A/N:

Hi! Okay, it's been an entire week of school and I am surprisingly not deceased. This is good. Woo!

As you'll read, I've made K Unit a little younger in this fic, the relative ages are:

Wolf - 27

Ben - 26

Snake - 26

Eagle - 25

Hopefully, this makes it seem like their actions towards Alex in Brecon Beacons were partly out of immaturity, as they all would've been around college-age, in this fic verse anyways. And yes, they do have names, which will be revealed in chapters to come. :)

And, *please* review! I love hearing what you guys think and it really helps me structure chapters so that they appeal to what you guys want to read.

Thanks!

Five Days Later

Alex was going to tear his hair out. He was sure of it.

Day three of moving studios had, so far, seen Eagle drop an entire box of Requiem scores by various composers (Alex still had to sort them back into each individual composition), Wolf try to lift a cabinet full of replacement strings, pegs, and chin rests (Alex would have murdered him except that stuff was mostly for orchestra season, which was on hiatus), and Snake being called in to administer a tetanus shot after Ben caught the skin on his left palm in the rusty junction on one of Alex's older music stands, which left a nasty cut that could become infected (Alex . . .well, he had no thoughts on that one).

And it was only 9:32 a.m.

"Eagle - I know this is only the second time you've ever been in here, but the door is that way." Alex pointed to the door behind him as Eagle staggered over with a massive crate composed of various music books and half-finished composition scores.

"Cub, you might try helping while we haul your junk around," Wolf called from the other side of the studio.

"I am helping!" Alex shot back. "I'm directing you absolutely incompetent movers - God, never form a moving company unless it's for trash-"

Tom laughed, ducking his head when Alex glared. It was nice of Tom to offer his help on the days when he didn't have classes, so Alex promptly put him and Danielle to work sorting a miscellaneous pile of sheet music by composer and era, even though Tom, who had about as much musical ability as a turnip, was proving to be relatively hopeless.

"Who's - Chopping?"

"Chopin," Ben replied from where he seemed quite content to set up the various monitors that K Unit brought with them. So far Danielle hadn't asked what they were for, and Alex hoped she wouldn't notice among all the other chaos. "Even I know that."

"Chopin. Polish. Banned during German occupation in World War II," Danielle added and whacked Tom with a copy of the Brahms Requiem. "Chopping? Really?"

Tom shrugged, holding his hands up in defense, and muttered something about '...titchy classical prats', which earned him another whack with the Requiem.

Alex buried his fingers in his hair and tried not to let a colorful burst of language slip past his lips. He felt like his heart was about to explode from stress - his carefully constructed environment was crumbling. It was being taken apart by the same organization who drove him towards it. Just like when he moved - to America, and back.

"Hey, Al." Ben stood and backed away to the monitors, walking over towards Alex. "Can you help me bring up some cords from downstairs?"

"Sure," Alex grudgingly agreed, and Ben had to practically shove him out of the door. Once they were in the hall, Ben turned to Alex.

"Snake looked into it, and discovered that you never did get a post-op psychological evaluation."

Alex blinked, blindsided by a new and terrifying concept of white room, reclining chair, man in a white coat - chains, video screens, a burst of flame like a garish flower erupting from a car.

Ben nodded like Alex's reaction had confirmed something. "Ever had any PT?"

Alex said nothing.

"Should've guessed. Playing helps, right?"

"It's a similar motion to anything I'd do there. Part of why I took it up." Alex picked up a coil of cords out of one of the hulking duffle bags. He slung it over his shoulder. "Did you-"

"Did I what?"

Alex felt rather than saw grey eyes track his movements into the kitchen, and he regretted saying anything. His palms prickled with sweat - why was he nervous? Self-control. You have it. Use it. He flicked the tap on and filled a glass of water, cupping it between his hands and bracing his arms on the counter.

Ben patiently awaited his question.

After a few moments, Alex sighed and, without looking at the older agent, asked, "Did you ever do something to, like, cope?"

"I read a lot. All the time. That's how I met my wife - at a bookstore."

"Oh."

Ben gave him a softer look than the razor-edged ones he'd been shooting at Alex all morning. "It never gets easier. If you find it easier to kill or hold a gun or beat information out of someone - there's something wrong there."

No problem there. "Sorry for what happened the other day."

"You've been yanked around by them."

"Yes."

Alex cleared his throat - this was a suitably awkward conversation that he usually tried to avoid like the plague, but he couldn't shake the fear that Danielle had looked at him with, and he rationed that Ben was just like him, if not worse off, and seemed to be a perfectly decent person. Except at Brecon - okay, let it go. It's been five years. "Well. Just wondered."

Ben shrugged. "For the record, Alex - I never agreed with blackmailing you. Into this," he gestured vaguely to the cords Alex held.

"There's nothing you could've done. They get what they want."

Ben didn't reply, so Alex straightened up, slid his glass in the general direction of the sink, and rewound the cords coiled over his arm. "What are we doing with these?"

"Going to the theater to run some lines through the walls. Cameras and mics at vents and smoke alarms. You'll go in to inspect the venue they've provided, which should take some of the heat off of Wolf and I."

"Ah."

"I'll go get him and we can drive over now."

"What are those for?" Danielle asked, pointing towards the hulking black boxes that the one they called Eagle had wheeled over to where the piano used to be.

