(pouts)

(ominous lip trembling)

(weeps)

Today is a BAD day. I was at Accident and Emergency this morning because I've fd up my foot, which is charming, and my coursework situation is no better, nor is my Grade 8 piano piece, nor is my LAMDA stuff, and I have become a chronic insomniac due to the enormous amounts of caffeine I've been drinking. If you could take coffee intravenously, I tell you, I would.

Anyway - this chapter is short. Way short. Shorter than it was supposed to be, because the evil EVIL computer I'm updating on - not my own, lovely, shiny workable computer - refuses to recognise the word document on the CD I put it on, and decided to cut it all. Since there is no way I'll be able to update tomorrow, and I didn't think it was fair to make you wait till Thursday again, here you are. Have an update.

Sadly, there is no Alex in this one. There was, but he was the bit that got - for want of a better word - chopped. I promise he'll return next week.

So, yes, the pace of the story is slowing down, but then it was never going to be a very fast-paced story anyway, due to the nature of the plotline. It's more - introspective. :D

Thanks go out to the person who noticed that if John Rider had received a dishonourable discharge 10 or 12 years ago, he would have been dead for four years by the time he was discharged from the Armed Forces ((blush)) - I've fixed that little error. And also thanks to the person who wanted an Alex Rider/Chalet School crossover - you have got your wish. It's a one shot I'll be posting in a coupla days.

The rest of you? Be afraid. Be very, very afraid.

Thanks as always to all of my lovely reviewers, and special thanks to Von for her support, sarcasm and... something else beginning with an 's', and also to xaritomene, who's the reason my foot is screwed up. Yeah, thanks, that reviewer who told her to kick me while I was down. You know who you are.

Well, no, it wasn't really her. It was a particularly evil table in my school dining room. But, yeah. xari kicks good.

DISCLAIMER: Due to unforeseen financial cutbacks on the part of the author, this disclaimer has been cu-

Despite K-Unit's best efforts, they found no records of Alex Rider in the MI6 records – not that they had expected to. If there were any, it was highly unlikely that they were going to be easily accessible, given that MI6 had gone so far as to erase all traces of Alex Rider ever existing outside their own organisation.

Wolf had taken the case to their superiors, and had been surprised at the level of cooperation he got. There was even – shockingly – a degree of sympathy on the stiff, somewhat cold faces of the older men, and Wolf had left feeling almost hopeful. Almost.

However, they heard very little for the next several weeks. None of them had expected that they would be given regular updates on the status of the enquiry, but it was difficult, nonetheless, to sit around and wait for news. So when Wolf was called into Headquarters, at Credenhill, he went with a degree of relief; possibly, finally, they were going to get an update on Cub's situation.

He was met by a corporal and taken to a waiting room, where he sat – with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn't a great deal – for about half an hour, trying not to fidget too much. He hadn't felt this nervous – or at least, he hadn't felt this kind of nerves – for a long, long time.

Finally, he was called in to a meeting room, where he was met by three surprisingly senior members of the SAS, who looked at him, rather gravely.

Wolf frowned a little. He had expected there to be some interest, certainly – at least, he had certainly hoped that there would be some interest; even if he had fucked up with the kid, didn't mean that Cub should be dealing with it all by himself, and if he could get some support from the SAS for this, so much the better – but he hadn't expected that the very senior members of the corps were going to get interested.

"Lieutenant." One of them nodded, and Wolf paused for a little, unused to ceremonial occasions, and far from sure whether he should salute or not.

Deciding to err on the side of formality, he saluted, and the most senior gestured him into the room. A chair had been set up for him, in front of the rough semi-circle his superiors had formed with their own chairs, almost as though he was at some kind of informal hearing; he supposed, in a way, he was.

"Since you are the one who reported it to us," one of them, whom Wolf vaguely recognised from the ceremony when they'd officially joined the SAS, and who, from his braid, was the most senior, said, dryly, "We were hoping you could give us a little more intelligence on the Rider situation."

Wolf shifted, rather uncomfortably, in his seat. "What kind of intelligence, sir?"

"Rider sent his suicide note to you, am I right?"

He nodded. "Sir."

"But he hasn't attempted to contact you since?"

"No, sir – not since he left the hospital."

"And you haven't seen him at all? Haven't been able to trace him?"

"No, sir."

"Have you talked to the hospital? What's their stance?"

"Have they tried to contact Rider at all? Do you know if they've had any success?"

"Rider hacked into their system." Wolf said, faintly apologetic. "As far as I can make out, he altered his records to make it look as though he was discharged and fully healthy, and his contact details were fake."

"So we'll get no help from them."

