't jump, having seen him get up from the sofa, but Ben twisted round, surprised by the sudden voice. "It's like happy families."

"With a not so happy soldier," Alex muttered to himself.

"Here," Ben said, chucking the man the dust pan and brush. "Sweep the floor."

Snake frowned but did as he was asked. Alex wanted to laugh at the sight of the tough SAS soldier on his hands and knees brushing up all the dirt. It wasn't a usual sight.

"What are you grinning about?" Snake asked harshly. Alex raised his eyebrows; the man was definitely not in a good mood.

"Nothing," he answered smoothly, stacking the glasses in the cupboard. "What does your wife think of you spending the day over here?" Alex asked curiously, changing the subject quickly.

"I'm SAS," Snake responded, frowning. "She knows that sometimes I get crappy jobs that I have to do. She's ok with it."

"You describe this as a crappy job?" Alex asked in disbelief. Personally, he thought it would be a lot better than, say, Afghanistan.

"Being stuck all day with a snarky teenager and an overprotective spy? Yes," he said bluntly.

"Hey," Ben objected. "I am not overprotective."

Alex snorted at the same time as Snake, for once agreeing on something.

"You're worse than my mother was," Snake told him firmly. Alex listened curiously. Was? Snake wasn't that old . . .

"Considering your mother let you join the army at sixteen and then chucked you out when you tried to stay at home whilst on leave, that's not difficult," Ben replied wryly. Alex was startled slightly, wondering if Snake would object to having his personal life revealed in front of him. The soldier just grunted though.

"Fair point," he acknowledged, before glancing at Alex. "What about your mother?" he asked. "Where's she?"

Alex saw Ben glare at him briefly, annoyed at Snake's lack of tact. Alex shrugged.

"Dead," he replied simply. "As is my father."

"Sorry, Cub," Snake said in his heavy accent. "How long ago?"

"Never knew them," Alex said, his face blank. Ben was looking between them in faint concern. "I grew up with my uncle."

"Where's he, then?" Snake questioned, his eyebrows becoming closer and closer together.

"Dead as well." Alex crossed his arms, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going in.

Snake frowned, looking fairly startled at the news. "Christ, kid, do you have anyone?"

"Just Ben," Alex answered, glancing at the man in question.

Snake stayed quiet, his face thoughtful, before standing up and tipping the mess from the dust pan into the bin. Alex put the last cup away and turned to leave.

"Wait, Cub," Snake said suddenly. Alex looked back at him. He was standing there awkwardly, his face quite unsure.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

Snake held out his hand. "My name's Rob," he said simply. "Rob Davies."

Alex stared at him, considering his words. Finally, he took the man's hand. "Alex Rider," he told Snake. The man nodded, and no other speech was exchanged. Soldiers were men of little words, and all that had been needed to say had been said.

Later that day, after suffering a few awkward moments with Snake in the lounge, both unsure of how to act now they had formed some sort of peace, Alex closed the door to Ben's house behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. He lifted his face to the wind, revelling in the simple feeling of the air blowing against him. He'd managed to persuade Ben to let him go visit Tom, with only the smallest amount of emotional blackmail and manipulation used. He wasa spy, after all. As a teen, he was used to having his own way, having never really dealt with a parent figure before. Ian had been scarcely present during his childhood and Jack had always been more like a sister-

(-"Mrs Rider?" the teacher asked, glancing up at the tall redhead in front of her.

"God, no!" Jack laughed. "I'm just Jack. I look after Alex."-)

- too young to truly bring him up like a parent would. Ben's overprotective nature was new to him, and it was beginning to get suffocating. Tom would be a welcome break, as annoyed as his friend would be at him for not having been in contact for weeks.

Tom's house wasn't far from Ben's, according to Google maps, and Alex was relying on his memory and sense of direction to get him there. He had no idea if Tom would even be in, of course, but he wanted to try. He wanted to feel that levity that only came from talking to someone his own age. To them, he was a teenager, not a spy, and he didn't have to constantly be reminded about the events that had happened only a few weeks ago. He could forget with Tom, and simply enjoy life.

