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

'Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.'

(James Baldwin)

Somewhere along the journey Alex woke up, his mind muddled and his arm throbbing. He was dimly aware of speaking to Ben on the phone, and sympathetic glances being thrown from one of the SAS men in the front. He struggled through the sea of mist in his head, knowing that his lack of coherency would be worrying Ben.

He drifted into sleep again.

Feeling safe was almost as perilous as being in danger, he mused when he next woke. Anything could have happened in that car journey. The men could have been taking him anywhere, regardless of their knowledge of the code word. Phone networks weren't one hundred percent safe. Menarc could have . . .

"Alex," came a sharp cry, as the boy in question gradually clawed his way back to consciousness for the millionth time. He was semi-aware that the car had stopped, and he ran a hand through his hair. Opening his eyes, he saw Ben's drawn face above him, and he smiled.

"Ben," he rasped, pulling himself fully upright and accepting Ben's helping hand to get out of the car. Once standing, he leant against the side and looked around. They were in an underground car park, not the hospital or home he'd been expecting.

Ben drew him into a careful hug, and as the cloudiness faded completely, the pain in his arm and the ache of his muscles became potent. He was bruised, battered, and exhausted. He wanted to go home.

"Are you alright?" Ben asked, holding his at arm's length, his shrewd eyes examining every inch. Alex shrugged with his good arm.

"Bit battered," he answered with a wry grin, unable to get over how much better he felt with Ben standing in front of him. "I'll be okay."

"Hello, Alex," came another voice, and the young spy peered past Ben.

"Mrs Jones," he greeted in resignation. He should have known – and had, if he'd allowed himself to think – she would have met him upon his arrival back in London. She would, of course, want to debrief him as soon as possible.

"Let's move this upstairs, shall we?" she said, sweeping away from them briskly and heading over to a plain black door.

"Upstairs?" Alex asked Ben as they, too, moved towards the door.

Ben understood his question. "We're underneath the Royal and General," he answered, offering a silent arm for support. Alex accepted with only a slight scowl, knowing it would be foolish to reject the aid when he was still so weak.

"Where are K Unit?" Alex questioned after a couple of beats of comfortable silence. The other SAS unit that had driven Alex were all still milling around the car, showing no signs of following them upstairs. Alex felt strangely relieved; they were an unwanted reminder of his captivity and desperation.

"Near Cornwall," Ben replied idly. "I was there too, but Mrs Jones sent a helicopter to fly me back to London when you were found, so that I could meet you."

Alex stared at him, mind racing. "Why Cornwall?"

"MI6 mobilised us a couple of days ago. SAS units were sent out to compounds across the UK that we had reason to believe had links to either Menarc or Scorpia. We were told to do some recon and infiltrate if necessary. That's why S Unit were near you."

Alex nodded in understanding. Ben smiled at him, squeezing his arm. "I couldn't believe it when you rang," the man confessed.

"I was lucky," was all Alex said. He didn't look at Ben, but could feel the man's gaze on him. Now was not the time for explanations.

"Stairs?" Ben said, his head tilted to the side in question when they passed through the plain door. Alex glanced towards the lifts and shuddered internally. His psyche was not strong enough to deal with being trapped at that moment.

He nodded to Ben, and allowed the older man to assist him up the winding steps. His arm was radiating heat and pain, and the fogginess was settling in once the adrenaline of seeing Ben again was fading. He felt awful, and suspected he looked it too. All he wanted was painkillers and sleep – but knew Mrs Jones would not allow that.

"What happened to Birmingham?" Alex asked in a quiet voice, his heart thudding as he waited for the answer. He'd been putting it off, trying to pretend to himself that it hadn't happened, that it wasn't real, but he had to know.

Ben glanced at him sharply, and Alex realised they wouldn't know he knew about it. Why would he? For all they knew, Birmingham was a terrorist attack by Al Qaeda and he'd been shut away whilst it happened.

"Menarc were behind it," he offered as a short explanation, knowing Ben would hear the whole story when Mrs Jones debriefed him in a few minutes. Ben nodded jerkily, his eyes concerned but surprise showing in the breath he took in.

