A/N: Sorry for my shitty portrayal of Blunt. He's a hard man to write, I'll say that.

Anyway, why am I posting so soon? I don't know. I guess I'm just insane.

Previously:

Alex swallowed as he looked up at Blunt.

"So," he said after a moment. "What's going to happen to me, now that I've finally killed someone?"

Blunt almost couldn't respond, his look simply calculating while he stared into Alex's lifeless eyes.

"Well, not much," Blunt said. "Even if the normal police were dealing with this, anyone and everyone would argue that this man was about to kill you. You tried to get the gun away, and his death was unfortunate but not intended. As MI6, we know he was an assassin, and whether or not you actually wanted him to die isn't particularly relevant for right now. There should not be any legal ramifications."

He nodded blandly and let out his breath.

"Then what's going to happen to me now that Jack's dead?"

"Your Uncle's money is paying off all major bills for the estate and such," Blunt said. "That shouldn't be too much of a problem at all."

"Am I going to live on my own?" Simple questions, loaded answers. Oh, the irony.

"No," Blunt said. "We will arrange to have a guardian for you, at least temporarily, both to have a guardian on paper to ward off any child protection services, and so that you may have someone to protect you until we have all the issues with Scoria sorted out. A bodyguard, of sorts."

"Who?"

"We haven't decided yet, but we will soon."

"You are going to be staying here while longer, anyway," Mrs. Jones cut in. "While we add some security to your home."

"Like what?"

"We'll be replacing all the glass with bullet-proof glass," Blunt said. "Add some more secure locks to all the doors – stronger metals, keypads, etcetera. We will be putting in some sensors – dangerous gases, fires, thing like that. Call buttons to get help anywhere in the house…"

"All this trouble…" Alex mumbled.

"It's no problem for us, Alex," Mrs. Jones said.

"You know, a gun would be easier – I could take care of any problems myself…as evidenced by that man in the park…" He couldn't help but let the slight, wry smirk slip on to his face, despite the sadness it was filled with.

There was a pause.

"Actually…" Blunt said, his look contemplative.

"Alan!" Mrs. Jones cut in. "We can't give him a gun – he's a child!"

Oh, what a lovely hypocrite.

"Well that's just bloody rich," Alex spat. "You can send me spying, send me on near-fatal missions, blackmail me into working for you, all without pay, and yet you can't let me have a bloody gun, or even just a knife or basically any form of an useful weapon when you send me off! At this rate, going back to Scorpia is starting to sound better and better – at least they pay, and they'll give me all the guns I would ever need. And they let me take care of my bloody self!"

Both of them looked a little taken aback. Well, Mrs. Jones did, anyway – and Alex pretty much learned that her emotions stood for the both of them, usually. But Blunt's eyes did betray a certain amount of surprise.

"Alex," Mrs. Jones said. "Please-"

"No! I'm just sick of all this and I don't want to hear it!"

He didn't even wait before standing up and storming out of the office. He kicked the wall to the room he just left and then leaned against it, slowly slipping down until he was sitting against it, crouched up and curled tightly, fingers in his hair, chest heaving.

God, he missed Jack. Right now, he just wanted her to wrap her arms around him and let him cry. She was the only person in the world he cried for, and now she was gone. Now what was he supposed to do?

He took a deep, shuddering breath, calling on every technique from a lifetime of practice to stop the tears, to keep his face and emotions under control.

He'd meant every word he said.

That hit him just like the bullet did just two weeks prior.

He was really on the verge of going back to Scorpia. He still had that phone number in his head. Whilst that number itself was probably dead, Scorpia was probably still monitoring it. Just the slightest tip-off that he was looking for them, and they'd come find him.

Either they would take him on again…or they would kill him.

Win-win situation for him, either way.

"He has a point," she said after a moment when Alex left. They could see on the screen in front of them via security camera just outside that Alex was still there, trembling – but both of them had the sense to let him be.

"Are you developing a soft spot for him, Tulip? You know that's dangerous."

"I know, I know…not necessarily a soft spot – just an…understanding. No, before you say it, not empathy."

She paused.

