Breathing deeply, Kristen straightened her shoulders and walked into the building. Just an hour before, she had gotten off the plane and landed in Amsterdam—her leader telling her where to go. And she had done so.

Two hours later…

"So, this is what the CIA sends to take care of me? A shrimpy teenager?" the Gentleman sneered at Kristen, who had somehow walked into a trap.

"I'm not that shrimpy, but I'm a teenager," she sneered back, handcuffed and sandwiched between two men.

He scoffed. "You're lucky that I'm busy tonight. Take her away, to warehouse five."

--

Alex gasped, holding the stitch in his side from running. The only reason he could even be there was because Smithers had taken pity on him and gotten his brother, Smuckers, in the CIA, to find out where Kristen was. And with a lot of digging, Smuckers had found out and relayed it to the two Brits. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Kristen had gotten herself captured, and he had to dig her out.

He was on the roof, having used a handy gadget Smithers had given him—a cable on his belt that automatically fixed itself to the roof and tugged him upward. Now, he had to break his way into the warehouse and find her, and after that, help her complete her mission without getting either of them killed.

An hour later—

"What the hell are you doing here?" Kristen gave him the best death glare he'd ever seen in his life. Goddamn the woman—even if she was tied up in a building full of guards, outnumbered 55 to 1 she was still fighting.

"Saving your ass," Alex muttered, taking a pocket knife from his pants pockets and sawing through the ropes that bound her to the chair. They fell, but still she sat there, furious.

"You're not fucking supposed to be here—Jesus, how did you—oh I will fucking MURDERISE Shen—DAMMIT Alex!" he'd snaked his arm around her waist, pulled her to him hard and kissed her to shut her up.

"He told me so I could help you, alright?" he murmured when they finally disconnected themselves, but he was still whispering against her lips. Full, slightly swollen lips…he couldn't resist leaning in again, his kiss tender and sweet.

She pulled back faster this time, half-heartedly furious. "Why? I didn't—didn't tell you because I didn't want anyone in danger because of me! Especially not you, dammit!"

Alex met her glare and inwardly winced at her obvious anger. "I still have questions; you're the only one with the answers. And I don't want to have you throw everything away for the CIA."

She started to speak, but didn't. Instead, she gave him a strange look, as if seeing him for the first time, wondering if it was possible that someone cared about her that strongly.

But Kristen didn't voice that. "Do you have a gun?" she asked hoarsely, and cleared her throat.

"Yeah. I took them from the guards I got rid of on my way in," he handed her a silver revolver, which she examined, and took out his own.

"Standard 9mm. It'll do," she commented, and started out the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I still have to carry out my mission," Kristen answered with a touch of amusement. But only just.

"Right, about that," Alex blinked. "I've found out where he is now. In Amsterdam."

"Let's get going then."

--

When they got there, arriving by train an hour later, there were few people running about, as it was already after midnight there. But strangely enough, there was glass shards everywhere as they walked through the quaint cobblestone roads, though the glass shop windows were intact.

"Kristallnacht," Kristen murmured, recalling to Alex's mind a history lesson long ago about the Holocaust atrocities committed by Nazi Germany, when the night Jewish shops' windows were broken and crystalline shards and powder sprinkled everywhere.

Silently, he edged closer to her, unnerved by the darkness and the weight of dreadful history.

Suddenly she stopped and turned to him.

"Alex?" she whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happens, don't try to save me," she sensed him tense. "Please."

He was about to protest, when she continued, "I've done everything up till now for a reason. If you have to…don't wait for me or anything. Leave me," her eyes locked onto his and wouldn't let go. "Alright?"

Alex was silent. "I can't just leaveyou—"

"You can, and you will."

He acted resigned. "If there's no other way."

"OK." She didn't comment on the obvious loophole that she'd accepted, but instead, trudged on, finger on the trigger of her revolver.

--

A few days later, they were at a club in downtown Amsterdam, the beat of the music loud and pounding through the air. It was only noon, but the club was packed.

