Author's Note: Slightly grim death scene. Every Alex Rider fic needs one, *grin*

Carefully, as to avoid any further injury to his already bruised scalp, Alex rolled his head away from where he had been watching Wolf glare at the GPS mounted on the dashboard. It was pathetic, and unbelievably irritating-but, he would remain the collected one. Yes, he would not break down in sight of his moronic stubborness.

"In one point five miles, turn left," the monotone voice said, and once again, Wolf snorted in disgust.

"I don't think so," he muttered.

They drove past the turn a few moments later, and the GPS re-calculated their route.

"You have missed your turn. In half a mile, make a U-Turn."

Wolf slapped his hand against the steering wheel, "How do you make that damn thing shut up?"

Alex raised his eyebrows, and let a few words slip out gritted teeth. "You could just do what it says. You've never even been to this place, we're going to wind up in Exeter calling Mrs. Jones for directions!"

"Maybe I want to visit Exeter!" Wolf offered up smartly, and cast a moody glance over at Alex.

Alex imagined the conversation that was undoubtedly about to occur. 'Hey Missus J, we're about ten hours away from our destination-I know that seems impossible because we started out only 4 and a half hours away…oh, and we're lost, and we'd just love for you to come and pick us up! So, yeahhh.'

They'd been given a brand new Ford Focus hatchback to do with what they pleased. It was not as manly as Alex would have liked, but anyway, it was unlikely they'd use it at all after the reassurances that the house's cupboards were fully stocked. It was best to stay as close to the safe house as possible.

The sunlight bounced of the dark blue paint job as they rolled down the sparsely populated highway, wildflowers sprouted up in various spot, long grass bent in the wind as the car drove by. Every mile seemed to take them farther from modern society.

As much as Alex loathed the idea of being locked away with Wolf in some unknown location…he had to admit, MI6 did have a good reason. At least they were finally making an effort to keep him safe, instead of just sending him into another, 'less tedious' mission. Not once had the missions, in which he would play a large part, worked out.

He could not help but feel wary about this, he was under Wolf's care after all. The injuries he suffered made him very dependable on the man, and though Alex hated it, he was grateful to have someone to help him…but still, couldn't it have been someone he knew better?

After Alex had resigned himself to his fate, Reed had provided him with a detailed description of his would-be murderer. Lesat had a dark history of assassinations, none of which could be directly linked to him due to his creative methods. The few that had ever seen him kill in cold blood had not lived very long to tell anyone else.

Considering his talent in assassination, that seemed to rival even Yassen Gregorovich, Alex wondered how hiding him away would help. It seemed that if Lesat really wanted him dead, a couple hundred miles would not hinder his pursuit.

"In two miles, turn right."

"You moron," Alex added in an almost perfect impersonation. What could he say, he hadn't had practice in gentle reproofs. In response, Wolf's hands clenched around the steering wheel.

If Alex hadn't had his arm in a cast already, Wolf would most likely have punched him.

When they reached the turn, Alex was shocked into silence when Wolf took the advice and turned onto the small street. Perhaps the GPS was in the same shell-shocked position, because it took a few minutes to pipe up with new directions.

"In six point seven miles, turn right."

Though Alex had not grinned, smirked, or shown any sign that he had even noticed Wolf's sudden obedience, the other man grudgingly spoke.

"I knew how to get to the general area the safe house was in…but that's about all."

Alex nodded amicably, a grin fighting him the entire time.

He hoped that the few weeks he had to spend with Wolf would pass quickly. He had not even been given the chance to say farewell to Jack in person, since she'd been sent off to the Bahama's, of all places. However, he had written her a quick note reassuring her of his healthy condition (though that could be held in doubt), and had left the note with Mrs. Jones.

His health would certainly be held in doubt if Jack learnt what he had been through the last few days, and whom his new protector currently was. She knew a bit about Brecon Beacons, but in an attempt to keep Jack as worry free as possible, he'd held back from mentioning all the cruel tricks that had been played on him.

However, the cruelty of K Unit did not come close in comparison to the recent mistreatment he had suffered…but, that was better not thought about until later. He didn't trust himself to start thinking of such things now, the pain medication was wearing off a bit even now.

Anyway, it was over with. He had escaped that place, and escaped it with ease. The easy escape had surprised him, but he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

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For the fourth time in the last six days, Mr. Romney jumped at the buzzing sound of a bee that he was unable to sight. Ever since that horrible mistake he'd made last Saturday, he had not been able to think clearly.

Once again, he cursed that Rider kid. If only he'd been stumbling along a little bit slower…

Romney had been given the job of shooting the Rider kid once he made it to the edge of the woods. It was supposed to stand as a sign for all the MI6 agents waiting lazily just out of sight. A sign telling them that they were irrepressible and dangerous. How shooting Rider and waving a banner that read "Serious Threat" would positively affect the group, Romney had been working for, he could not say.

