Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider, the characters belong to Anthony Horowitz

A/N: I'm so sorry about the wait!

'I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing'

(Agatha Christie)

"We'll give you some time to think it over," Mouse said quietly, but his voice was hard. He gestured sharply at Trigger, and Alex caught the scowl out of the corner of his eye. Trouble in paradise, then. Trigger could be useful if he was resentful.

The man in question grabbed hold of his arm and yet again placed the gun to his head. Alex rolled his eyes.

"Think what over?" Alex questioned before he could be manhandled out of the room. Trigger paused next to him, his breath heavy and threatening behind Alex. Potentially useful, yes, but a loose cannon too, and that could end up very dangerous.

Watch grinned, somewhat sadistically. "Whether you will cooperate with us, Rider, or if we will have to resort to . . . other methods."

Alex sighed, pleased to see an annoyed frown on Watch's face at his nonchalance. Fear was trickling through him – Christ, he didn't want to be tortured again – but he knew better than to show it. "I think you already know my answer," he retorted firmly, glaring at the men.

Mouse waved him away without an expression on his face, and Trigger pushed him towards the door. With the cold, menacing weapon pressed against his brain, he followed the implicit orders given and was marched from the room. There was utter silence behind him, and he had no desire to question his already unbalanced captor further.

Trigger shoved him into his little prison cell without a word and stalked away, an ugly look on his face. Alex was left staring at the blank walls, the sound of the door shutting reverberating around the room and through his ears.

He thought through the strange meeting in his mind. What had been the point? It could have been solely to intimidate him, but it wasn't very frightening. If anything, it had given him ammunition against them, shown him where their weaknesses lay and highlighted the divides in the organisation. If he was honest, his cosy prison cell sent more fear through his heart than those three ever would. Memories, at this precise moment, were his worst enemy. The room was simply so similar to the last one he'd been kept in that he couldn't stop the flashbacks filtering through his mind, and each one crippled him. He had to fight for control every second; he couldn't let Menarc or Scorpia, or whoever the hell they were, glimpse his weakness.

He lay idle on the bed, barely considered thoughts trailing across his mind as he allowed himself to doze. He wouldn't dwell on what was going to happen, though he did wonder why they possibly thought he would give in to them, when he hadn't in the weeks he'd been tortured before.

(-"miss me, Rider, did you?"-)

He shook his head, pushing the images from his mind and jumped up suddenly, unable to bear the inactivity any longer. This was what was going to damage him the most, being left, and perhaps that was what Menarc had planned, after all.

(-"leave you to stew, shall I?"-)

He held back the flinch, catching his breathing before it escalated and pulling himself under control again. He dropped down to the floor carefully, mindful of his slightly pounding head and throbbing thigh. He lay there for a second, maybe two, appreciating the quiet of the room, before-

(-knife dripped blood and he cried out between clenched teeth-)

He threw himself into crunches, focusing his mind on the burn of his core muscles and distracting himself from the painful images.

The day passed agonisingly slowly for Alex and it was all he could do to stop himself wondering what, exactly, Menarc were planning for him. Straight out physical torture? Mental? Would the three who had taken him even tell Menarc in the end, or keep it to themselves? He didn't know, and the lack of knowledge was killing him.

Hours must have sped by before the monotony was broken by the sound of the door opening a fraction. Trigger appeared, wearing a frown yet again, carrying a bottle of water in one hand and gesturing like a child with a gun in the other. Alex stayed at the back of the cell, knowing there was little he could do when the man had a gun, and watched. The water was placed on the floor by the door and Alex scowled, wondering if he would get any food with that. He'd weaken fast without proper sustenance, and that would not be conductive to an escape attempt.

"Here," Trigger grunted, nudging in a paper plate with two slices of bread and butter on it. "Don't want you starving, do we?"

Alex raised his eyebrows but didn't move towards the food. He refrained from snapping that actually he still couldn't survive on just a little bread every day, because at least it was better than nothing.

