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

Warning: There is a couple of harsh swear words in it - do not read if this is offensive to you.

'The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other'

(Mario Puzo)

The house seemed strangely quiet without the soldiers there, even as life continued on as normal for Ben and Alex. Neither slept well, but for once Ben didn't try to push Alex into talking. They both knew the cause of their insomnia, just as they implicitly understood why the other flinched at loud noises and double checked the locks at night. Despite the added MI6 security, they didn't feel nearly as safe as they had with an SAS unit living with them.

"Nearly done?" Ben asked one Sunday, clearing away dirty plates from breakfast and watching Alex struggle with some homework.

"No," Alex sighed in frustration. "It's ridiculous – the questions don't even make sense!"

Ben frowned, reaching out an arm slowly to tilt the paper towards him. Still, the young spy flinched slightly as Ben brushed against him. Time, he reminded himself. That was the best healer. "Argh, history," he said, pulling a face when he saw the question. "Never was my strong point."

"You studied politics," Alex pointed out with a smile, "aren't they very similar?"

Ben shrugged with an easy grin, scrubbing furiously at a saucepan. "Probably why I didn't become a politician."

"Useless," Alex declared, chewing on the end of his pen. Ben didn't know if he was talking about him or the homework, and suspected it didn't really matter.

"What topic is it?" he asked out of curiosity, hearing a distant thud and ignoring it. He was trying to fight the paranoia, not feed it, he told himself.

"I don't even bloody know," Alex grumbled, chucking his pen across the table. "Something to do with Hungary, maybe? Or perhaps Romania?"

"Two very different countries," Ben pointed out helpfully.

"It's good to see the usefulness of your politics degree," Alex said sarcastically. "Obviously, they're two different countries. Twit."

"Hey! rude!" Ben exclaimed jokingly, hearing yet another thud. This time Alex looked up too, their eyes meeting in a quick flash of acknowledgement. The conversation stopped. Neighbours, Ben said firmly to himself, just like the million other times you've heard noises. But he couldn't quite suppress the little voice that whispered: what if it's not? What if it's real this time?

Alex stood up slowly, quietly, his face grim. Ben tried to smile reassuringly, but guessed it probably didn't work when the young spy's expression didn't change. There were no more noises.

That's because it's neighbours, he told himself. Or because they're in position, the small voice hissed.

Rinnggg, rinnggg. Rinnnggg, rinnggg. Rinng-

Ben snatched up the phone after a couple of seconds, both he and Alex frozen from surprise. The outside noises were forgotten – and Ben told himself that he had just been paranoid.

"Hello?"

"Mr Daniels?" a voice asked levelly.

"Who is this?" Ben replied sharply and saw Alex glance at him. He shook his head slightly and twitched his lips upwards to stop Alex worrying. He knew it wouldn't work.

"We would greatly appreciate it if you could come down to the Bank at your earliest convenience to discuss matters concerning your charge's account. He may come with you."

Ben sighed, chewing his bottom lip. He knew there was no choice. "Of course," he answered heavily. "We'll be down shortly."

The voice on the other end hung up. Ben looked at Alex and tried to smile.

"The Bank?" Alex asked, his voice even.

"Yeah," Ben replied, moving over to the sink to empty the water out. "Grab your shoes, we'll go now."

"Thank God," Alex muttered, shutting his history book with a snap.

"Thought you hated going to the bank?" Ben remarked absently, drying his hands on a tea towel and wandering into the hall.

"I do," Alex answered, following him out of the kitchen. "But I think I might hate history even more."

"Wow," Ben laughed, "you'll have to tell Blunt that – he'll love it. He's no longer public enemy number one."

Alex smirked. "He was never number one, that was reserved for the person trying to kill me at that point in time. Two or three though, definitely."

Ben shook his head, smiling, as he pulled on a pair of shoes. "You seen the keys?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No," Alex called from further down the hall, where he was attempting to find some shoes under a pile of bags.

"Hmm," Ben mused, "problem . . ." He looked around the hall, racking his brains. He spotted a glimpse of silver under an old letter and grinned. He snatched the keys up and waited for Alex to be ready.

"Driving or train?" Alex questioned when they left the house.

"Train, I reckon," Ben replied, thinking of the rush hour traffic and congestion charge. "Alright with that?" he asked, looking hard at Alex. He didn't want to make the young spy uncomfortable and knew that the trains would be very busy.