"But Alex still has a point."

"What do you suggest, exactly?" Blunt asked, turning in his seat to face her.

"Well…paying him at least something akin to how we would pay a normal agent – if not fully. And a gun – as much as I hate saying this – might actually be beneficial to him."

"You really think all this?"

"Yes…maybe even leave his money unfrozen. I highly doubt that he'll actually go on a wild spending spree and buy something completely off the wall. He's very responsible for his age. I'm pretty sure he doesn't really want the money – it's just the simple lack of control. Up until this point…we have been blackmailing him. But now that our leverage has just been shot dead, I doubt he'll care anymore. We give him at least the illusion of free reign…he's more likely to stay with us. You heard him about Scorpia."

"You don't really think that he would actually go looking for Scorpia? They've killed his father, mother, uncle, and now Jack Starbright."

"Maybe not Scorpia," She said woefully, sitting down in the chair next to the one Alex had just vacated. "But if someone comes up to him with a better offer, what reason does he have to say with us?"

Blunt slowly started to nod. "Makes sense, I suppose. However, there will be a lot of ramifications should we actually give him a gun and pay him."

"There will be a lot of ramifications he if dies or turns away."

He nodded again.

"How much do you think he'll require in payment?"

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"It's not really about payment or having a gun. He's upset that we haven't really recognized him as something beyond a tool to be monopolized, or given him real protection which would identify him, in a way, as an agent."

He looked at her.

"Your psychology major does seem to have more benefits in this line of work than one would expect," Alan said. She nodded.

"It doesn't really matter too much, I think, how much we pay him, so long as we do. He's a cross mix between a young child – an internal regression of sorts, by now – and an adult, from everything he's been through."

Blunt nodded again.

"I'll consider them both."

Alex glared at his knees as he finally started to calm down. Damnit, what he just did was stupid. But at this rate, he really was starting not to care.

He was starting not to care about anything. It was just so much bloody easier to not give a damn about anything, at all, ever. One can't get hurt that way.

He'd tried being strong and just bearing through all this, but bloody hell, there was only so much a bloke could take!

It was easier to not care.

Just so much fucking easier.

He simply sat there, breathing heavily and staring at the opposite wall, feeling somewhat grateful that there weren't many people coming. He already knew there were security cameras around here, so it was bad enough that Blunt and Jones would have to see his little breakdown – he didn't need anyone else being privy to this, as well.

He took a deep breath.

Finally.

He was calm. Shutting his eyes and resting his forehead on his knees, letting his hands fall to lace together under said joints, he swallowed the bile that threatened to rise.

He'd seen people die before. Hell, he was the one who watched as Alexei Sarov shot himself in the head right in front of Alex…and because of Alex, as well. But with Jack…

Alex didn't want to be an assassin – but he can't deny that he's killed people. Or at least been extremely, heavily responsible for their deaths. Just look at Nile and Rothman – both killed by him and his actions.

And he hadn't even been remotely upset about it.

Wasn't he supposed to feel remorse or guilt or at least feel somewhat bad for being responsible for someone else's death? But he didn't. He didn't have the true assassin's rush of killing someone, but knowing he killed someone who had caused great harm to others had made Alex feel, at least for a little while, some sense of pride. People were not supposed to feel proud that they killed!Though, apparently, his father probably did, somewhat. Only killing those who deserved it and faking everyone else's deaths. Who knows, maybe the assassin life has its upsides, yet.

And when he just killed that assassin…he didn't remember what had gone through his head at that time, except maybe unending rage. But now, it just left him feeling…empty. Hollow.

And a little morose that he didn't feel any guilt over ending that man's life.

Bloody hell, this entire mess was going to send him to an early grave. He should've jumped off that bell-tower in Malagosto when he had the chance. It would've been so much easier.

Well…he looked out the window at the end of the hall. How many floors up was he from the ground?

But he shook his head. Jack wouldn't want that. He knew it was stupid that the only reason he wanted to live was so's not to disappoint a dead woman, but he couldn't help it. It was probably just some deep, innate desire to continue living, despite all the misery. Damn preservation instinct.