Trigger glared at him a little longer, and Alex could almost see the thoughts drifting through his mind. He prayed that the man wouldn't act upon his desires and take out his frustration on him; Alex had no wish to be used as a punching bag.

Finally the man turned away, his gun still grasped in his hand, and slammed the door shut. Alex flinched-

(-"Scared, Rider?"-)

-but crept forwards towards the food, sitting carefully down beside it. He didn't know how long this food would have to last him for, nor did he know if it was drugged or even poisoned. The only thing he did know was that Menarc had no intention of letting him go anytime soon, and he would need food to keep him alive.

Decision made, he carefully bit into the side of the toast, mindful of the fact that he hadn't eaten in a while and his stomach could rebel. When the coast seemed clear and the food stayed down, he polished off the plate and took a few swallows of the water. With food, waiting for the next meal would hopefully not kill him, but he would need to preserve the water in case it was in short supply. Trapped in a small airless room, the temperature could rise or fall very rapidly too, and he didn't want to suffer dehydration.

Having done all he could to ensure his survival at that moment, he lay back on the floor and yet again began to do crunches. He refused to let himself think.

Ben sat at the kitchen table, staring absently down at his teacup. The absence of both K Unit and Alex hung over the house and the silence was torturous – but at least the soldiers would be home any minute. A phone call from Mrs Jones had informed him they had arrived back in the UK, unharmed. The flood of relieve had not totally dissolved the insoluble lead of worry for Alex that had been sitting, frozen, in his heart. He sighed suddenly, shaking his head as he stopped his mind from pursuing those thoughts. He had no wish to go down that line.

He stood quietly, wincing at the shrill scrape of the chair against the floor. The breaking of the silence seemed wrong, somehow. He wondered over to the kitchen window, clutching his mug in his hand and gazing out of the glass. He couldn't wait to see K Unit again and having some company in his empty house, even if it only served to highlight what was missing.

He tore his gaze away from the window, figuring it would do him no good to be idle and thoughtful. There had been no news about Alex in the four days he'd been gone, and the unknown was killing Ben. Every moment he sat, every single time he went to bed, Alex was in danger. He could be being tortured, abused – he could have been killed, and Ben wouldn't even know. He marched upstairs and into the spare bedroom, pushing his mind onto more practical matters as he pulled off the sheet and put on another. He shied away from the knowledge that he had already done this twice before, and instead took the 'dirty' sheet downstairs and into the washing machine. He picked up a cloth and wiped down the kitchen sides, singing a song idly, and badly, as he worked.

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

He froze abruptly, the memory of the last time he had sung that song filling his mind and playing before his eyes. It had been a couple of weeks back when Alex had been recovering from his previous capture and subsequent torture, and that shared moment had been somewhat joyful, if that was at all possible when Alex had been in such a state. He closed his eyes, grief filling his heart at the thought of what his surrogate son would be going through. He hadn't even healed properly before he had been taken again, mentally or physically, and this experience would set him back weeks. It had taken Ben so long to get Alex to open up a little, and now that progress would have been destroyed completely because of some evil bastards who couldn't bloody well leave the poor kid alone.

He's not a kid, a little voice whispered, but he ignored it. Spy or not, Alex was sixteen years old and he didn't deserve the way life had treated him. He had never had a break, and he needed one so desperately. Ben had tried to provide that whilst Alex had been staying with him, but he wasn't sure how successful he'd been.

"Hurry up and knock," came a low voice from beyond the door, and Ben paused, straining his ears to hear who it was. He was pretty certain, but was going to make sure before he opened the door.

The doorbell rang, and it jolted Ben into movement. He could hear no more speech from outside, so he simply peered through the peephole and caught a glimpse of Wolf's drawn face, and the vague shape of two others behind him. Smiling, he swung open the door and let them in.

The three soldiers were pale and tired, still wearing their uniforms and appearing as if they hadn't washed for days. The conditions in Iraq weren't very habitable, after all.