"Alex?" he heard a voice ask. Glancing up at the aged face in front of him, he smiled softly. It had been far too long.

"Mrs Madon," he answered cheerfully. She didn't comment on his face or shaved hair or even his prolonged absence from his house.

"It's so nice to see you again," she said absentmindedly. She hefted the bag she was carrying further up her shoulder and Alex was sad to see yet more lines on her face. She aged more every time he saw her.

"You too," he replied warmly. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know me," she said, waving a hand in the air, "nothing keeps me down for long. Though I haven't seen Jack for a while."

Alex swallowed-

(-her red hair glistened, the pool round her growing larger, dripping, dripping, dripping-)

-but nodded. "Did she not get a chance to tell you?" he asked in fake surprise. "She had to move back to America very suddenly. Family problems, you know."

Mrs Madon frowned. "No, she didn't mention it," she responded. "Well, I don't think she did . . ."

"Hmm, I suppose she might not have, it was a complete rush," Alex said, making it all up on the spot. He couldn't tell Mrs Madon that Jack had died; the American had been one of the few people the elderly woman had left. Her family, if she even had anyone apart from her granddaughter Katrina, had never been seen to visit.

"Oh no," Mrs Madon said, biting her lip. "I so loved having Jack to talk to."

Alex smiled sadly. "Well, she might come back soon, you never know."

"I hope so," the woman replied, before hauling her bag back up again. "Where have you been staying then?"

"A family friend's house," he answered smoothly, before reaching out to take her bag. "Here," he said, "let me carry that for you."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It was getting rather heavy."

Alex's lips lifted up in return as they proceeded to wander down the streets, his heart clenching every time he saw something he remembered. He hadn't been going to go near his old house, planning on taking a different, new, route, but he couldn't leave the poor woman alone. She had so few people in her life; he couldn't deny her his company.

"If you ever need anywhere to stay," Mrs Madon said gently, out of the blue, "you're always welcome at my house."

"Thanks," Alex said genuinely. "I'll keep that in mind." How could anyone not want to spend time with this lonely, sweet, old woman?

"Well, this is me," she said, taking the bag off of him and placing it on the doorstep. Alex had firmly not allowed himself to look past her house to his, telling his mind sternly that it was a building, it wasn't important.

"I'll see you again soon," Alex said, squeezing her arm in a comforting manner.

"You'd better," she said absently. Then, her normal, wandering, eyes focused on his face. Her wrinkled face softened and she reached out a trembling hand, her arthritis easily spotted. He stood still, his shoulders tense, as she lightly touched his scarred face. It was the most lucid he had ever seen her, and he closed his eyes briefly. There was something about her that just screamed, 'safe', and he didn't even flinch when she stepped forward into his personal space. He stared at her worn face and weary eyes, and felt water prickling his eyes. Pushing the tears down, he looked at her intense expression. She smiled slightly and removed her cold hand from his cheek.

"Take care of yourself," she said quietly, and stepped away.

"I will," he answered and watched as she fumbled for her keys and walked inside her house, shutting the door behind her with a small wave. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow it was a goodbye she was saying. Dismissing the thoughts as ridiculous, he turned down the road, in the opposite direction of his house, and walked away. He refused to look back.

It only took him a few minutes more to reach Tom's house; he knew the way well from his old house. Knocking on the door, he stepped back a bit. His heart hammered in his chest and he told himself to stop being stupid. Tom was his oldest friend.

"Hi," he said, smiling weakly at the man who opened the door. He didn't recognize him, and for one terrifying minute he wondered if Tom had moved. "I'm looking for Tom Harris? I'm a friend of his."

The man frowned, but called "Tom!" behind him. "I'm Phil," he said, and held out a hand to Alex. Alex shook it firmly, still confused about who the man was.

"Alex," he replied.