Damn him.

He heard footsteps on the other side of that door, his now deep-seated paranoia never missing anything that went on around him anymore. So he was already looking up with a carefully blank face when Mrs. Jones stepped out the door.

"Would you like to come back inside?"

"What for?" Alex asked. "It's not like anything I ever say matters to you two. Just ship me off to that bloody boarding school – I don't want to work for you, and the only thing you had against me was Jack."

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"We are incredibly sorry about that…it's the nature of the job-"

"Which I never wanted."

"Again…so sorry…"

"I'm sure you mean it," Alex said, his sarcasm dripping in his voice.

Another sigh and Mrs. Jones shut the door, standing over him. Once a upon a time, she would've appeared to be towering over Alex. Now…well, he wasn't sure what she was to him, now, but it definitely wasn't with a positive light – not in his eyes.

"Alex…what would you do if we did pay you?" she asked.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"If you…paid me?"

"For the things you have done for us. What if we paid you like we would have paid a real agent?" she asked.

"You would actually pay me?"

"If that's what it takes," Mrs. Jones said. "I'll be honest – it probably won't be as much as normal, per se. Mainly because of your age, and the technicality of how much of an education you have."

"Not like I'll be getting any more education," Alex growled. "My scores are dropping, because I'm off working for you lot so much. I'll fail and be expelled or something."

Mrs. Jones sighed.

"Would a tutor help?"

Alex gave her a calculating look.

"Why all this, all of a sudden?" he asked. "Suddenly, all the money, all the security, the tutoring…why now? Why the hell did it take my best friend and virtual sister being murdered for you to do this?"

"I…I wish I had an answer for that, Alex."

"Well, I have one," Alex said, slowly uncurling and standing up as he spoke. "You don't see me as a person, or even an agent – you see me as a tool. After all, you don't even pay me – you blackmail me. So why bother with helping an exploited tool? After all, I'm just property, government property – MI6 property."

"We really don't see you that way, Alex."

"Of course not."

He just couldn't be bothered to quit the sarcasm. He noted absently that ever since he'd started working for MI6, he'd become a lot more sarcastic, and his sense of humor has long since become a lot darker and more morbid. Interesting. The life of espionage has infiltrated every aspect of his being – humor included.

Damnit.

"Alex…just listen to us, all right?" she asked. "We'll pay you…get you that tutor, help you with your schoolwork…" she paused and looked like she was being forced to swallow horse dung for a moment. "Alan's even considering that gun."

Alex felt only half surprised. He didn't have it in him to be surprised by anything, anymore.

"Took you long enough," he muttered, walking back into the office behind her. He still remained standing behind the chair, but he still faced Blunt as Mrs. Jones took her seat again.

"Well," Blunt said. "Despite evidence to the contrary, we do take agent requests seriously-"

"Even if it takes a while," Mrs. Jones muttered under her breath.

"-And we will try to sort things out in the area of payment and tutoring."

"If your school believes that you have cancer," Mrs. Jones said. "I'm sure they'll be happy to arrange for you to be a part-time student."

"A…part-time student?"

"If a student is ever in a situation, usually terminal illness, where regular attendance can be an issue, then part-time student means that you won't be marked down for absences, and any work done under a school approved tutor will count towards your coursework. You attend school when you can, and take tests at the end of the terms like everyone else, in when you're not there, you get tutored to catch up. If we continue with the cancer lie, it should be easy to follow in that path."

"Sounds…good."

"As for the gun…" Alan said. "I can understand your reasons for wanting an effective weapon for your self-protection. It is inevitable that this would happen – after a while, a majority of special agents end up carrying at least one weapon on them at all times. Perhaps we can have Smithers customize a gun for you."

Alex was still in a slight shock, but he slowly shook his head.

"Don't bother," he said. "You're only giving it to me because I asked for it and you're scared shitless I'll turn away. But it's not really going to be helpful, is it? I doubt a Scorpia agent would try to kill me in a way where a gun would be effective."

Now Mrs. Jones frowned.