"Ben," Wolf nodded, but the man ignored him, drawing him in for a brief hug, relieved to have some human company that wasn't the emotionless heads of MI6. The soldier patted him on the back a couple of times, and stepped back. Ben broke away, turning to face the other two and offering them short claps on the back as well.

"It's good to see you," Snake said quietly, his Scottish accent strong but his face weary. Eagle, too, had a pale, sickly tinge to his skin and Ben didn't want to think about how hard it must have been for him to go back to active duty, so soon after they were pulled off. They hadn't been ready – none of them – and MI6 were monsters for doing it to them.

But if they could have helped Alex? The infernal voice murmured in his mind. He pushed the thought away. Their presence in Iraq had done nothing but bring them pain, and grant him and Alex several sleepless nights. The unit had not been cleared for duty, and they should not have gone, that was the simple truth of it.

"Tea?" Ben asked, walking briskly into the kitchen, the emotional reunions done for that moment. The others followed him in, Snake and Eagle collapsing into one of the chairs. Eagle ran his hand through his matted hair and yawned.

"Please," Wolf answered, leaning against the side and scrutinising Ben. "Any news?"

Ben bit his lip and shook his head. He reached to grab a few teabags, dumping them in a mug each and boiling the kettle.

"They have people looking still," he reported, his voice brittle. "No one seems to know anything."

Eagle uttered a sigh, tipping back in his chair. "How could this have happened again?" he questioned harshly.

No one replied, the silence thick in the room. The only sound was the bubbling of the kettle as the water boiled. Ben gazed out of the window.

"Tea's ready," he said at last, the noise shattering the quiet. Eagle looked up, startled, from the table, and accepted the mug.

"Thanks," all three muttered as Ben handed out the drink. Ben hopped onto the kitchen side and sat there, glancing at the drained soldiers.

"When was the last time you lot slept?" he asked, searching for something to say. Snake made a faint grumbling noise in amongst sips of his tea, but didn't offer a true answer.

"It's been a while," Wolf acknowledged, cracking a yawn. "There's not a lot of peace in Iraq."

"Did you find out anything useful?"

Eagle shook his head. "It was a bloody great waste of time," he retorted. "We were supposedly investigating a suspected missile site for links with Menarc, but no one knew a thing about it."

"Seemed like it was run by Al Qaeda," Snake took over, "but we couldn't join it up to Menarc at all."

"It was useful information, I guess." Eagle shrugged. "Just not for us or Alex."

"That boy has the worst luck in the world," Ben muttered, his casual words not disguising the hitch in his voice.

"At least he's still alive," Eagle shot back. Ben clenched his fists, feeling as if he had been punched in the chest.

Wolf growled. "Eagle-"

"I didn't mean that," the man in question said softly, rubbing his hands over his face, and Ben nodded.

"I know," Ben answered, feeling sorry for his friend. Eagle had taken Leopard's death very hard, and Christ the man was allowed to lose it sometimes.

"No," Eagle said. "I don't- I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't compare the two."

"You can't help it," Ben pointed out astutely, and Eagle nodded a fraction. Ben, although he had never really known Leopard, could see the similarities. Both had been tortured horrifically, both were people Eagle cared about. However, Leopard hadn't made it through his ordeal, and Alex had – and hopefully would again.

"I think I'll go to bed," Eagle announced. Snake glanced up at the clock and frowned.

Ben decided not to point out the early hour and instead gestured for Eagle to go. "The bed in the spare room is made up for someone to use, if you like," he offered.

"Thanks," Eagle agreed, trudging out of the room. "Goodnight," he said quietly.

"Sleep well," Ben answered, knowing in his heart that the soldier wouldn't. It would be a long time before any of them had a peaceful night.

Alex awoke to the distant sound of voices outside his cell. He frowned, pushing himself up off the bed and standing a metre or so away from the door. He cocked his head and listened. Apart from the daily visits from Trigger bringing food and water, there had been no other sign of life in this place.

"-have to tell them-"

"-do to us?"