"No, sir, I don't think so." He paused, then said, cautiously, "How helpful are MI6 being, sir?"

The man doing most of the questioning gave him a sharp look, followed by a dry little smile. "'Helpful' is not a word I would use to describe MI6 at the best of times, Lieutenant, and this is far from being the best of times."

"So – we have no intelligence on Rider at all?"

"Very little." The man admitted. "What records MI6 have given us are at best vague and at worst downright misleading. We were hoping you could help us there. What do you know of this – boy's," he looked disapproving, "Operational status?"

"He's – frankly, he's excellent, sir. My unit and I were deployed to a situation on the Franco-Swiss border, near Geneva, nearly three years ago now, where Rider had been stationed. I was reluctant to take him back into the situation – Rider had been stationed there for three weeks beforehand, totally isolated, and I wasn't sure of his mental situation, let alone his physical ability to keep up – but his focus was total, sir. As far as his – job – is concerned… I can see why MI6 are so desperate to keep hold of him. Whatever his mental strength is, he keeps any weaknesses firmly off mission."

"An admirable trait, but obviously not, in this case, a healthy one." Another man said, dryly. "MI6 may have discovered a gem in this child, but they're fast running him into the ground, that much is obvious." The man paused. "And – when he was training with you, what was he like?"

"He did all of the exercises without complaining." Wolf said, a little ashamedly. "Quiet – stoic – not one to complain, I think, sir. But – his experiences while training might explain why he's so reluctant to come to us for help now. We weren't exactly – friendly."

Their non-reaction to that little revelation told Wolf that it came as no surprise to them – that they had somehow already known it.

"Yes, your observations are much the same as the training sergeant." One of the men nodded. "Both in regards to Rider's unexpected rate of adaptation and tolerance, but also in regards to the total failure of any attempt to integrate him into K-Unit proper."

Wolf shifted a little in his seat. "Yes, sir. Integration was – a problem."

"So we can be fairly certain that the boy isn't going to attempt to contact you for help." One man said, the faint hint of a question in his tone.

Wolf thought of the hurt, damaged boy in the hospital bed and swallowed. "All due respect, sir, but it took a suicide attempt to make him contact us for the first time in two years, and it didn't go well. I doubt he's going to try again."

He got back to his flat late that night, and found Snake waiting for him.

"Matt and Neal were here, but we thought there was no point us all waiting." He said, by way of greeting. He paused, for just a second, before saying, a little hesitantly, "So – how'd it go?"

"Fine." Wolf said, shortly.

"What're they doing to help Cub, then?" Snake asked, half-eager, half-worried.

Wolf flicked the kettle on, and leant against the counter with a slight frown on his face. "At the moment, nothing."

Snake's expression was frankly shocked. "But- I thought… I thought they were sympathetic? I thought they were going to help?"

"Oh, they are. But MI6 very much aren't."

"They're being obstructive?"

"Super-obstructive, from what the superiors said. MI6 won't give them any records, on Cub, and what they have got is next to no use, even if it is true, which apparently they doubt."

Snake frowned, and hesitated again. "Look, James, I'm not trying to be depressing or anything, but – that kid we saw at St. Thomas's… he was fucked up. You must have seen that, right? And…"

"I wouldn't say he was 'fucked up'." Wolf interrupted, a little harshly. "You make it sound like there's no hope for him."

"James, what if there isn't, though?" the other man asked, with surprising gentleness. "I mean, he was screwed up; what's to stop him trying again? Cub's disappeared completely, and there's nothing to say that he hasn't killed himself, a nd just not told anyone. Maybe that's why MI6 is being so obstructive, you know? Maybe they know something we don't. Maybe Cub's already-"

"He's not." Wolf said, brusquely.

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't. But – Dave, MI6… if they wanted to cover up the face that this kid was dead, they could have do a much better job of it than they're doing, even to us. And I don't think Cub would do something like this again, not like that. Not unplanned."

"Suicide is unplanned…"

"Dave, he sent me his suicide note, for god's sake!" Wolf snapped, voice harsh. "What part of that isn't planned!? He made sure that the ID he had on him gave them his name and nothing else, and he planned it so that he knew which hospital he'd end up at. Does that sound unplanned to you?" he shook his head, calming down a little. "Cub might not have got anything else from MI6, but someone's taught him how to plan stuff." He paused, before saying, firmly, and not a little coldly, "I won't believe that kid is dead until I see some solid proof of it."

And there you have it. Sorry it's not longer, but you'll get an extra long'un next week. Please tell me how you liked it - it's been a bad day, some reviews would cheer me up! (blatant hinting)

-amitai