Alex nodded. Ben stopped walking and gently reached out to hold his chin. "Don't just agree with me, Alex," he sighed. "Tell me honestly now; are you ok with getting the train? Or would you prefer we drive?" He made his voice softer, more honest. "I don't mind either way, I promise you."

Alex looked uncomfortable and didn't meet Ben's eyes. He knew that Alex had issues with close contact and hated being fully open with someone, but he had to try.

"Trains are fine," the teenager said quietly. "But- But can we not go on the tube?"

Ben let go of his chin, smiling slightly to encourage the fidgety spy. "That's fine," Ben said. "We'll walk from the train station."

Alex lowered his head in agreement. "Thanks," he muttered, looking awkward.

"You know your way to the station?" Ben asked, resuming his fast pace and checking to see if Alex was keeping up – which, of course, he was.

"Yep,"

"Lead on," Ben said, with an extravagant gesture in front of him. Alex swatted him lightly and walked ahead. This way, Ben could keep an eye on any potential danger and also let Alex set the pace. He didn't want him straining his leg again. Actually, thinking about it, he probably wasn't even supposed to be walking on it this much. Oh well, Ben thought, it's better than him having a panic attack on the tube.

The journey passed smoothly. The train, thank god, wasn't packed to the brim as often it can be but left plenty of room for standing. Ben watched Alex carefully but he didn't seem to be having any difficulties and gradually he relaxed. They arrived at the Royal and General bank within good time and were soon escorted up to a room where both Blunt and Jones were waiting for them.

"Alex, Agent Daniels," Mrs Jones greeted them and Ben hid his surprise at her informal addressing of his charge. For a normally hard-hearted woman, that was positively sentimental. Alex, however, showed no reaction. He was either used to it or a good actor. Or both, Ben mused.

"Mrs Jones, Mr Blunt," Ben said, inclining his head in acknowledgement. Alex plonked down in a chair with a scowl at both the heads of MI6, but Ben felt that at least one of them should be polite.

"Sit down, Daniels," Jones said briskly and Ben did as ordered.

"We're here to discuss security arrangements," Blunt said evenly. "With the SAS unit gone, we need to ensure you're fully protected."

Alex snorted. Blunt looked at him.

"Yes, Alex?" Jones asked, raising an eyebrow. Ben wanted to cover Alex's mouth to stop whatever sassy thing he had to say, but figured Alex would end up biting his hand or something.

"Why now?" Alex said. "You have never given a shit about protection for me, so why start now?"

"We have, Alex, we assigned an SAS unit to you-"

"That doesn't count," Alex said dismissively, waving a hand. Ben sighed. Alex was spoiling for a fight; that was obvious.

"Then explain to us what you want us to do," Jones said calmly.

"I want you to stop pretending you care a jot about me," Alex snapped back. "I want you to be bloody honest for once in my life."

"Alex," Ben said quietly, reaching across to touch his arm. Alex jerked away, his body flinching ever so slightly. Too intimate, Ben cursed himself. Touch was going to get him nowhere.

But, surprisingly, it did. Alex looked at him, breathing slightly unsteady, and sat back in his chair.

"Fine," the teenager said, demonstrating his age group's typical mood swings. "Explain these arrangements to me."

Jones looked marginally relieved, in Ben's opinion, but the difference in her expression was so slight it was hard to tell.

"There are agents around your house," Blunt said, acting as if nothing had occurred since he'd last spoken. His face hadn't changed throughout the exchange. "We'll have agents tail you if you leave and accompany you to and from school."

"No way," Alex said immediately.

"They'll be discreet, I promise you," Jones added in reassurance. "You won't be able to tell they're there."

Alex frowned but subsided.

"Will we meet these agents?" Ben asked, wondering if they'd be living in the house some of the time like K Unit had done.

"Unlikely," Jones said shortly. "They'll watch the house and you in shifts but won't come inside unless necessary."

"So how will I contact them if there is a problem?" Ben frowned.

"There are people in your house setting up panic buttons as we speak," Jones said. "Press them if you think there's trouble and it will send an alert to us and to the agent's head pieces. They'll react accordingly."

"How do you know we can trust them?" Alex asked cuttingly, his face hard. Jones and Blunt glanced at each other and Ben leaned forward. Something was going on there.

Just then, the phone on the desk rang. Jones picked it up, listening in silence. "Bring it up," she said finally, placing the phone back down. "I apologise," she said to Ben and Alex. "This is vitally important but it will be brief."