"-hiding him has no-"

Alex crept closer to the door, placing his head against the metal and concentrating hard. It sounded like Trigger, and he presumed the other was Mouse or Watch – he'd only heard them talk once and he didn't quite have their voice memorised.

They were arguing; that was obvious. Every so often one of the voices would rise threateningly, and the other would turn harsh. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, other than the odd word.

"-be angry-"

"-got no choice-"

It seemed as if they were debating over whether or not to tell Menarc about him, but he may have been reaching unjustified conclusions. He still had no idea what they really wanted with him – cooperate with what? Did they want information? What would they do with him if they didn't tell Menarc?

His door was abruptly thrown open and both Trigger and Watch appeared in his line of sight. He took a couple of steps backwards, wary of the gun Trigger was casually waving around. Watch smirked at him for his actions, but he didn't care. He prioritised his life over his pride.

"Scared of the gun, little boy?" Watch taunted. Alex rolled his eyes but didn't reply.

Trigger kicked in the plate and bent down cautiously to take out the old. Alex stood stock still.

"Let's go," Trigger muttered, holding open the door for Watch. Shooting him one last cold glare, the men left, and Alex let out a sigh of relief. He waited until the door was firmly shut and their footsteps had faded away before falling in front of the food. He was weak by now, the limited food wreaking havoc on his already malnourished body. If he was going to escape, he had to do it soon; his body would not be strong enough to run for much longer. The only problem was that he could see no way of fleeing without facing certain death. His sole choice was to wait it out for a good opportunity, despite knowing that every minute he wasting he was getting weaker, and the likelihood of torture was growing stronger.

He was unsure of how long he'd been kept in the cell, but he gathered it had been several days. There was no outside window and he hadn't seen sunlight since he'd been taken. Then again, it was England, and there was no guarantee he'd see the sun even if he was outside – he'd been deprived of natural light for longer in the country, after all. He slept when he was tired, ate when he was given food, and tried to ration his water as best as he could. Any spare time he tried to use up by exercising, keeping both his physical and mental state as fit as it could be. He avoided being left in the silence with his thoughts, knowing the memories and panic could destroy him faster than Menarc would ever manage.

He picked up the bread and stuffed it in his mouth, not caring that it tasted stale and hard. There was no mould, and that was all he cared about. He sat cross-legged on the ground, eating like the starved creature he was. He tried to slow down, knowing swallowing too fast may cause him to throw up, but he couldn't help himself. He spared a thought to what Ben would think but Ben wasn't there, and he wouldn't ever be. Anyway, the man would understand.

Sated slightly from the bread, he scooted backwards so that he was resting against the wall, picking dirt of the apple he had been given. He wondered what Ben was doing – was he looking for him? Worrying?

It was a stupid question; of course Ben was anxious for him. The man was always fussing over him, trying all he could to break down his barriers and let him in. It had worked, really, although Alex didn't often show it. He cared for Ben deeply, more than he did the others. Ben would never replace Jack, but he didn't try to. He offered something else entirely, a place to go when it was all too much and gentle advice when he needed it. He knew what it was like to fight, though not to the same extent, and he understood the powerful force that was MI6. Alex never had to explain anything with him, and that was a big enough change from Jack that he never felt he was betraying her memory – added to the fact that Ben was obviously male, not female. He would miss Jack to the end of his days, but he was no longer alone and he could never thank Ben enough for that.

Time passed slowly when he was in the cell. He was bored, as much as he knew he shouldn't be. It was the truth, however, and he couldn't change the fact that he had absolutely nothing to do. Despite the instructions from Mouse to 'think it over', he was avoiding doing precisely that. He knew his answer, anyway. There was no way he would ever cooperate with the terrorists, but he dreaded to think how they would try to persuade him.

There was a sharp rapping on the door approximately two days after Trigger and Watch had given him food, and he was starving. He had no idea why the food had suddenly disappeared, and he had heard nothing for those two long days. He didn't know what was going on, and he hated it.