The pay cut he and many others in the Riley Law Firm had suffered had driven him towards the group, and if using his impressive shooting skills on an unsuspecting teen meant keeping everything he had worked so hard for in this life; then, he would damn well do it.

That had all changed once bees came into the picture. Romney was a victim of anaphylaxis, a severe type I hypersensitive allergic reaction found in both humans and other mammals. It was not deadly as long as an auto injector (a dosage of epinephrine) was soon inserted into his bloodstream. But, out in the middle of the English countryside, with no hospital for miles, his fate was looking rather grim.

So, when his perfect aim at Rider's chest was interrupted by a familiar but dreaded buzzing in his left ear, well, Romney's reaction was far from graceful.

By the time he righted himself, and had stopped shaking enough to re-aim his rifle-Rider was gone.

Terrified, Romney waited as long as he could before making the long trek back to the main building. He had pondered making a run for it. After all, if these people would hire him to shoot a teenager, what would stop them from immediately killing him in sight of his clumsy mistake.

Luckily for him, it did not come to this. After he relayed what had happened to the man that had given him the orders to shoot Rider, Romney had been given a nod of understanding, and a muttered, "That is unfortunate."

Those words had frightened him at first, but he'd been handed half of the cash he'd been promised, and considering himself a blessed man, Romney had fled.

Now, several days later, he was back in London. He pulled his buzzing phone out of the front pocket of his large raincoat. He would have to get a ring tone, perhaps some reggae or techno tune, anything was better than the vibrating that sounded so much like his most feared flying inset.

"Hello?" he answered as he turned the street corner.

There was a click on the end and Romney frowned and placed his phone back in his pocket.

"Bloody people," he muttered, and was promptly knocked in the shoulder by another pedestrian on the bustling sidewalk.

"Bloody, buggering Hell, watch it you bastard!" Romney shouted in a spluttering fashion after the hood wearing man that promptly shot him a bird as he strutted away.

Thoroughly flustered now, Romney shoved his way into the building he'd been working at for the past thirteen years.

"Good morning, Mr. Roomly!" He glared at the chipper receptionist who was painting her nails a vile green color while talking on the phone to someone he'd bet his last pound on was not a customer. It aggravated him that she did not know his name, given, she'd only been working there for a couple of months…but he got the feeling she mispronounced it on purpose.

Up in his tiny, secluded office, Romney collapsed in his chair and rubbed at his forehead. From outside, the sound of traffic was almost overbearing. Breaks squealing, horns blowing and angry yells added to his tension of being at work after spending all weekend working as well. If you could call trying to shoot someone working. The last thing he wanted to do today was mess with someone else's problems.

He eyed the stacks of paper on his desk. Tons of cases waiting to be read, he had many calls from angry clientele wondering why they were not divorced yet, or why their neighbors had not been informed that they were going to be sued…

There was a knock at the door.

"Mr. Roomly, there's a package for you! It's quite lovely, such pretty wrapping!"

That was surprising, but Romney expectantly opened the door and accepted the large square box.

"Wow, It's heavy," he muttered, and the receptionist smiled.

"You're lucky, I never get such nice things delivered to me at work," she pouted. "I mean, I got a jolly pressie from an old beau-but then, a week later, he sent yellow roses. Yellow! I told him just a few months earlier, made it bloody obvious, I thought, that yellow is a color of roses best reserved for a grandmother and the like, but-"

"Yes. Thank you-whatever your name is." Romney shut the door slowly, enjoying the look of utter astonishment that the reception's face currently held.

From the other side of the door, he heard her "Humph!" in the light of his rude abasement and flounce away leaving him staring down at the brightly wrapped package.

Absent-mindedly, he pulled the little thank-you note off the package and began unwrapping it after glancing at the words written inside the note. It read, For your aid in our difficult situation, thank you.

Curiouser and curiouser, Romney thought with a grin as he eagerly pulled off the abundant wrappings. The only beneficiary he could think of that would give him a gift, was a thankful client…but who had he recently helped?

If he had looked closer, he might have noticed the tiny holes that let oxygen into the box. He also might have heard the low murmur that came from within, which sounded like a subdued crowd of people.

He didn't notice, so caught up in his own greediness as he was. Therefore, it was quite a surprise when he pulled off the top of the box and found it filled to the brim with dazed bees.

They'd been put into a sleepy state with gas, but as the lid was removed and more oxygen got to them, they began to awake.

As Romney gasped, and slapped the box away from himself out of reflex, he realized just whom this gift was from.

The momentum of his hurried shove sent the box flying off the table. It landed a mere few feet from where Romney had pressed himself, speechless with dread, against the wall.

Slowly the bees awoke. They crawled out from their box and started to buzz with anger at the mistreatment they had suffered. There were so many that it became difficult to determine one from the other until they took flight and each individual was separate and distinct.