"You've been asking-"

"It's not about the fucking gun!" Alex cried out, frustration filling his voice. He just wanted for all of this to be over and dealt with. "I'm not pissed about not having my own bloody gun. I'm pissed that you send me on fatal or near-fatal missions without a gun just because I'm a child, despite the fact I'm doing and adult's jobs and going through an adult's hell and bloody dealing with adult situations. Because of you, I'm not a bloody kid any more, but you only choose to see that when you see fit!"

He paused and took a deep breath. He'd get nothing done while trying to act immature and on the edge of yelling at them. He slowly stepped around and took a seat again, trying to calm himself down.

"I'm not pissed about the gun," he said carefully. "I'm pissed that you send me in with minimal protection, and I'm pissed that you don't acknowledge the fact that I'm not a child any more and that I'm doing adult things, and that you don't acknowledge that I deserve the same things as any other real agent in my position."

He swallowed, before looking them both in the eye and leaning back in his seat a little.

"Don't bother with a bloody gun, now. It's probably not going to be of much help, anyway, and I doubt you'll give me something useful. If I go on another mission, ever, or if I get in a situation where having one would actually be helpful, I'll take up that offer. But not now. I'll get one when I need it, not when I want it."

He decided not to mention the slight fact that he might seriously end up shooting himself once he had the chance if he got his hands on one.

Blunt was continually looking at him with his usual, analytical look. The fact that Alex could almost imagine a trace of a trace of surprise in the man's eyes told him how much he'd truly thrown them off.

Mrs. Jones was just outright staring at him with a blank face and blanker eyes. If that was possible…which it apparently was.

"You truly have grown up, Alex, to think of all that," she said after a moment.

"And to think, it only took several fatal missions, getting shot, and my caretaker getting murdered, and me killing someone for you to figure that out."

She sighed.

"You've gone through a lot, lately-"

"No, really?"

"-and maybe some rest will be good for you. Why don't you go back to the overtime room and kip in for a bit?" Mrs. Jones suggested, almost soothingly. "You could use it – you look like death warmed up."

"I've been looking like that for quite a while," Alex said. "Might help with credibility for my cancer story," he muttered under his breath. He paused, then pushed himself into 'professional' mode, to get away from his emotions. "How are we going to explain me not telling them? To the school about the cancer, I mean."

"You wanted to keep your status private, and were too stubborn to actually inform them, and the doctor couldn't do anything about it and Jack Starbright wanted to abide by your wishes."

Alex nodded again. Figures they'd pin the idiocy part on him. But he didn't really care, at the moment. Focus on the present and just bloody forget the past or future.

"Just a question," Alex said. "What…what happened to Jack? Her body, I mean?"

"She has been brought to a private morgue within our building – our evidence room."

"Can I see her?" Alex asked.

He got a contemplative look in response.

"Yes," Mrs. Jones said after a rather long moment. "The morgue is underground – not far from Smithers' office. I'll take you there."

Alex nodded, before once again, both of them left the office.

They headed for the elevator.

A maze of eerily familiar hallways later, and Alex was standing in front of a drawer as Jack's body was pulled out of the wall, black body bag glinting under the unforgiving florescent light. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself to look once again at Jack Starbright's lifeless eyes.

A/N: Well, talking with JK Mafia got me to post this, so please remember to the lovely Madam Empress of Oranges plenty of, well, oranges, in her fic "A Close Protection, of Sorts".

Also, quick note to anonymous reviewers (that's you, Wolfmonster! – JK Mafia was kind enough to tell me about you). If you're not an anonymous reviewer/accountless, you don't have to read this:

I'm sorry to have to block you, but it's a bit of a necessity. Most of the time, when people review anonymously, they don't leave e-mails, which means I can't respond to them.

Not only that, but most of the people who like to flame me and my stories always love to review anonymously and never leave a way to get back. I don't mind flames – I just mind not being able to contact these people to flame right back. And ever since two of my stories ended up on Deleterius (an entire Live Journal community devoted to flaming fanfics), I've been rather adamant about being able to respond to flames. Again, sorry, but it's a necessity.

Thanks for reading!

-Madam Empress of Ostriches-

First Order MEO