"A lot of people have been killed," he said in a low voice. "The government's in uproar – Blunt's in the middle of it at the moment, that's why he's not here. There's fires and refugees and no one knows what to do." He paused, and Alex trained his eyes on Ben's tired face. "Nothing like this has ever happened."

"Are they evacuating?" Alex questioned quickly, details of his captivity coming back to him. So much of it had been blanked almost entirely from his memory as his mind and body struggled to deal, but he had to make himself remember now. Lives depended on it. "Menarc threatened another one."

Ben shook his head. "It's too chaotic to evacuate," he said as an explanation, but there was no surprise in his gaze and Alex realised they would have thought about the possibility of another missile. "Anyway, MI6 received an anonymous tip-off a few hours ago with the exact coordinates of the missile silo, and it's been secured by the Iraqi police with British supervision. If there's going to another, it won't be from there."

Alex knew instantly where the tip-off had come from, and he smiled bitterly to himself. He owed her so much, but she had been completely unstable, and he was almost glad she had been killed. He didn't know what would have happened if she'd survived. Perhaps she would have taken Alex for her own gain, or blown them both up.

They reached the top of the stairs in silence, Alex breathing heavily from the strain on his body.

"This way," Ben told him calmly, leading him down a plain corridor into a room that Alex instantly recognised as a medical area. Mrs Jones was nowhere to be seen, but there was a white-coated doctor sitting in a swivel chair at a desk. She jumped up as soon as Alex walked in.

"Mrs Jones told me to get you checked out first," Ben informed him softly "She'll meet us here soon."

Alex nodded, stepping forward away from Ben's helpful arm to shake the hand of the doctor.

"Mr Rider?" the woman said. "I'm Dr Greenaway. I'm just here to give you a general look over and wrap up any wounds you may have."

"Alex, please," he said politely, before collapsing into a chair. He wanted to hide his face and sleep. He didn't want to make idle chit-chat and listen to doctors and he bloody well didn't want to be debriefed by Mrs Jones.

Ben placed a hand on his arm, perhaps sensing his distress. Alex looked up at him, and was comforted slightly by his reassuring smile. "You'll be able to go home soon," Ben said, before sitting down next to him, and Alex nodded again.

Doctor Greenaway talked through everything she did as she took his pulse and blood pressure and checked his reflexes and the million other things a doctor did. Alex answered questions about his fever and dizziness and everything else mechanically, barely aware of what was going on. His mind once again slipped into a doze as he allowed himself to recharge and relax.

"Can you take your top off for me?" she asked at one point, and he did so, wincing ever so lightly at the pain that came from moving his arm. He was dimly conscious of Ben's sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his features as the wound on his arm was exposed, but he paid no notice, looking idly at the striped painting hanging on the wall and wondering what its significance was.

"When was this created?" Dr Greenaway asked professionally, peering at his arm with a clinical interest. Alex thought it strange how she described it as 'created', as if it was a piece of art like the one in her room. It sounded as if someone had poured over it with caring eyes, etching the line of red on his skin with infinite patience, instead of firing off a bullet meant to kill him with the precision of a circus animal.

"Alex?" Ben prompted, and the world snapped back into focus.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Um, a day ago? Two?"

The doctor frowned, bustling away to grab a bottle of something and some bandages. "The infection has been caught early then," she commented. "That's lucky, it'll be easy enough to treat. You'll have to take a course of antibiotics and keep it clean, but it'll clear up."

Ben asked a question or two, but Alex's attention drifted as she tended to his arm. He shook his head when she asked if he was injured anyway else, because everything else was just bruised, wasn't it? She eyed him carefully, but let it go.

"Is he done?" came Mrs Jones voice, and Alex turned, startled, to the door behind him where the woman was standing, her face blank. He wondered how long she had been there, and how unaware he must have been not to have noticed.

"I'll give him some painkillers then he can go," Dr Greenaway confirmed, rustling through her drawers.

"Antibiotics twice a day, yeah?" Ben queried, holding up a container of pills, and Alex bristled at being treated like a child – as ridiculous as that thought was, considering he hadn't been listening to a word the doctor had been saying.

