…The Mistake…

…Chapter Five...

Quiet tapping echoed through the small circular room, rather irregular in its rhythm. Mrs. Jones sat quietly in the chair in front of an older, balding man who had his head resting in his hand, tapping his pen incessantly against the hard oak desk. A sigh finally escaped her. "Mr. Blunt, shouldn't we send people out to look for Alex? He might not be…-"

"He's dead, Mrs. Jones. You'll simply have to face that we have, in fact, lost our best spy," Mr. Blunt replied in a monotone voice, the pen stopping it's bouncing on the desk as he placed it down, hands folding on top of the cluttered surface.

"But they haven't even found his body! How can you just give up like this? He could be alive," Mrs. Jones raised her voice just slightly, before lowering her head and sighing again. It was odd for the woman to raise her voice, period; she was usually very calm and collected, no matter the situation. But Alex was only a boy; he didn't deserve to just be forgotten. Not after all that he'd done for them, and the world; despite no one else knowing of his 'heroic' deeds.

"Face the facts. The microchip isn't even responding, it must have been burnt in the fire as well, which we can only conclude must have killed Alex as well," Mr. Blunt explained, as if he hadn't already explained this a million times to the woman in front of him.

Before Mrs. Jones could argue the point further, the phone beside a pile of papers rang through the silence. Mr. Blunt answered it quickly with a swift, "What is it?"

A voice murmured on the other end, and Mrs. Jones eyed Blunt curiously when his face seemed to pale just slightly. Slowly, without so much as a goodbye, Alan Blunt hung up the phone, his gaze once again turning to rest on his colleague.

"What is it?" Mrs. Jones asked carefully, frowning as Mr. Blunt didn't answer right away, and instead shuffled through a few papers on his desk.

"It seems," he paused, keeping his gaze on the papers in front of him. One of them depicted a rather large man with dark brown hair and cruel azure eyes, holding a numbered sign in front of him. "That Alex is, indeed, alive. How long that will last, however… Depends completely on whether or not we can risk letting Jonathon Cray run free."

A few hours later, Alex woke groggily, a quiet groan interrupting the hand that was idly playing with a few strands of his sandy-blonde hair. He eyes opened half-way, though he closed them again as they stung from being opened.

"Finally awake, I see," Yassen's husky voice spoke from above him. Alex's eyes snapped open quickly, but he soon regretted doing it when they started to water. He shut them tightly, trying vainly to squeeze the watery tears from them. He jerked his hands forward, as if to move one of them to wipe at his eyes, but the chains that were attached to them simply gave an annoying jingle. He sighed. He'd forgotten about them, unfortunately for his poor wrists which seemed to have been rubbed almost completely raw; likely from his habit of trying to curl up when he slept.

"What happened to your stomach?" Yassen questioned quietly.

Alex managed to open his eyes just enough so that he could look at him, despite the image being blurred by the lingering tears in his eyes. "What do you care?" he shot back in an almost-snarl.

Icy blue eyes narrowed toward Alex before a hand came up and rested on the side of his face, a thumb trailing across his left eye to wipe the lingering moisture away. "I suggest, Alex that you stop speaking to me like that. My patience only stretches so far," he replied, not answering the question, but giving fair warning to the young teenager before he lost his temper. It wasn't easy to make him do so, but it also wasn't pretty when he did.

"Now, who did that?" Yassen motioned toward the red, bruising circular burn on his abdomen.

Alex glanced at it, now that he could see properly, and grimaced at the sight. It looked like it was going to get infected. He remembered, vaguely, that there had been lingering traces of ash from where the cigarette had burnt the strange circular shape into his skin. "Some woman," he finally mumbled, averting his eyes from the cold blue ones that were staring at him intently.

"Some woman?" Yassen asked dryly. "Could you be anymore unspecific if you tried?"

Alex scowled, but otherwise didn't give any other response.

A sigh sounded from above him before he felt the bed dip at the side. His eyes widened and immediately went to look for the source. Yassen had moved onto the bed and was now slowly crawling up the side of his body. Alex eyed him warily, watching as he lay beside him, elbow bent and resting on a pillow; head cushioned in a pale, calloused hand.

"Are you quite sure you don't want to tell me?" Yassen mused, resting his other hand just below Alex's ribs. "Because I will make you tell me." At the glare that he seemed to get in response, Yassen chuckled, "Very well."

Alex stiffened once again when Yassen drew a pocket knife from the drawer of the nightstand, a semi-incredulous look crossing his features. They left a knife in here with him? Were they seriously that stupid?

The knife was flipped open, the sharp tip coming to rest at his throat, before Yassen, almost gently, dragged the knife down to rest at where the collar of his shirt started. The skin that the tip of the knife had dragged across turned a light shade of red, showing its irritation.

Alex glared at Yassen, ignoring the knife for now. "What are you -…" he was cut off as he let out a startled noise that mixed with the sound of the knife shredding through the middle of his shirt, leaving it to lay open to expose his chest. He shivered as the cool air moving through the room brushed against his now bare chest. It wasn't particularly warm in the room due to the air conditioning.

"Now, Alex," Yassen said quietly, moving to rest the tip of the knife against the waistband of his trousers. "Are you going to tell me, or will I have to make you?"

"You wouldn't…" Alex replied as he watched the knife. Yassen chuckled and simply placed the edge of the pocket knife between the waistband and Alex's rather pale skin. Slowly, carefully, he made a small incision in the clothing, watching Alex stiffen even more; hands clenching into fists as he closed his eyes tightly for a minute.

"Oh, I will Alex," Yassen purred, enjoying every minute of toying with the young spy. "Now, are you going to tell me…? Or do I have to wait until you're completely stripped and humiliated before you say anything?"