A knock came at the door and a man hurried in. He handed several papers over to Mrs Jones, murmuring something to her. Jones nodded. Ben couldn't hear what he was saying, but evidently, Alex had heard or seen something because he shifted forwards in his seat to get a better look. Mrs Jones placed the papers in a drawer.

"What is that?" Alex demanded and Ben wanted to hit himself. Alex's fighting mood had presumably not disappeared.

"You know I can't tell you that, Alex," Jones replied.

"That has something to do with Iraq," Alex insisted, and despite himself Ben found himself leaning forwards.

"You do not know what you're talking about," Blunt said firmly.

"I know you just received vitally important information about Iraq, and I know that both K Unit and Menarc are there," Alex snapped.

"If it concerns K Unit I want to know too," Ben added, receiving a faint smile from Alex for his support.

"It doesn't concern either of you," Blunt said, refusing to budge.

"K Unit concerns me," Alex said hotly. "Menarc concerns me. They tortured me for months, Blunt, and you won't give me the information you have on them?"

Jones' expression seemed to waver. Alex appeared to spot this and continued.

"They permanently injured my leg," he said quietly, but fiercely. "They have given me scars all over my body. They have torn apart my mind and left me so messed up I may never be able to live normally again." Ben wanted to shut his eyes and hide from the brutal honesty that was coming from Alex. "Now, give me the information I need to bring them down."

"It isn't your job-" Jones started to say, but Blunt stopped her with a raised hand. He looked mildly interested.

"Attachments, Alex, are not a good thing," he said curiously, cutting to the heart of the matter. Ben wanted to scream at him, wanted to yell to stop him ruining any progress he may have made with Alex on that front.

"I need that information," Alex said steadily, and Ben wanted to sigh with relief that Alex would not be so easily manipulated – a fact he should not have even doubted.

Blunt sat back in his chair and smiled without amusement. "We have a spy in Menarc, as you know." Alex and Ben nodded. "They have managed to pass information to us concerning Menarc's future plans. Just four words were all he could send."

"And they are?"

"Iraq, Afghanistan, Britain, and Tolo," Jones said calmly.

"What does that mean?" Ben asked in frustration.

"We don't really know."

"What's Tolo?" Alex asked shrewdly. "It sounds like a name of some sort."

"An oil company, isn't it?" Ben interjects. He'd vaguely heard the name before and thought it had something to do with fuel. He couldn't see much of a link however, nor why it would have been important enough for the spy to mention.

"That's right," Mrs Jones said. "It's a large petroleum company operating in Afghanistan."

Blunt sat forward, having been content simply to watch the proceedings. "There's no link between Tolo and Menarc as far as we can find, unfortunately. We've got people investigating-"

"That's what K-Unit are doing, right?" Alex interrupted.

"We can't tell you that, Alex," Mrs Jones said, her lips thinning. "You know it's confidential."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Fine," he huffed, "I don't need you to confirm it. I just need to know if K-Unit are likely to be hurt."

"Alex," Ben said in a low voice, wanting to offer some reassurance but unsure how to go about it. He was just as worried about the soldiers as Alex and didn't want to lie to him.

Alex didn't even look at him.

"We can't guarantee that," Blunt said in disinterest, shuffling through some papers on his desk with a frown. Mrs Jones shifted slightly in her seat.

"Then know that I am done with you if anything happens to them," Alex snapped, and Ben didn't doubt his sincerity.

"They are members of the SAS, Alex," Mrs Jones answered in a reasonable tone. "They knew what they were signing up for."

"The SAS don't normally mix with MI6 though," Ben pointed out. "This assignment is your fault, and yours only."

Mrs Jones frowned. Blunt, as normal, stayed emotionless. "It makes no difference who you blame, Alex, it changes nothing about your situation."

Ben felt marginally confused. What situation?

"I think my situation is very much changed, actually," Alex said dangerously.

Blunt's lips twitched in an imitation of a smile. "I don't see the difference," he said, and did Ben imagine the deliberate flick of his eyes over to him?

Alex froze.

"Alan," Mrs Jones said urgently, furiously. "We talked about this-"

What was going on? Ben wondered, feeling utterly out of his depth.

Alex slowly, deliberately, raised his middle finger and swore at Blunt. Mrs Jones looked taken aback; Blunt showed no reaction.

"Screw you and your fucking power games, Blunt," he said harshly, standing up swiftly and leaving the room. Ben jumped after him, giving the silent heads of MI6 a distrustful look as he left the room, hurrying to catch up with the young spy. He may not have understood exactly what went on there, but he knew that it was nothing good.