The door swung open and Trigger was standing there, pointing a gun, as always, at his head. His face was pale and strained, but there was no food or water in his hand.

"Where's my food?" Alex demanded, feeling his stomach rumble in protest as he spoke. Trigger scowled.

"You're coming with me," was all he said, reaching out to grab Alex's arm and press the cold metal of the gun to his forehead. Alex sighed, submitting quietly. There was little he could do as he was frogmarched out of the cell and down the corridors.

The journey was surprisingly long, further than he was brought before. They climbed up several staircases, the air seemingly becoming fresher each time, although that could have been his imagination. Trigger didn't say a word, no matter how much Alex taunted him.

Finally, Alex was hauled inside a plainly furnished room. There was a desk and projector screen in the middle, but little else. Trigger drew out some handcuffs, slipping them firmly onto Alex's wrists.

"Hey!" Alex protested, wriggling his hands out of Trigger's grip. The man growled – actually growled – and slammed the butt of the gun down on his head. Alex gasped in pain, curling in on himself as the ache reverberating throughout his body. Trigger took the opportunity to lock the handcuffs in place before pushing him down to sit at the table. He stood behind him, the gun still pointing directly at him.

"Sit down and stay silent," the man ordered him, his voice hard. His trembling fingers and white countenance gave away his fear however, and Alex wondered exactly what was going to happen.

The quiet of the room was disturbed a few seconds later when a youngish man, in his thirties perhaps, breezed into the room, a gun hanging loosely from his right hand. Trigger immediately straightened up, his face turning blank.

The new man smiled, and Alex evaluated him with his eyebrows raised. Physically fit, by the looks of it, and confident enough. He seemed to have installed fear in Trigger, and that was all it took for Alex to begin to worry, too.

"Thank you for fetching him, Michael," the new man said graciously. Trigger nodded from behind him, and Alex frowned. Why give away his name? Any knowledge was power, surely the man would know this.

The answer was granted to him when the young man's gun blasted a hole through Trigger's forehead. Trigger fell, silently, to the floor, a puddle of blood already forming around his head. Alex didn't flinch, ignoring the memories of Jack's very similar position only a few short months ago, and cocked his head to the side.

"Not loyal enough for you?" Alex asked the man calmly. He would show no weakness.

The man sat down, his smile never leaving his face. He oozed danger from every pore – quiet, deadly, fast, and very sure in his own power. "I couldn't allow him to go free after his actions now, could I?"

"You're from Menarc," Alex stated, gathering immediately that Trigger, Watch, and Mouse must have confessed their kidnapping of him and reaped the consequences. The other two would have presumably met the same end as Trigger.

The man laughed. "I've been told you're quick," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Rider."

"I didn't catch your name," Alex retorted, leaning back in the chair and resting his handcuffed hands on his lap. He fell easily back into the pattern of polite chit-chat with the enemy, relieved that at least he knew the score here. Trigger had been a loose cannon, and not someone he could predict.

"How about . . . hmm, Trigger?" the man suggested slowly, and Alex involuntarily felt his eyes widen. How had the man known about his nicknames for the three? He'd never mentioned them aloud, he didn't think.

"You're a delight to watch on camera, Mr Rider," the man declared, grinning. Alex sighed. He knew he had been watched; he must have muttered out loud to himself at some point over the last few days – or mumbled in his sleep.

"Did you enjoy the show?" Alex responded, attempting to fold his arms but encountering difficulties when he remembered the handcuffs. The man's grin stretched wider when Alex huffed in frustration.

"I'm not sure Trigger really suits me, you know," the man mused thoughtfully, completely ignoring Alex's response. He got up and wandered over to behind Alex, where he lashed out suddenly and kicked Trigger's body with a thud. Alex stared at him. "No," the man continued. "Only a fool relies on their gun. I have much . . . better weapons."

"You're not the head of Menarc," Alex said, gazing at the man carefully, who flung himself back into a chair.

"Oh, very good, Mr Rider," he said happily. "MI6 have done their research!"