"Why are we here again?" Alex asked, almost yelling to make himself heard.

"He supposedly has a job to do here," she yelled back.

The bartenders were starting to give them odd looks as they were the only ones left standing near the counter; everyone else had rushed to the center of the room to dance.

She grabbed his hand, saying, "Let's dance!" before pulling him with her to the pulsing, boiling hot center.

All around them, people were rubbing against each other—it had to be illegal. They would have been having sex if their clothes weren't in the way.

"And I thought it was only America that was sex obsessed," Alex heard Kristen say to him, before being pushed onto him by a thickset man bumping his way through the throng. He caught her, now they were dancing chest to chest.

She didn't move back to her former position, and he didn't retreat as their bodies swayed to the rhythm of the pounding beat. They were grinding now, just as everyone else in the club was, making Alex wonder if she was doing it to blend in or for other reasons. He gritted his teeth as she shifted.

"Keep your eyes open," he heard her say in his ear. As if he could close them with her dancing like that.

A little ways away from the middle of the dance floor, on one of the three stages, a woman came out into the spotlight and the crowd cheered, going absolutely wild. Kristen slowly edged the two of them closer to the stage to see what all the commotion was about, and Alex's eyes widened when he recognized Alyssa Clark, the British pop star that had shot to fame a mere year ago and had released hit after hit. It was nearly impossible to go anywhere in London without hearing her bold voice blasting through the radios. This club had to be much pricier—and classier—than he had originally thought.

Kristen's hand found his and she tugged him forward so they could score prime seats—close enough to see the star's features, yet far enough that they would be unobtrusive. Clark opened her red glossed lips to sing her latest hit, Hot, Hot Love; her voice and the instrumentals blaring as the dance tune caused vibrations through the seats. And she was half-way through the song when two men in the audience stood. One of them held something out—and it was revealed to be a gun as a shot rang out.

The songstress crumpled, her blindingly white dress soaked through with a steadily increasing scarlet pool. Kristen and Alex leaped out of their seats, splitting up without a word to pursue the now solitary fleeing men as shouts were heard and security ran towards the fallen star. Alex disappeared into the throng of dancers even as Kristen crashed out of a side door, skidding on the cobblestones outside the club; ducking behind a beat up Volkswagen to avoid a sudden spray of bullets. Pedestrians were screaming, but neither of the two paid them any attention. She pulled out her own handgun; this was either the Gentleman or an accomplish—the CIA's information had been correct when they told her a job would occur today, and she wasn't interested in hearing out why an 'innocent' man helped one of the deadliest killers in the world take a life.

Kristen loaded her gun and darted out from behind the car, finger squeezing the trigger so that a shot on the leg brought the man down, and another bullet slammed into his head, killing him. She raced over to his body, flipping the dead weight (no pun intended) over with a grunt, scowling darkly when she found that the features from a CIA debriefing meeting didn't match up with the ones in front of her.

And then, her expression changed to one of absolute horror as she realized what that meant: Alex was chasing the Gentleman. Shit shit shit shit shit! Kristen spun on her heel, bolting back towards where she had seen him last—the club, knowing fully and bitterly well that they had no means of communication. Hearing gunshots on the other side of the club, she headed that way, heart pounding.

Alex was there, having somehow escaped from the bullets, and hot on the Gentleman's heel.

Fuck! Kristen glanced around quickly, and spotted a blaring, red convertible, sitting there enticingly with no one in sight. She made her choice, darting over to the vehicle's side and checking the wires, pulling the red and green ones out and attempting to bring it to life.

Her hotwiring was successful, and the convertible roared as she hit the pedal hard and followed Alex. Kristen checked her gun, swearing violently when she found that she was out of bullets.

Today was not going well.

She gained on Alex, he veering to the right so that she could continue chasing the Gentleman. And that put her in a prime position to see what he couldn't see—just ahead, barely two meters, he was pointing his gun at Alex, obviously ready to shoot.

