Alex strolled morosely down the street wondering where to spend the night. He could not go back to the Pleasures; they would never allow him to leave again. He wandered the streets, lost in his thoughts. Finally, his feet came to a rest in front of a house. His house. Or rather, his and Jack's. His throat tightened and his eyes burned as the hole in his chest ripped open. He felt as raw as he had the moment he had watched it happen. A silent tear escaped his eye, making a trail down to his chin before he angrily wiped it off.

A woman came to the door, peering out from behind the door. She was tall and lithe with kind brown eyes that widened when she saw Alex on her front step. She stepped outside, "Hello, dear. May I help you?"

Alex took a steadying breath, wiping another wayward tear from his face. "I... I'm sorry, ma'am..."

The woman cut him off, "Oh, honey, what is the matter?" She reached out to grasp his hand kindly.

For a moment, Alex couldn't say anything. The woman had an american accent that reminded him of Jack's. Finding his voice, Alex said thickly, "I... I used to live here."

"Please," she said, "come in out of the cold." It wasn't really cold outside but Alex was grateful for the chance to compose himself.

"Thank you," he said, following her into her house. She sat him onto an unfamiliar couch in the living room he had spent many nights in. She went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of juice. Handing it to Alex, she asked, "Who are you, honey?"

"I... I'm Alex Rider. I used to live here." He repeated, slowly sipping the juice. It soothed his aching throat and the burning in his eyes lessened.

"Okay, dear. Do you need me to call someone? Are you lost?" She asked concernedly.

"No, ma'am. There is no one left for you to call." Alex answered sadly. "I..." he hesitated, then continued, "I'm not lost. I just needed a place to stay for a night and this was the only place I knew. I'm sorry for the intrusion. Thank you so much for the juice." He stood up to leave, but the woman interrupted.

"No, no, no. I am not letting a teenager run off into the streets at night after appearing on my doorstep with some very obvious trouble going on and no place to go!" She finished her rant with a hand on her hips and an eyebrow raised, daring Alex to disagree with her.

He, of course, dared to disagree, "Thank you, but..."

"No buts." She interrupted, "You need a place to stay? Well, there is one here, and I'd be a cruel person to turn you back out in the streets. You can stay here, in my son's old room."

Alex sat back down on the couch. "Thank you, Mrs..."

"Macron. Julia Macron."

Alex smiled gratefully, "Thank you Mrs. Macron." She then proceeded to thoroughly mother him. She set up the bedroom for him herself, complete with a bed table and lamp, despite his protests. After Mrs. Macron had warmed up some leftovers for him - he hadn't eaten since the snacks on the plane, Alex borrowed some toiletries and quickly brushed his teeth. When he finished, he stowed his bag in the guest bedroom and returned to the living room where Mrs. Macron was talking on the phone. "Who was that?" Alex inquired when she had finished.

"That was my husband John," She said with a smile. "He and the kids are having a father-daughter night. They are on their way home, now."

Alex waited quietly on the couch with Mrs. Macron, content to have a home if only for one night. After about twenty minutes of light smalltalk, two little kids came running through the door. "Mommy! Look what we got!" They cried. The girls raced over, each fighting to get to their mother first. Finally, they both proudly held out their prizes, demanding her to acknowledge them. One held out a stuffed animal that looked vaguely like a horse and the other held out a couple of plastic rings.

Mrs. Macron smiled warmly, "That's great, dears. Where is your father?"

"Right here!" A deep, familiar voice answered from the door. "I got these for you," said Mr. Macron, handing her a bunch of roses.

She smiled with delight, "Hold on! Let me put them in some water." She hurried to the kitchen, disappearing from view. Without Mrs. Macron in the room, to hold their attention, the two little girls alighted upon Alex.

"Who are you?"

"Are you a homeless?"

"Do you like dogs?"

"Do you have a dog?"

Mrs. Macron came back into the room to save Alex from the barrage of questions. "Now, girls, is that any way to treat a guest? One at a time. And be polite."

Alex laughed, "It's alright." To the girls, he said, "My name is Alex Rider. It depends on your definition of homeless. I do like dogs, but I do not have one."

They smiled. "Are you our brother now?" asked one.

