Dear readers, I return! And look, I update on a Wednesday, as promised. Aren't I good?
Sadly, having divided this fic up into chapters, I've worked out that each chapter is unlikely to be much more than 5 pages long each. Yeah, it doesn't make for very long chapters, but they'll come nice and regular-like, so please don't be annoyed by the shorter-than-normal chapters. I could update far quicker if I didn't want each chapter of each story to be something substantial; if they were too short, I know I'd fall into the trap of making each one seem like a filler... I'm like that.
It plays havoc with my Lent resolution to make each chapter at least 15 pages, though. Oh, yeah. And giving up butter. Anyone else want to share THEIR Lent resolution? grin
Oh, and, go review xaritomene's story, yeah? It's getting lonely. (Thank you. I sound like a pariah - xari)
We have to stop meeting like this. Updating on the same computer... it's so sordid. :D (No less sordid than playing football with Mr. Woodlouse, and getting covered in mud. - xari)
True. But covering HIM in mud is fun...
Right. Sorry for that.
So, please read and review this story, I hope you're enjoying it! Thanks for the OVERWHELMING amount of support for you, you are all lovely and amazing people - and thanks, as always, to Von, who puts up with all my niggling doubts, and gives me the occasional slap when I really need it. Thanks, sweetie!
DISCLAIMER: Yep, it's not mine. Dammit.
Wolf tried to put the visit out of his head – he hadn't exactly covered himself in glory, after all – but he found that he couldn't. The image of Cub, who had been so quiet and calm, and together, as the fucked up, angry teenager he'd just seen, wouldn't leave him alone.
He had no idea what could possibly have caused it, the kid's almost-total breakdown; a breakdown which had caused him to attempt suicide. He had some ideas – or rather, he had one idea, that the kid could have just gone through a really bad mission – but it was hardly a very substantial theory, or even that plausible. MI6 would give the kid support and counselling if he'd had an appalling assignment, so that wasn't likely, and Cub didn't strike him as being the sort to try and top himself over a bad argument with his guardian, or his girlfriend, or whoever.
What was worse than not knowing what caused it, though, was not knowing what to do about it.
Finally, about three days later, he called Snake over to his flat, to ask his advice.
"Wolf." His team mate said, calmly, sat at the table in Wolf's kitchen. "What's wrong?"
Wolf hovered, rather awkwardly, by his fridge. "Why would something be wrong?" he paused. "Are you sure you don't want a coffee, or something?"
"See? That's what's wrong." Snake offered him a quick grin. "That's the fourth time you've offered me a drink. You're buzzing around like a blue arsed fly, so sit down and tell me what the hell is wrong with you."
Finally, reluctantly, Wolf sat down, and said, slowly, staring at the table rather than make eye contact with his team mate, "You remember Cub?"
Snake smiled a little. "'Course I remember Cub. Why?"
"Got a note from him, the other day." He stood, and fetched it from the place it left it, in the hall, then handed it to the other man. "It was waiting for me when we got back, from Mexico."
Snake read the note through, and then, as Wolf had down, read it through again, face going rather white. After about five minutes, he put it down on the table, smoothing it over a little absently, and said in a not-totally-steady voice, "So – he's, er…" he cleared his throat. "The kid's dead, then?"
Wolf shook his head quickly, and Snake sighed in relief. "No. Not for want of trying, though, I've gotta say." He shrugged. "He's in hospital." He paused again, searching for the words. "He – there's…" he stopped, and thought again. "There's something wrong, Dave." He said, finally, slowly.
"You think? The kid tried to off himself aged sixteen, I'd say that's a pretty good indication that there's something wrong!"
"Yeah, I know, but…" he clenched his hands, frustrated that he couldn't find the right words. "I know there's something wrong, but – it's not something normal, it's not just problems with his parents, or his guardian, or his girlfriend – hell, as far as I can tell, it's not even just problems with MI6, a bad assignment, or something! It's like…" he sighed. "I went to see him, OK? Y'know, to see whether he was actually dead, whether I had to organise his funeral or not. But – he wasn't, and I talked to him, right? And he was just – empty."
Snake frowned. "You think I should talk to him?"
Wolf looked at him, gratefully. "Might be a good idea." He grinned, rather reluctantly. "God knows you're better at this than I am…"
"Wolf, I think a four year old has more tact than you sometimes." Snake said, with a grin that didn't quite work properly, standing up.
"Where are you going?"
"St. Thomas's." He said, rather surprised.
"You're going to talk to him now?!" Wolf said, shocked.
"Well, no time like the present, right? So – are you coming, or not?"
Snake knocked, carefully, and waited until he saw the kid sit up through glass panel, before he went in.
"Cub." He greeted him, quietly.
The kid lay back again, and turned away. "Another one of you." He shook his head. "One day, if I'm lucky, maybe I'll collect 'em all." There was a bitterness to his tone that Snake had never heard in such a young voice.
He forced himself to laugh at the shitty joke, though. "Yeah, maybe." A pause. "So…" he said, awkwardly, "Um…how're you feeling?"
Cub didn't bother to turn and look at him. "Oh, just peachy." He replied, sarcastically.
"What actually happened to you?" he asked, taking the chair by the bed, and waiting patiently for the kid to answer.
Cub shifted to look at him. "Didn't Wolf tell you?" he asked, bitterly. "I stepped out in front of a car. Was hoping to score a bit better than just some bruises and a broken arm, but I guess none of us are perfect, and it turns out that dying just isn't one of my talents."
"In a job like ours, that's a good thing, Cub." Snake pointed out.
The kid paused for a second, but Snake paid it no mind, and then Cub nodded slowly, and said, "Yeah. I just…" he shrugged, and Snake didn't think to pay an attention to the boy's slightly wary expression. "It got too much, you know?"