Kristen made her decision within a split second, jamming her shoe onto the gas pedal, keeping it at full speed as she launched herself out of the car, tackling Alex as shots rang out. They slammed against the pavement as the car screeched, crashing into the Gentleman and then continuing to slam into a lamppost.

Alex blearily opened his eyes to see blood dripping over his shirt, and he pulled himself up to kneel, eyes widening in horror as he realized Kristen had gotten shot for him.

She opened her eyes, the pain from the shot—he realized it was her shoulder now—making them glaze over, but she struggled to pull herself up.

"Is he dead?" she rasped, and he shrugged, paying more attention to ripping open her jacket and examining the wound than the man who had caused it.

"It's—I'm fine, Alex, it's not life threatening," Kristen muttered as he pushed her down again, seeing the wound and breathing a sigh of relief when it wasn't as bad as he had thought. She had gone down at an angle—any straighter and it would have hit her in the heart.

Kristen rose, swaying slightly and taking a few steps to where the body lay. Alex growled, "Stop! Sit against the sidewalk. I can check," and, taking out his own gun, was beside the man in an instant.

Surprisingly enough, the features that met him were relatively normal, but badly beat up from the crash. Alex didn't even scan the rest of his body, because it would be ghastly, but thrust two fingers onto the man's neck, checking for a pulse.

None.

Kristen somehow made it next to him, tightness in her shoulders giving way to relief as she saw it was the same man CIA had told her about.

Alex muttered, "I thought I told you to stay there?" almost angrily. He couldn't be angry at her, because she was the reason he was still unharmed even while she obviously hurt.

Kristen ignored that.

"We've got to get out of here," she murmured, as sirens wailed. "But I—"

He scooped her up, carrying her easily even though she was just about the same height as him, and paying no mind to her protests, began running.

When she spotted a taxi, she said hoarsely, "Flag it down…I've got money," reaching into her jacket pockets to pull out a wad of euros.

Alex set her down, taking the money, and waved for a cab and it slowed. Kristen pulled her jacket over her injury, glad that the blood didn't show through and winced at her movement.

"The airport," Kristen said as she got in and Alex shut the door behind them. Kristen pulled out her phone, cringing at the fresh pain, and Alex hissed.

"Would you let me do something like that next time?" he asked, annoyed.

She shot him a small smile as she punched a few numbers into the keypad, leaning against him lightly.

"Trace?" she asked, and she could feel Alex stiffen. The man said something else, which he couldn't hear.

"Shut up, it wasn't my fault it got so messy," she muttered, annoyed. "Get me two tickets to London, on the next flight out. What? What do you mean you can't? What? Damn security. Okay, fuck it, get me a plane then. Got one? What is it? A Boeing? Fine, alright. Make sure it's cleared with the airport," she snapped her phone shut.

"You're flying us?" Alex asked lowly, skeptically. "I didn't know you knew how to fly a plane."

Kristen shot him a wry grin, slightly ruined by the fact that she was hurting. "Let's just say that the CIA's training is much more…vigorously thorough than MI6's," she muttered back, just as low.

They reached the airport and Alex handed the driver a few bills and let Kristen lean on him for support as they walked into the doors of the airport. A security guard headed their way; Kristen tensed, and then relaxed when she recognized the man.

"Hi Chris," she greeted the man. "Meet Alex, the idiot douchebag that thought he had to take care of me. Alex, Chris. He's part of our people system in Belgium," despite her harsh words, her tone was warm, even a little playful.

Alex took the hand held out by Chris, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you," Chris' eyes asked Kristen why Alex was there.

She ignored that, asking, "Right, where's the plane?"

"Follow me," Chris lead the way through the back way all security used. Alex and Kristen dropped behind slightly, and he asked, "Are you alright?"

She blinked, eyes not meeting his. "I'm fine," she murmured, but winced when she moved her arm slightly.