"Maria!" Admonished Mrs. Macron. "He's only staying with us for a little while. Now go play with your toys and leave poor Alex alone!" The two raced off into the hallways, laughing and bickering. Mrs. Macron shook her head, muttering, "Kids."

"Alex Rider?" Mr. Macron said thoughtfully. "Where have I heard that name before?" He eyed Alex. He saw a boy with ruffled fair hair, a faint spark in his eye, and a face too old to be his. He reminded Mr. Macron of a young soldier, drafted into a war and thrust into battle.

In turn, Alex turned an appraising eye to Mr. Macron. Mr. Macron seemed to be in his late-twenties with short black hair and olive brown skin. He was short but muscular, and walked confidently as if he could take control no matter what happened. He had a handsome face, despite a slightly crooked nose, and the hardened eyes of a soldier.

Finally, after several minutes of the two men staring at one another, Mrs. Macron said passive-aggressively, "John, please introduce yourself to our guest."

Alex smiled, "No need, Mrs. Macron. We have met before under very different circumstances."

"Different indeed," Mr. Macron said, an eyebrow raised. "I seem to remember you as a little lost cub. Now you look like a wizened wolf."

"A lot has happened since then."

Mrs. Macron interrupted their reminiscing, "Excuse me, but I'm a little lost here. How do you two know each other?"

"Brecon Beacons," the two said together.

When Mrs. Macron placed her hand on her hip and glared at them, Mr. Macron hastened to explain further. "Brecon Beacons was the training post I was sent to with the K-unit. Alex, or Cub as we called him, was sent there to train with us." Mr. Macron paused to smirk, "He didn't do too well. He dragged us down and I had to save his butt several times over the course of his stay."

"Really?" asked Alex. "I seem to recall having saved your butt several times over the course of my stay."

"Aren't you forgetting about Point Blanc Academy?" Mr. Macron asked.

Alex shook his head. "As grateful that I am that you were there, we were talking about Brecon Beacons."

Mr. Macron nodded, "I guess we were." He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "What happened to you, Cub?"

At that, Alex's smile dropped from his face. "I... my guardian, Jack Starbright died. She was murdered. In front of me. Because of me." He stopped, unable to continue.

Mrs. Macron gasped, "How could that have happened? You are just a boy!"

Mr. Macron's jaw tightened, and he answered for Alex, "That is what happens when you send a boy to do something the most experienced of men would have trouble with. That is what happens when you force a kid to grow up before his time."

"Thanks, Wolf," Alex said, finding his voice. "But that is not why I am here." He told them his story.

By the end, Mrs. Macron was crying and horrified, patting his back and saying, "You poor boy."

Mr. Macron asked, "What are you planning to do?"

"Now?" answered Alex. "I was planning on getting a good night's rest before setting off to find Fletcher."

"How are..." Mr. Macron began, but Mrs. Macron cut him off.

"No more questions! This boy has been through enough today to last him a lifetime. It is late. He needs to sleep. You need to sleep. I definitely need to sleep. You both can continue this conversation tomorrow." With that, she disappeared to get the little girls off to bed.

"I guess that means it is bed time for us," said Mr. Macron to Alex with a laugh.

Alex smiled. "She seems nice," he said, nodding his head to the hallway Mrs. Macron had disappeared into, "When did the two of you get married?"

"I was vacationing in the States while on leave. I fell in love the first time I saw her in the coffee shop she was working in. I ended up spending my whole leave in that coffee shop, just talking with her. When it came time to leave, I asked her to come with me. To my amazement, she said yes. We married soon after that," Mr. Macron smiled, a light in his eye sparking as he talked.

"Do I still hear the two of you talking?" Mrs. Macron's voice shook him out of his reverie.

"Oh no. We better get to bed before Mum catches us breaking curfew," he said, winking at Alex.

"I heard that!"

Alex and Mr. Macron laughed until Mrs. Macron came into the living room with a dangerous glint in her eye. They went to bed without any further ado.

Lying in the bed made for him in the guest room, Alex felt at home. Not because this was, in fact, his home but because the Macrons had included him so easily into their house. Wolf was a friend, the girls accepted Alex without question, and Mrs. Macron reminded him of Jack. For the first time, Alex thought of Jack how she was before all this. How she was before MI6 and his missions and Egypt. He fell asleep to her memory, and dreamt peacefully through the night.