"Would you like to explain what went on in there?" Ben asked when he caught up with Alex. Alex sighed deeply, feeling anger throb through his body in time with his heartbeat. He couldn't believe the nerve of Blunt, threatening him like that, using Ben against him when the man in question sat there completely ignorant of what was going on.

"Not really," Alex said shortly, his voice tight. "Blunt's a power-hungry bastard, but what else is new?"

Ben smiled slightly in response to his words. "I'm pretty sure I was missing a vital part of that conversation though."

"Unimportant," Alex dismissed, unwilling to discuss the situation when nothing would change it. Blunt would always have power over him, in some way or another. He might as well just resign himself to working for SIS for as long as he lived – however short a time that may be.

"Somehow I didn't get that impression," Ben shot back, seeming to be unhappy to let the topic drop. "Might have something to do with your parting words."

Alex looked away, catching the eye of a receptionist who looked down when she saw him. "I- I lost control slightly," he admitted quietly, hating himself even as he said it. He never lost control, not even when being tortured.

"You seemed pretty upset," Ben said gently, leading them through the door into the street.

Alex shrugged, glancing around to check the street out of habit. Nothing out of the ordinary. "It's not a problem, honestly."

"Seemed like one,"

"Drop it, Ben, ok?" Alex snapped, getting fed up with the invasive questions. Ben shut up with a scowl and Alex knew they'd be revisiting the subject later on. For the moment, they got on the train in silence and only spoke minimally the rest of the journey.

"Nearly home," were the first words Ben uttered when they stepped off the train. Alex nodded jerkily, beginning to feel bad for his sharp words earlier. He wasn't going to apologise though, it was really none of Ben's business.

"Psychiatrist tomorrow, remember?" Ben said absently, placing his oyster card on the machine and listening to it beep. Alex did the same but frowned when he saw the small amount of money left on his. This was the first time he'd really used it for months and was honestly surprised it still had anything on it at all. It had been retrieved from his old house along with several other items he had requested from Ben. He hadn't wanted to go himself.

"Yeah," Alex said, acknowledging Ben's words before changing the subject. "I need to get more money on this," he said, holding up his oyster card.

"We'll go do that then," Ben replied, then looked at the card a bit closer. He snatched it out of Alex's hands. "Lovely picture," he said, laughing.

"Shut up," Alex pouted, relieved that the tension from earlier had dissolved. "I was eleven, give me a break!"

"Such gorgeous dimples," Ben said, smirking. Alex whacked him round the shoulder and took the card back.

"Git," he muttered, following Ben into the newsagents they had reached and handing over the card to the man at the till.

Ben handed over the money to put on the card and Alex wondered if he should volunteer to pay. It wasn't as if he didn't have the money.

As if sensing the thoughts forming in Alex's head, Ben spoke. "I don't mind paying for you," he said quietly as the man printed out a receipt. "You're my charge, after all."

Alex ignored the warmth spreading in his chest at that simple statement and said nothing in reply. Ben smiled kindly at him and handed back the oyster card.

"Thanks," Alex told the man behind the counter as they left the shop. The man raised a hand in goodbye and Ben and Alex continued on home.

"School tomorrow, then," Ben said when they were close to his house, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," replied Alex, unsure of how he felt about that. The work load was awful, but at the same time it was nice to get away for a little. He liked being able to forget about his teammates in Iraq and the danger lurking in the shadows, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

"Done your homework?"

"Do you have to act so bloody parental?" Alex grumbled good-naturedly, thinking of the pile of work on his desk. It wasn't that he didn't try to do it, he did, but it was bloody difficult to catch up on months' worth of work in a few weeks by himself.

"Is that a no then?" Ben asked amusedly, opening the front door.

"Something like that," Alex sighed, kicking off his shoes and shutting the door behind him. "When's dinner?"

"What am I, your mother?"

"What are you, twelve?" Alex retorted, grinning. He walked into the kitchen, pouring himself a drink and watched Ben lean up against the side.

"Something like that," Ben mimicked in a high pitched voice and Alex kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" Ben exclaimed comically, hopping on the spot. "Abuse! Abuse!"

"Go call Childline then," Alex said with a grin, handing him the phone. Ben dumped it on the side, standing still again.

"Tempting, but no," he replied, turning to the fridge and rummaging through it.