Snake gave him a quick smile. "Yeah. I think we all know that feeling." He didn't catch the kid's slightly sardonic smile. "But – why didn't you talk to your guardian?"
Alex shrugged a little. "She's not… she, er…" He paused, and gave Snake a fleeting glance under his lashes, before correcting himself, casually. "She's just – busy."
"Too busy to come and visit you?" Snake asked, quietly. "Wolf said on the way over that no one else had visited you before he arrived."
Cub frowned a little, but Snake put it down to his not having had any visitors. "Yeah." He agreed. "She's not family, though…"
"But – she's your legal guardian. Doesn't matter if she's family or not." Snake frowned.
"She's not my legal guardian." The kid said, meeting his eyes squarely, expression open. "MI6 is; she just looks after me for them. You know, the day-to-day things."
"Oh." Snake nodded, a little taken aback. "Right. I see. Um… She isn't…OK." He paused. "Couldn't MI6 swing it so that you could see her?"
"Obviously not." Cub shrugged, and if his voice was bitter, Snake didn't know the reason. There was a brief pause, then the kid added, tiredly. "They're busy too, y'know? Too busy to deal with my little issues." He looked Snake firmly in the eye. "I'll live." Snake didn't pay any attention to the ironical little catch in the kid's voice.
"You could ask Wolf if he'd bring…"
"No." Cub said, flatly. "I'm not asking anything of Wolf."
"He's not such a bad guy, Cub." Snake tried, but he got the feeling he was wasting his breath.
"I'm sure he's not, with you." The kid replied, and that was it. Snake did think of trying to continue the conversation, but decided that enough was enough for the moment. He stood, and looked down at the boy.
"I'll come back, OK?" he said, with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "Tomorrow, maybe. We could catch up."
"Yeah, sure, Snake." Cub said, and this time, the man couldn't help but notice the sarcasm in his tone. "We could 'catch up'."
For a second, Snake hesitated – then he nodded. "Yeah. See you, Cub."
Cub didn't reply.
The moment Snake had gone, Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince, and hobbled over to the chair where the hospital had left his clothes. He only had the things he'd been wearing the day he'd stepped out in front of a car, but they hadn't been badly damaged – only bloodstained. The hospital had had them cleaned, and returned to him. Now, he slipped them on, wincing as he pulled bruised muscles, or put pressure on fractured and broken bones. Once he was fully clothed, his sling firmly in place and the pain medication he'd been issued the day before in his pocket, he headed out the door, walking as confidently as he could, considering his injuries, towards the records centre. He needed to hack in to their system, update his records so that it looked like he'd been discharged – and then he could go home.
And try and find himself a job, he remembered, a heavy stone of dread settling into his stomach. This hadn't changed anything; he was still a sixteen year old dropout with no prospects, and no one to turn to.
There had been several times, over the past few days, when he wished, more than anything, that he had succeeded in killing himself. Now was definitely one of them.
He walked with as much false confidence as he could muster, knowing from experience that if he looked like he knew what he was doing, no one would try to stop him. He hung around outside the records centre for a few moments, until someone left, and then slipped in, updating his own records as quickly as he could. He was surprised to find that they had Wolf's address on file for him; but he deleted it and replaced it with a totally random one. Though it was tempting to leave it and let Wolf deal with all the uncomfortable questions which would be asked, if they tried to contact Wolf, too many questions would be asked by people he didn't want asking them. It just wasn't worth it.
Records updated and sufficiently changed, Alex headed out. He didn't have the money for a taxi, nor enough money to put credit on his Oyster card so he could take the Tube; and it felt like an even longer walk than it was to get back home. Once he was in the townhouse, he collapsed on to one of the sofas, and flirted with the idea of heading upstairs… and then discarded it as too dangerous. Still prone to dizziness – he'd hit his head first on the windscreen of the taxi, and then on the tarmac as he rolled off, and had given himself an impressive concussion – and off-balance due to his broken arms and ribs, tackling stairs was not a good idea right now.
Alex woke up a few hours later with the now-customary splitting headache, and a crick in his neck. Everything ached, and he stumbled to the kitchen, thinking of maybe making himself a cup of coffee, or tea, or something like that.
The cupboards were empty of everything except random things like tinned asparagus and root ginger – things which every house had, and no one seemed to eat. The milk in the fridge was several days out of date, and Alex was down to his last few teabags. And he still had a few days until the fifty pounds from MI6 came in.
Sighing, Alex put the kettle on, and pulled the nearly-empty jar of coffee out of its cupboard, resigning himself to black coffee for the moment.
Back in the sitting room, he started planning.
Hopefully, he wouldn't need to worry about house bills – MI6 would still be paying them, if he was lucky. Though, if he was going to be honest, he was more than a little surprised that the house hadn't been being watched by an agent, who could then report back to MI6.
He smiled, rather grimly, at that. There probably had been; but he was willing to bet on the reason why he hadn't already received a phone call from them. He'd been limping pretty badly when he got back here – his clothes were dishevelled, his arm in a sling. As he was at the moment, he was no use to MI6 at all, and if they picked him up again, they'd have to help him out with things like PT, and painkillers. It was far easier for them just to sit back and wait until he was healthy again – "fully operational" – and then use him.
He wouldn't be getting a phone call from them for a while. So, for the moment, he had a job to find, so he could afford to eat.
After maybe a quarter of an hour of wrestling with the problem, he leant back onto the slightly-dusty sofa with a sigh, and took a sip of the still-slightly-too-hot coffee.
Life was still looking amazingly bleak.
And there you have it. Enjoy? Do tell.
lol,
-ami xxx