Dr Greenaway nodded. "Until the course is finished, regardless of whether it looks better beforehand or not. If there's any other problems, take him to a doctor straight away."

"Thanks for your help," Ben said gratefully, standing up and shaking her hand. Alex did the same, trying to clear his head again. He had to concentrate, he couldn't allow himself to keep slipping like this. He swallowed down the painkiller he was given with a glass of water and hoped the effects would kick in soon. He felt like death warmed up.

"Shall we take this to my office?" Mrs Jones said, and Alex followed the two adults to the room in question, wrapped up in his thoughts. Focus, focus, focus, was going through his head as he wrestled with the thick fog in his mind. He couldn't relax yet. He had to think.

The painkiller was beginning to settle into his system as he lowered himself into a chair in Mrs Jones office. Her face was not unkind when she asked him to tell her what had happened, but there was no softness there. He hadn't expected there to be.

He narrated the tale of his capture from school, listening to Ben's interjecting explanations of their movements at certain times, and he told them about waking up in the hands of Watch, Mouse, and Trigger. Mrs Jones scribbled notes to herself as he talked, though he was sure the whole conversation was being recorded. He informed them of his own deductions regarding their motives, and he told them of Trigger's death with little emotion. He described the appearances of Mener and Malin as best as he could.

"Are you sure they engineered the missile?" Mrs Jones interrupted at one point, her face deadly serious and her mouth caught in a grimace.

"They claimed to have," Alex responded, and with no further interruptions he continued his story, up until he rang Ben in the café the previous night. Ben squeezed his arm when he was done, and he looked with sightless eyes at the blank wall behind Mrs Jones desk. He hadn't left out anything, included his own murder of the guard, and the telling had taken its toll. He felt mentally drained.

"Thank you, Alex," Mrs Jones said at last, before standing up. "If you'll excuse me for a moment." She swept from the room, and Alex sagged in his chair.

"You did well," Ben told him quietly, and Alex snorted. There was no 'well' in that sort of situation. You did what you could to survive, that was all.

"I killed a man in cold blood," he retorted, unable to meet Ben's eyes as the guilt flooded over him. He'd killed men before – of course he had – but never with a gun. He'd never been able to see the fear in their eyes, or the flecks of colour that decorated their skin, or had the time to consider what would happen if they had a family, wife, kids.

"It was him or you, Alex." Ben gripped his arm, twisting in his chair to look straight at him. "You did nothing wrong, understand?"

Alex nodded. He just wanted this to be over. Silence reigned for a short period of time, and Alex used the time to shut his eyes lightly.

"K Unit missed you," Ben said, his voice forcibly casual, as if to make up for the previous serious conversation.

Alex uttered a strangled laugh. "I missed them too," he said, his tone weary. "And you."

Ben blinked rapidly. Alex pretended not to see.

Mrs Jones entered the room again, and tension seemed to fill the air. "Alex, we need you to come to a government COBRA meeting," she said bluntly. "The Prime Minister wants to declare war on Iraq, and we need your evidence."

"We?" was all Alex could say, and Ben stood up beside him.

"Mr Blunt agrees with me," Mrs Jones said dismissively. "We cannot afford to enter another ill-thought out war."

"I'll come with him," Ben declared. Alex stood too, a wry smile on his face.

Mrs Jones shook her head, but Alex spoke first.

"They won't take me seriously if I turn up with a guardian," he said tiredly. "You know that, Ben."

Ben scowled, but abated. He could see the sense in that, even if he didn't like it.

Alex walked over to Mrs Jones. "Are we going now?" he asked. He hated it, wanted to go home and sleep and sleep and sleep, but at the same time he knew how important this was. It was his duty to help the government – and more than that, he wanted to ensure no more lives were lost due to an insane man's desire for revenge on Britain and a need to further his own profit.

She nodded briskly, gesturing for him to follow her out of the room. "I'll brief you on the discussion on the way there. A car is waiting for us."

Alex inclined his head in acknowledgement, trailing behind her and noticing absently that the painkillers had kicked in. The tiredness and weakness was still there, but his fever was slowly decreasing and his arm no longer throbbed in time with his pulse. He could walk without needing support, now, and that was important if he wanted to get anyone to listen to him at this meeting.