"What's for dinner, then?" Alex asked, hopping onto the side and staring at Ben's back. The scene was so domestic that Alex wanted to laugh, but it had become his life recently, in between the worry and MI6.

"Hmm," Ben deliberated. "We have . . . mouldy cheese?" He held up a distinctly green looking object and Alex shook his head. "Gone-off milk?" Ben tried again, placing the cheese on the side.

"Anything edible?" Alex questioned, trying not to giggle in a very un-manlike way.

"Could maybe make some scrambled eggs," Ben said, picking out an egg and cracking it into a mug on the side. He sniffed it and grimaced. "Or maybe not."

"Pizza then," Alex summarised.

"Looks like it," Ben said, grinning, and he reached for the phone.

An hour and a half later, both were sufficiently full from the crappy food they'd consumed. Two empty pizza boxes lay on the floor in front of them as well as glasses of fizzy drinks and beer, in Ben's case. Despite Alex's protests, Ben hadn't allowed him any. It was ridiculous, he thought, that he was old enough to spy and kill people, but he couldn't possible have alcohol.

Alex sighed contentedly as the adverts came on at the end of a trashy programme they'd been watching. He shifted to his feet and stretched before bending down to pick up his rubbish. "I'm going to go upstairs," he told Ben who simply nodded, not making any effort to move. Alex wandered through into the kitchen and dumped the rubbish in the bin before lazily making his way upstairs.

He sat in front of his computer for a couple of minutes wondering what to do before he figured he might as well follow up on the earlier meeting. He pulled up Google and wrote:

Iraq and Afghanistan

He knew very little about the two countries other than the wars going on there. He guessed it would probably be best to gather as much info as possible; you never knew what might be helpful. The results from Google weren't very informative, however. The top results were all about war veterans and similar topics. Interesting, but not what he wanted.

He revised his search, entering the two countries separately and clicking on the Central Intelligence Agency page for each, copying and pasting them into a word document. There, he looked at the two countries and compared them. They were both in a similar geographical location; both had similar climates and a similar political and governmental history. In fact, there was little interesting information on the site to find. He noted that both had a plentiful supply of natural resources, particularly petroleum and natural gas, and could see why the countries were interesting for investing companies. There was a higher percentage of Sunni Muslims in Afghanistan than there was in Iraq, where more Shias lived, but he didn't believe that was particularly relevant. The problem was that, with so little information, he really had no idea what to look at even, or what was important.

Searching for Tolo in Google came up with little else, just rubbish about its 'global operations' and 'social responsibilities' – the same stuff that all transnational companies put on their websites. Interestingly, there was no mention of any petroleum or natural gas operations in Iraq, only in Afghanistan. Either they weren't admitting to their work there publically, or Iraq was not connected to Tolo at all, despite what the message suggested. It was strange, considering the large amount of natural resources in both countries, but not necessarily suspicious.

Sighing, he logged off his laptop and put it on his desk. He swiftly changed into his pyjamas, inspecting his leg wound briefly before tugging his bottoms over them. It had settled down so that it was no longer red and inflamed, but the wound still looked nasty. He had meant what he said to MI6: his leg was going to bother him for the rest of his life. The muscle would always be prone to injury and he would have to be careful not to overstretch it. Menarc had crippled him in more ways than one.

He headed downstairs to grab a mug of decaf coffee before going to bed. Once downstairs, he poked his head into the lounge and told Ben he was going to sleep, who smiled and wished him goodnight. He carefully carried his mug upstairs, sipping it all the while. Minutes later, he placed the empty mug on the desk and slid under his duvet, switching off the lights. He lay there in the dark, the four words of the spy's message circling through his head. Try as he might, he couldn't see the link to Menarc.

Hours later, he slipped into an uneasy sleep. Oil-like substances and laughing faces dominated his dreams, until he woke, at five am, knowing that something was going to go wrong.

A/N: Sorry for the little cliffhanger, and sorry for the long wait you've all had. Thanks for the support I have been receiving though - over 200 reviews! I'm over the moon :)

If anyone not British reading this is getting a bit confused at any point (British education system, oyster cards etc) just write me a message and I'm happy to explain.

Hopefully I'll get another chapter up within a few weeks, but life is very hectic at the moment and room to breathe is scarce. Changes, however, will never be abandoned, despite the slow updates. Next chapter may even have some action in it!

Please pen a quick review to tell me what you think - feedback of any sort is always appreciated.

Dreams x