"Nice to meet you," Phil said, looking anything but happy. "Tom!" he yelled again, and Alex distantly heard an answer from the house. "I'm Tom's step-dad," he explained to Alex.

That made sense. "Right," Alex responded, somewhat awkwardly. "I didn't know Tom's mum had gotten married."

"About a month ago," Phil said, looking uninterested. "I haven't seen you before, have I?"

"No," Alex agreed, wondering about this strange man who didn't seem to care about his marriage or his step-son, or anything really. "I've . . . been away for a while."

"Hmm," Phil said, looking behind him. "Finally, Tom," he snapped. "I've been waiting forever."

Alex's eyebrows rose. That was a slightly rude comment.

"Sorry," Alex heard a voice respond, sounding completely insincere. "Got distracted."

"I'm sure," Phil replied sarcastically. "Don't be late home if you go out." With that, he turned back inside the hall, without so much as saying goodbye to Alex, and the spy managed to see his close friend at last.

Tom had grown; that was immediately apparent. But it was the smaller, more subtle differences that Alex registered with surprise. Faint tufts of hair were growing on his upper lip and cheeks: the beginnings of facial hair that had definitely not been there before. Blue rings were visible under his eyes and Alex was saddened to think of what might have caused those tired smudges.

"Alex?" Tom said in shock. Alex grinned slightly; all the worrying observations that had just shown how much time had passed were forgotten. This was his best friend – time apart made no difference on their friendship.

"Hey," he replied, relieved beyond measure that he was now – finally – home, and was speaking to his friend once again.

"What the hell happened to you?" Tom snapped. "Where the hell have you been?" Tom didn't look overjoyed to see him.

Alex winced. He had forgotten that Tom might be a bit annoyed about him and Jack disappearing for months. "It's kind of a long story . . .," he answered, looking down.

(-where was he? What was happening? More pain, blood, pain, pain, pain-)

"I'm listening," Tom said, folding his arms.

"Can we go somewhere else? I'd rather not have anyone listening."

"The let's go to yours," Tom responded immediately. Alex winced again.

"That wouldn't be a good idea," he said slowly. Tom raised his eyebrows. "It's part of the stuff I need to tell you," Alex explained hastily.

"Hmm." Tom just looked at him for a while. He had gotten so cynical, Alex realised. The Tom he knew had been fun-loving and fiercely happy to be alive. This Tom was more serious.

"I guess you'd better come upstairs then," Tom said eventually. It wasn't the ideal place to hold such a conversation, but Alex knew there was nowhere else to do it really. He followed his friend to his room, glad he didn't bump into Phil or Tom's mother – Jacqui.

Tom gestured for him to sit on his bed as he shut the door and turned his music on loud. Alex's lips twitched upwards as he realised that Tom was still listening to the same – rubbish – music as before.

"I see your music taste hasn't improved," Alex said wryly.

"I see your face hasn't either," Tom shot back. "Where'd the scar come from?" His hard expression was softening slightly as the time passed and Alex thanked every god he could think of that Tom had always been incapable of holding a grudge.

"I-" he began, then stopped. How could he sum up the horrific events of the last few months in a few sentences? Tom said nothing.

"You know Scorpia?" he asked Tom at last. The boy nodded, obviously recalling the time Alex had narrated part of the events of Invisible Sword to him.

"Well, they decided that they didn't want me alive any longer," he explained, "so they sent people to kill Jack and kidnap me."

"God," Tom said suddenly, his face paling. "Is Jack-?"

Alex blanked his face, forcibly pushing the flashbacks out of his mind. "They succeeded," he said heavily.

"Jesus," Tom muttered slowly, shutting his eyes. Alex knew that Jack had been almost a surrogate mother to him, since his parents had been too busy fighting to take any notice.

"I'm sorry," Alex murmured quietly, his heart breaking for his friend. He had had time to deal-

(-her body lay draped on the floor, red pooling around her as her skin faded to pale white-)

-but Tom had only just found out.

Tom took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. Alex looked down, unwilling to see his grief reflected in the eyes of his friend.