Ben grabbed his arm just before he was about to step outside, Mrs Jones leading him to the street rather than underground, this time.

"Be careful," he told Alex firmly.

Alex rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure a Cabinet meeting would be safer than anything else he'd been through lately. "It'll be fine, Ben," he promised.

"I'll wait for you at home," Ben answered, squeezing his arm gently and letting go. Alex felt his heart twist at 'home'. Ben's house had truly become that for him – a place of respite and comfort and somewhere he knew he would be accepted, no matter what. Alex closed his eyes for a second.

"I won't be long," he offered, soothing Ben's worries.

"Are you coming, Alex?" Mrs Jones called from her position by the passenger seat of a black car. Her face betrayed understanding beneath the strict exterior though, and Alex lingered for a moment.

"Go," Ben said, jerking his head. "Show them all what you can do."

Alex smirked slightly. "I'll see you later," he said, before loping over to Mrs Jones and climbing in the open door. He watched Ben as the car pulled away. The man waved a single hand in goodbye, before turning away. He'd see Ben again soon.

"Mrs Jones," a man greeted the woman in question as she and Alex entered the room. Alex resisted the urge to stare around the table at the powerful men and women, telling himself firmly that he'd been to one of these meetings before. He nodded to a couple of people before taking a seat next to Mrs Jones and Alan Blunt, who was looking incredibly serious and frustrated. Alex presumed he'd been updated on the Menarc situation. No one asked who he was.

"We cannot let this go unpunished!" growled a bald headed man from the other end of the table. "We will look weak if we do not react."

"What would you suggest we do?" asked another, who Alex recognised with a jolt as being the Prime Minister. He appeared haggard. Alex guessed this had been a mostly circular conversation.

"We need to be firm," continued the bald man – presumably from the military, judging by his dress. "We could send forces back into Iraq with the aim of completely destroying Al Qaeda there. We cannot afford to do nothing!"

"Let's not be hasty," argued a younger looking man in a suit. "A war in Iraq will damage our standing internationally, let alone the economic cost. You say we cannot afford to do nothing – well, we simply do not have the money to do what you suggest."

This spurred murmurs in the meeting, and Alex watched with interest. Blunt would let him know when the right time to intervene was.

"They attacked our country, killed our people," snapped yet another man. "We have every right – and indeed every inclination – to fight back. It's expected."

"Sending troops to Iraq is not the answer!"

"If I may," Blunt interrupted the emerging argument. "We no longer believe that Al Qaeda is behind the attacks."

"It came from an Al Qaeda compound," the military man pointed out harshly. "We have to react to it."

"It was a plot by the terrorist organisation Menarc. It was nothing to do with Al Qaeda at all," Mrs Jones said smoothly. "Attacking Iraq would achieve nothing but international arguments and protests at home."

"They bombed our country," a man spat. "No one would condemn us for reacting to it."

"Perhaps not," agreed Mr Blunt, "but there is no justice in attacking a country who were not to blame."

"Menarc, you say?" asked the Prime Minister. Blunt inclined his head. "How sure are you of this?"

"Very," Blunt said firmly. He looked at Alex briefly, seeming to consider his next words. "I have the agent who has last been in contact with Menarc with us here."

The men up and down the table glanced at Alex with raised eyebrows. He could see their point – although he had been allowed to clean up a bit, he was still a scruffy teenage boy with bruises on his face and body and blood seeping through a bandage on one arm. He looked nothing like a serious MI6 agent – although a couple were smiling at him and Alex thought they may have been at the last COBRA meeting he attended.

"A child," one man stated, his face drawn into a frown.

"Alex has helped us on several occasions, which you well know, Mr Gresham," Blunt said, his eyebrows raised.

Alex decided now was a good time to put his opinion across. "I was taken by Menarc several days ago," he told the listening politicians, his voice hard. "They revealed their plot to bomb Birmingham from an Al Qaeda compound. Their aim is for us to send troops to Iraq and remove those from Afghanistan, as well as to inflict damage on our country."

"Why?" the Prime Minister asked, and Alex was pleasantly surprised by how seriously the man was taking him, and his ability to ignore the highly-strung emotions in the room. Then again, a man did not become the leader of a country for no reason.