For a moment, Romney forgot how to yell. His throat seemed to be closed up from terrible fear, the horrible sight in front of him more like a nightmare that real life. His mouth open, but no sound emerged. He was left gaping, and slowly the bees were becoming angrier, an gas that had been sprayed on them was wearing off.

With a shaking hand, Romney reached into his coat pocket for his phone. His fingers found nothing but air, and urgently he dug in the other pocket and again was left bereft.

"He-help-help!"

The boos took flight and focused their immense anger on the only living target in the room. Romney flung his arms out in either direction, desperately swinging as they closed in on him. That terrible buzzing rang in his ears, mixing with his yells and groans of terror.

"Someone help! Please!" Romney jerked as the first sting landed on his arm. Just one was extremely harmful, and as three more bees stung him in various places, he realized that he would not survive this.

"Roomly? What-what's going on in there?" The door knob wiggled, but no one entered.

"Help, damn it!" The poison had caused his mouth to go terribly dry, his tongue felt too large in his mouth and with every cry for help, his voice grew weaker.

From beyond the door, more co-workers were quickly becoming aware that something wasn't all well in Riley's Law Firm. A loud conversation began outside the door, but Romney only caught parts of it as his vision started to blur and sounds became vague.

The multiple stings caused pain all over his body, the suffering now becoming one massive haze.

"-I don't know-he's screaming, and the door's locked. Help me break it down already!" The door vibrated with the force of someone's shoulder against it.

His voice was now slurred as he called for help one final time, "Help…I didn't know…I'm…sorry."

Legs going weak, Romney slid down the wall, his head lolling to one side as three words echoed in his mind. His eyes closed against his will and his body stopped jerking, and a calm, familiar voice seemed to whisper to him, "That is unfortunate."

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"You have arrived at your destination."

Alex sat straight up from where he had been dozing off. MI6 certainly was serious about putting him far away from danger as was possible. This was a sight Alex didn't often see, fields of different crops, horses and the odd cow…he sincerely hoped their place of refuge would not turn out to be a barn.

"Where the hell is the house?" Wolf muttered as they drove up the dirt drive, rocks grinding under the tires.

"Perhaps they mean for us to camp under a tree," Alex offered, rubbing grit out of his eyes and pretending he did not notice Wolf's glare.

"I didn't drive this far to live under a tree for who knows how long."

As it turned out, they had no need to worry. The house came into sight within a few minutes, in which Alex took in the cozy scenery.

It was a Tudor style house with a steeply pitched roof, and as Alex looked closer, he saw the small window panes and large chimney.

"Wow."

Wolf drove up the drive the last few meters, and they both stared up at the house. The surprise that they both felt to find that the house in the woods they had been searching for, was indeed a real, live, genuine house, could be clearly seen.

"Why didn't you get kidnapped a lot sooner, Rider?"

Alex ignored the other man, and opened the door all prepared to go investigate his new surroundings.

"Uh uh."

Gritting his teeth at those two warning syllables, and trying to ignore the sudden pounding in is bruised head. Alex turned and reached in the backseat to grasp at the crutches the doctors had doomed him with. The leather squeaked with protest under him at his weird position as Alex started yanking on the crutches.

It was hard to get them out with only one hand, and he struggled with it until Wolf slowly came around to the back door, and pulled them out himself.

"Thanks," Alex said grudgingly as Wolf helped him with the crutches. "I don't see the use in this one," he muttered, gesturing to the other crutch that he could not use anyway due to his arm.

Wolf shrugged and then put the useless crutch back into the car. Then, he braced Alex and helped him up the path that led to the front door.

Though the grass needed a good trimming, the bushes and surrounding landscape looked well treated. The front door had a fresh coat of dark blue plate, and Alex carefully balanced on the patio as Wolf dug around in his pocket for the key.

The flowers looked freshly planted, vibrant colors that seemed to mock his less than chipper mood.

The door swung open a moment later. A burst of sweet-smelling cool air rushed out, and Wolf raised an eyebrow and turned to help Alex past the threshold. It was then that a feminine scream rang out, and as Wolf spun around, he knocked into Alex's uninjured arm, causing him to lose his balance and fall.

From his new place among the bushes and flowers, Alex looked up with a frown of pain marring his face to see just who Wolf had pulled his gun on. All the while he was thinking, that if this was what the rest of his stay would be like, Alex was quite prepared to limp away now.

Author's Note: Hi! See? I didn't abandon it, no, this story is no where near finished! Thanks for all those wonderful people that continued to review, even after a year! Wow, you guys are awesome. I'm so glad you like the idea so far, there is a lot more ahead. This chapter is just to let you know what's happening, they're settling into the safe house, and the man that was supposed to kill Alex failed and paid for it. So, of course, Lesat will be showing up in a future chapter. Was my death scene good? *Grin* My brother's thought it was lame...but they still play with Legos and make sound effects, so ha! I'd love to hear what you think will, should, or must happen! I've graduated, O_O And I'm starting two summer internships on Monday, wish me luck! Please review! :)