"Who are you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" the man retorted, before sighing. "If you must give me a name, I think Mener would suit me well."

Alex thought for a second. "To lead, in French," he stated confidently. Mener smiled at him. "But you're not in charge."

"Oh, must you keep bringing that up?" the man groaned. "Fine, fine, I'm under orders from the boss himself, but it is fun to think that I am in control of you, isn't it?"

"No one controls me," Alex hissed.

Mener barked out a laugh. "I like you, Rider," he said. "Feisty thing, aren't you?"

"Will you explain what is going on?" Alex asked, finally fed up with the inane small talk.

"So boring," Mener muttered, before straightening up and fixing him with a sharp glare. "Fine, ask away."

"What are you planning to do to me?"

"Oh, that would be giving it away!" Mener said in delight, before demanding: "ask another."

"What happened to the other two?" Alex asked, accepting that he wasn't going to get an answer to the first query – not that he had expected to.

"What do you think?" Mener replied, rolling his eyes and gesturing to the fallen body on the ground. The pool of blood was gradually growing larger, and Alex couldn't bear to look behind him. "If you don't have anything interesting to say . . ." he trailed off, but Alex found he had little desire to find out exactly what the rest of the sentence was.

"You were going to leave me alone," Alex stated, and Mener nodded. "Why?"

"We had little use for you," the man said, shrugging. "With the methods we had at our disposal at the time, you weren't going to break."

"But you think I now will?"

"Well, since our favourite people went to all the effort of kidnapping you, we might as well try and wheedle out some information, don't you think?" Mener told him.

"I won't tell you a thing," Alex said confidently.

Mener chuckled. "Don't speak too soon," he said. "Anyway, it will give you a lovely opportunity to witness some of our newest work while you're here."

"What's that?" Alex questioned, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"We're following in dear Scorpia's footsteps and taking requests," Mener told him obscurely, ruffling his hair. Alex found it hard to reconcile this man's harsh actions and words with the youthful image in front of him.

"What request?" he demanded. Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

"You'd be surprised how many people out there don't like Britain very much," Mener said, laughing slightly.

"And yet you're British yourself," Alex pointed out, his eyes narrowed.

"You like my accent, then?" the man gasped in mock gratitude. The expression melted away into a smirk. "I practiced for ages on it. I wanted to be an actor, once, you know."

"I can tell," Alex said dryly, trying to guess where the man may be from then. He looked European – though could be American equally.

Mener glanced at the thick watch on his wrist, one Alex recognized when he thought about it. It had belonged to Watch, yet more confirmation that the man in front of him was crazy.

"That's-" he started to say, but stopped himself. It would do no good, and why did he care, anyway? It wasn't as if Watch had ever been kind to him. It just seemed like such a grievous crime, stealing from a dead man. Mener saw where he was looking and bared his teeth like a wolf.

"You like?" he asked, before shaking his head. "No matter, I must go. I'll get someone to escort you back." Mener stood, stretching like a cat before strolling over to the door. "Trigger will keep you company while I'm gone. He's a real talker, that one." Mener kicked out at the dead man again and picked up the fallen gun, before sweeping from the room, locking the door behind him.

Alex was left staring at the empty wall, trapped in a room with a dead body. Mener was completely, utterly, insane. There was no question about it.

A/N: I hope this makes up for the wait. Yet again, I am so sorry - I was undertaking NaNoWriMo last month - something I highly recommend, despite its stressful nature! - and so found myself with very little time to write. I will try not to let it take so long again.

I . . . have very little to say about this chapter. I hope no one is too confused, It's difficult remembering what I have written, and what I have just thought. Sometimes I forget to explain certain things! As always, I'm happy to chat away to anyone :)

Oh, and thank you so much to those people who pointed out a very embarrassing mistake last chapter where Mouse openly referred to Watch as Watch, when they were only supposed to be nicknames Alex gave them - it has been fixed! I can't believe I didn't spot it :o this is why I rely so much on reviews when I have no beta.

Please do review!

Dreams x