Alex shrugged with one arm, and noticed absently that the PM's eyes were drawn to his bloody shoulder. He winced, a tiny almost unseen movement, and Alex recalled that the man had children of his own. "Menarc operate as Scorpia did, having taken over that organisation. They have a client, a rich man who owns the oil company Tolo, which gains much of their oil from Afghanistan."

Mutters immediately arose throughout the table.

"Tolo is a well-respected international company," a previously quiet woman down the other end of the table informed him, her tone outraged. "What evidence is there to prove this?"

"None," Alex said shortly, shaking his head. "You asked me what Menarc gained from this. I'm telling you."

The Prime Minster sent a quelling look down the table, warning them to be quiet. "Continue, please, Alex."

Alex ran a hand through his short hair. "Their client wants the removal of troops from Afghanistan which are disrupting his oil company in the area. He has no presence in Iraq, and so it was decided to send the troops there to eliminate any competition. The damage to Britain was merely a plus – he hated Britain."

"Clever," one man commented reluctantly. "If we sent troops into Iraq, most – if not all – of NATO would follow us. Nearly all of the forces in Afghanistan would be removed."

"Then perhaps that option is no longer in the cards," the Prime Minister established.

The military man spoke up. "We have no evidence to accuse Tolo of this. What would we tell the public? We'd look weak!"

"Looking weak is a price we may have to pay," another man argued. "We cannot enter another war foolishly."

"Are you certain of this information?" The Prime Minister asked Alex searchingly. "If you have any doubt, we need to know."

Alex hesitated for a millisecond, before recalling the images from Menarc. No, he was certain. "I'm positive," he responded firmly. "Al Qaeda were not responsible."

The PM nodded. "Thank you," he said, before turning to the rest of the table. "I suggest we take a break to think about our options now."

The meeting adjourned. Men and women in the room began shifting about, some leaving the room immediately, others lingering to discuss serious matters with neighbours. Alex was dimly aware of Mrs Jones speaking to him.

"Well done, Alex," she said, leading him out of the room. "That's our cue to leave. Mr Blunt will remain and continue the discussions. If there are any more queries, he will get in contact with you."

"What will happen, do you think?" Alex asked Mrs Jones as they left the building. He breathed in the fresh air and shut his eyes briefly. The meeting had been interesting, but bloody stressful.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I imagine a diplomatic solution may be found."

Alex nodded, exhaustion piling into him as he leant back into the comfortable seat of a government car. "What happens now?"

"You go home, get some rest," she told him, her voice surprisingly soft. "You've done your part, Alex."

"They'll keep looking for me," Alex said, a hint of a question in his voice. "They'll want revenge for the bomb."

There was silence for a couple of seconds.

"Yes," Mrs Jones agreed eventually. "I imagine they will."

Alex looked out of the car window, watching the city pass by and wondering when it would all be over. There was no more conversation.

Alex rang Ben's doorbell, shivering in the cold outside air. The temperature had dropped, a British summer failing once again to last, and autumn seeping in weeks too early.

The door opened, and Alex caught a glimpse of Ben's face as he was swept into a tight hug. He rested his chin on the man's shoulder, dimly aware of Mrs Jones' car pulling away behind him. He breathed in deeply, pushing away the moisture that threatened.

"You alright?" Ben asked, pulling away to allow him into the house. Alex nodded, his voice too choked to speak for a moment. He trailed behind Ben into the kitchen, sitting in his familiar spot and watching Ben bustle about making a cup of tea. K Unit didn't seem to be home yet, still down in Cornwall, he presumed.

"I'm okay," he said at last, the warmth of the freshly brewed tea rising in waves. Ben glanced at him, before smiling and sitting down opposite him.

"K Unit will be back soon," Ben commented, sipping at his tea. Alex nodded, relaxed back into his seat, and closed his eyes. He was home.

A/N: I apologise for the wait! I hope to finish this within the week - there is, I think, just one more chapter to go.

I hope you are still enjoying this, and are not too confused. If there are any queries or looming plot-holes, please feel free to let me know!

Please review and let me know your opinion :)

Dreams x