From the looks of it, Yassen wouldn't mind too terribly if he did have his trousers shredded by the knife. Alex bit his lip, before finally tugging down his pride at having to tell this man anything. "I don't know who she was," he muttered, finally. "She… had a lot of makeup on."

Yassen seemed to hum thoughtfully as he slowly made circles on Alex's abdomen with the tip of the knife, being oddly careful that he didn't slice into the skin. "And why was she here?"

"To sedate me," Alex replied with a scowl, ignoring the tingling skin that the tip of the knife left behind.

"Ah," Yassen mused, then almost disappointedly, removed the knife and folded the blade into the wooden case, stuffing it in his pocket. Alex was eyeing him warily as he got up from the bed and stood beside him, staring down at him for a moment; examining every inch of his exposed chest, tongue slipping out to swipe across his lower lip.

Uncomfortable, Alex glared at him, though he was startled out of it by Yassen's voice speaking once more. "I'm assuming you're hungry, and even if you're not, you really should eat. You're looking far to skinny."

As if in response, Alex's stomach gave a low gurgling sound, which only served to make his cheeks glow a rather light shade of pink.

"I'll be back with some food," Yassen said with a quiet chuckle, leaving Alex in the cool room once more by himself.

Alex glared at his stomach. "Traitor," he grumbled under his breath, pulling uselessly at the chains again. He winced this time as he noticed a trail of thick crimson blood moving down his arm. Apparently he'd cut open part of his wrist.

Lovely; just what he needed.

Alex was startled out of his irritated thoughts by a light clank of something being set down. He directed his gaze toward a short man with black hair, and dark green eyes. Behind him, Yassen was standing against a wall, watching Alex with an amused look.

"Yassen, the keys?" the unknown man asked, raising his hand toward the assassin with a raised eyebrow.

Yassen frowned. "I really don't think it's a good idea to let him out of those."

"It'll be fine. What's he going to do, realistically? He's just a boy," the man grumbled, snatching the key's from Yassen before placing a smaller silver key inside the lock that attached the manacles to the boy's wrists.

Alex watched him do so quietly, not so much as twitching his arms until both manacles were free from his wrists. Slowly, he sat up, noting that he couldn't move his ankles all that far, but at least he could sit there comfortably.

He inspected the damage done to his right wrist carefully, noting the bruised, angry red that it had turned, small scrapes evident; which would explain where the blood had come from.

A plate of food filled with fruits, and salad was stuck in his lap, along with a plastic fork. Apparently the man didn't trust him with metal, which was stupid considering the idiot had released his wrists.

Alex stared at the food quietly, for all he knew it could be poisoned, or laced with some sort of sedative. A hand reached between his gaze and the plate, causing him to flinch back, startled. But Yassen simply plucked a grape from the plate and ate it, eyeing him as he chewed on the piece of fruit.

Still frowning, but trusting that the food wasn't spiked with anything now, he picked up the fork and started to slowly eat the meagre meal in front of him. As he ate, he noticed from the corner of his eye as the short man pulled Yassen aside and began to speak with him. Yassen spoke back quietly, but too quickly for Alex to read his lips and figure out what they were talking about.

With an inaudible sigh, he continued to eat. He was hungrier then he'd thought, but it was only to be expected. It felt like days had gone by since the last time he'd eaten anything. He knew, rationally, that it had likely only been a day, but it still felt much longer.

A voice startled him out of his musing. He really needed to start paying more attention to his surroundings. He was, after all, in 'enemy territory'.

"I am Damian Cray, it's a pleasure to meet you," the man said, and Alex noticed that sometime during his daydreaming he'd finished his 'meal' and Cray had managed to sneak up beside him.

Alex eyed the hand that the man had reached out to him warily, tempted to try and escape, or knock the man unconscious. But then, his eyes rested on Yassen, he was still here, so even if he managed to knock this idiot out, he'd never get passed Yassen, and he knew it. He'd just end up chained up back to the bed. "Alex," he finally muttered in response, ignoring the hand completely. He went back to examining the damage that the manacles had done to his wrists. Other then the cuts stinging whenever he poked at them, they seemed fine; just very raw, and obviously sore.

Cray cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to his side. "Well, I see no reason as to why you can't be without the restraints, so long as Yassen is in here," he muttered, seemingly to himself before he directed his gaze to Yassen himself. "I'm assuming, if you leave the room, you'll lock our guest back up?"

Without waiting for an answer, he undid the locks on Alex's ankles, letting the chains drop limply to the bed as he folded his legs. His ankles weren't quiet as red as his wrists, but that was mostly because he hadn't tugged at the ones around his ankles quite as much. Hearing the door shut and the unforgiving click of the lock made him stiffen very slightly. He was now locked in the room with Yassen, by himself.

A frown crossed his lips and he glanced at the blonde man out of the corner of his eye. Yassen was leaning against the wall by the door, arms folded and eyes closed lightly. Alex stared at him for a moment before quietly shifting his position on the bed to let his legs dangle over the side. Then, he shifted his torn shirt from his shoulders and off his body, resting it in a pile beside the pillow; irritation evident. That had been one of his favourite shirts.

Now, though, wasn't the time to be thinking about that. He had to figure out a way to distract Yassen enough that he could sneak the keys away from him, and hopefully chain the male to the bed and get out of here to tell MI6 that he was safe. Not that they'd care, he doubted, sighing. But it was still the principle of the thing. Then he could go back to being on this vacation with Sabina, and try to act like a normal teenager, rather then this spy persona that he seemed to keep slipping into.

The only question was: How was he going to get out of here?

Well, my writer's block seems to have more or less banished, but I don't want to jinx myself. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter. I meant to make it longer, but my fingers are starting to get cramped from typing so much. I'll try to have the next chapter out as soon as I can manage. No promises on the timeline.