"You're not," he accused, his tone firm but soft.

"I can't do anything about it now," she muttered. "So I'm fine."

He rolled his eyes at her pigheadedness but continued to walk beside her.

"How are you going to fly the plane like that?"

"It's only an hour and twenty minutes to London Alex," she murmured. "Don't worry about me."

He didn't respond as they were led to the aircraft, Kristen given a pair of headphones for the piloting seat.

It was ten minutes till take off.

They sat down into the pilot and co-pilot seats, feeling the eerie aura. Trace had gotten them a relatively easy to fly aircraft, but it was huge, and empty.

Finally, the time came. Alex listened to Kristen communicate with the control tower, as they were cleared for takeoff and she maneuvered them onto the runway.

Alex squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the engines whine, the familiar roar and the incredible speed as she took the plane forward and then—up.

He opened his eyes again, watching her look of concentration as she guided the plane upwards, his ears popping. Jesus, how did she do that? How did she do anything—even just today, that dancing, hotwiring a car, taking a bullet for him, and now she was flying them back to London.

Sabina who?

Alex settled back against the seat and let her work, and somehow fell asleep.

--

He woke up an hour later, finding Kristen ten minutes from landing, listening as she was cleared by air traffic control to continue. How he had fallen asleep he didn't know; watching her now was complete torture—could she really do this?—and he looked away.

The minutes trickled by agonizingly slowly, and Alex could feel the plane beginning its descent.

Below, the buildings and cars seemed to blow up in size, becoming their normal heights as Kristen navigated the plane to hit the ground, speed rushing them at hundreds of miles per hour on the runway as she hit the brakes.

As they slowed to a stop, she sighed and fell back against the seat, exhausted. Alex smiled as she took the controls again and guided them into a gate, directed by the ground personnel.

And finally, it was all over. Kristen took off her headphones and tossed them onto the controls, shaking slightly with the effort the journey had cost her.

Alex parted her jacked again to examine the bullet wound. It had long since stopped bleeding, but he needed to get her to a hospital as soon as possible.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

He didn't answer, but pulled her into a hug.

"Screw the CIA, I'm getting you to a hospital," he murmured.

"I'm alright, really," Kristen answered.

Alex gave her a disbelieving look. "Don't pull that on me. We're going. Come on, let's get out of here," he gently tugged her upwards, stretching slightly, and she followed him off the plane.

Thirty minutes later, they were out of the airport and in a cab, Alex telling the driver to get them to the nearest hospital. Kristen was omitted and brought into surgery.

And so here he was, sitting in the waiting room until he could go into her room. He absently played with her phone, flipping it open and closed, until it rang.

Alex froze and checked who it was, and came across an unfamiliar number.

He opened it anyways and waited for someone to talk.

"Where are you?" an older, male voice asked.

"This isn't Kristen," Alex replied. "She's having surgery at the moment. Who're you?"

"Alex Rider, we are not pleased that you followed her onto her assignment. She could have died, and the mission failed."

"Like you care if she would live or not."

"We will be there shortly."

The call ended.

Alex let out a sigh and hoped that she was alright.

--

Thirty minutes later, he rushed into her room as a nurse came to inform him that she was out of surgery.

He saw her sitting up, tired but otherwise fine and a thick bandage patch around her shoulder.

Alex sighed with relief. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Better than fine," she smiled at him.

"The CIA is supposed to get here soon," he said. "They called."

Her eyes narrowed. "Did they say anything to you?"

"The usual 'don't mess in our business' crap," Alex said dismissively. "It doesn't matter."

She cracked a smile. "Alex, guess what?"

"What?" he asked, noticing how lovely she looked when her happiness shone through.

"I can say it!" Kristen answered. "I love you."

The end.

But not really.

THERE'S AN EPILOGUE COMING UP!

--

Indeed an epilogue is coming. Stay tuned for it! And yes, with the end of the epilogue comes the real final ending of this story. I can't wait for it! What do you think?

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