"What happened then?" Tom asked, with what seemed like supreme effort.

"I- I was taken to one of their facilities," he began, closing his mind firmly to the flashbacks filtering behind his eyes, "where I was kept for a couple of months or so. The SAS managed to rescue me and I was taken to hospital. I was discharged just over a week ago."

Tom frowned, his eyes still red. "Where are you staying?" he questioned, his voice subdued. "If Jack's. . ."

"With an agent I've worked with before," Alex replied casually, relaxing his body posture now that they had moved onto safer topics. He leaned back against the blue wall of Tom's bedroom and examined his friend. He wondered why he looked so exhausted.

"You could stay here, you know," Tom said quietly. "Dad's moved out so they're not arguing anymore . . ."

Alex smiled slightly and shrugged. "MI6 wouldn't be happy," he replied. "I need the protection of another agent, just in case." Tom frowned, opening his mouth to say something. "Anyway," Alex hurried on, not wanting to discuss Scorpia for any longer, "who's Phil and how come I've never heard of him?"

"He's Mum's husband," Tom's lip curled as he spoke. "They got married a month ago, but you've never heard of him because Mum didn't tell me they were even seeing each other until a month before the wedding."

Alex nodded, picking up the tension in Tom's tone. "You don't like him?"

"I don't know him," Tom said shortly. "And he's made no effort to change that."

"That sucks," Alex responded sympathetically, patting his friend lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Tom sighed, "but at least the arguing has stopped." He got up off the bed for a brief time to change the song. Alex couldn't tell the difference; they were all a load of banging and screaming in his opinion. When he sat down again, they stayed in silence for a few seconds.

"How about we just go to the park?" Tom suggested at last. Alex smiled; he'd missed the long lazy days of football and girls and messing around.

"Sounds good," he responded, standing up and hitching up his jeans from where they were starting to slip down. As he did so, his t-shirt rid up to display some of the many scars on his body. Alex turned away quickly, hoping Tom hadn't seen, but he had.

"Those recent?" he asked quietly, not making any move to look at them again. Alex guessed he had become accustomed to his scars over time.

Alex nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Most, anyway."

"I'm sorry." Tom's gaze was sad and piercing.

Alex shook his head, willing away the painful memories and wishing for the comfortable atmosphere of a few minutes ago back. "They don't hurt anymore," he said in reassurance.

"Let's just go and play footie and forget about our crappy lives, hey?" Tom said, a forced smile on his face.

"Good idea." Alex punched his arm gently. "Guess it's time for you to get beaten, then."

"Hey!" Tom protested. "That hurt!" He rubbed his arm, pouting slightly.

"I notice you didn't deny the fact that I'm going to completely slaughter you," Alex responded grinning. It had been too long since he'd engaged in such friendly banter.

"Whatever," Tom replied. "We both know who's better looking, anyway."

"Glad to see you're acknowledging my sexiness," Alex said smugly.

"Hey- What?"

Alex laughed as they wandered out of the house and down to the park, arguing jokingly all the way. It felt like the sun was shining down on him at last, and he soaked up its warm rays.

Then, in a typical English fashion, the heavens opened.

"Crap!" Tom squealed as they ran for cover. Hidden under a tree, they laughed hysterically as they squeezed out their wet clothes.

"Don't you just love England?" Tom asked rhetorically.

Looking out from under the branches, watching people wander past with their umbrellas up and their scarves wrapped tight around their necks, Alex thought that he really, really did.

A/N: Yes, you can probably tell I'm British by the end of this. . . 3 England :D All those English people out there, I bet you know what I'm talking about when I write about the bloody weather . . . I can just see you nodding along to this, because it's so true! All it does is rain *pouts*

Also, I mean no offence with the inclusion of the anorexia anecdote. This is based off a girl I know personally, and I just wanted to put it in to raise awareness for this horrible eating disorder. It's horrific, and so scarily common. My thoughts are with anyone who is suffering from any eating disorder.

Please review,

ForeverChasingDreams