Eagle's eyes widened when he saw her. He shared a panicked look with Snake.

Danielle huffed, folding her arms over her chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? I'm not an idiot-"

"Not completely, anyways," Tom helpfully added from where he was counting complete scores of Mozart's works.

"Please shut up."

"Will do."

She carefully watched Eagle for any signs of lying, not that she would call him on it. "We're just setting up for a drill."

"A drill?"

"Yeah. SAS stuff."

Another vague explanation for something exceedingly unusual. Wonderful. Alex had proved to be the master of those, usually just enough to distract her from whatever she'd been asking about, and the rest of his . . . acquaintances. . . seemed to pick up whatever slack there was, happy to lie to her.

Except Tom.

So she hadn't lied to him when he had asked about her injuries.

"Oh," she said, nodding, but silently added that to the list of things that didn't seem right. Or maybe she was just paranoid after August tracked her down.

Tom glared at Snake, but Danielle pretended not to see. Snake gave Tom a helpless shrug, his auburn curls bouncing with the motion, and Eagle also ignored the exchange.

Danielle got to her feet , shuffling a sheaf of papers into a neat pile, and folded her arms over her chest. The gesture was almost subconscious after all these years, but it was for protection in another time when there was always someone to hide from. She thought those years were over, that she was safe now in London, but -

You can't hide from me.

Apparently not.

She should try to forget that it - any of it - ever happened.

She should forget that she ever played the violin.

She should forget.

Sharp pain lanced through her lower lip, a reminder not to bite it until the swelling went down.

The SAS men gathered around the clot of electronics, facing away from her. Danielle studied each of them - another nearly subconscious impulse, if not to evaluate them, then just out of curiosity.

Snake sat back on his heels and cupped his chin in his hands. His hair was a mat of tangled curls, his eyes haunted by something that flickered just beyond green-gold coloring. Freckles covered his face and he didn't look as bulky as the other soldiers, but his jaw set in the cautiously relaxed manner of someone who could become a deadly force in seconds.

His earlier actions were definitely less controlled than his companions', and he hadn't bothered to call Danielle out on her face until the incident in the studio.

Despite Eagle's antics, intelligence sharpened his grey eyes, which were currently narrowed in frustration at the junction between a cord and the plug. A coping mechanism, perhaps, disguised as immaturity.

Danielle curled her fingers into the fabric of her sleeves, as if that could do anything to ease the underlying tension that ran through the room like rapids waiting to implode.

Luke was the dangerous one, she realized. What he hadn't confirmed she could see he suspected - that her life held a lot more than the version she gave Alex. He had been the first one to actually press her for answers - and he seemed to be the leader, partially because he definitely seemed stronger than the others but also because his directives came out as poorly disguised orders. As if he was used to running a team in a high-stakes game.

There was something about his dark eyes, manic intensity barely contained in a human body, and - he was staring at her.

She looked out the window, feeling her face flush. He'd caught her.

Someone poked her shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Tom gave her an apologetic look, which she returned with a glare to Please Stop Worrying About Me, and a grin played across his lips.

"It's ten. You have class in half an hour."

"Oh! Thanks," she glanced at her wrist, but remembered she wasn't wearing a watch. "I should probably get going."

"Do you need a ride?"

"I'd rather walk."

He frowned, troubled. "Are you sure you want to?"

"I'll be fine."

"That's what Alex said, and then he was - well, never mind." Tom added the last part rather hastily after Luke shot him a glare that could curdle milk. "I'm driving you. Let's go."

She reluctantly set a sheaf of music down on one of the complex speaker systems that Alex had for outdoor performances and smoothed her shirt down, tucking the hem into her jeans to hide some of the crimson staining there.

"You look like hell," Eagle spoke up. "Just the less bloodied version of last week. I skipped classes all the time, and I didn't look half as bad."

"First of all, that's not true. You looked worse." Snake nudged Eagle with his foot, almost knocking the latter off his precariously balanced position. "And secondly, you never went to university. The classes you skipped were field med, which is why you're not the medic."

Danielle uncurled her arms and gestured aimlessly in their direction, not looking at either of them. "He's right. It's fine, Snake. I'm just going to grab a glass of water, Tom, and then we can leave."

She could tell it was an effort for Tom to avoid following her, but was thankful for the three seconds of time she had alone. After her flat was sacked, she moved in with Clara in her flat considerably closer to the Academy. Since then, Danielle barely had a moment's peace. Between practicing, rehearsing with Alex, composition classes, and online University coursework, Danielle found herself tugged in enough directions to make her head spin. She couldn't believe it had only been five days since she'd gone and panicked on Alex, but he seemed to prefer acting like nothing had happened, aside from the few times she had caught him watching her in a way that was almost protective. Probably to avoid terrifying her in the future, which wouldn't be a problem if she could get a better handle on her reactions. There were two parts of her mind, she reasoned, one for traumatic events and the other for social function, the latter including working with Alex. The two sectors could never collide, not when it was their separation that kept her world right-side up.

She shouldered open Alex's door, which made her sore shoulder ache in protest, and blundered into what was evidently a serious conversation between him and Ben, who stood over an open manila folder. Alex quickly flipped it shut and shoved it underneath a stack of papers and magazines. Ben stepped back and put on a friendly smile that didn't quite match the tension written in the lines on his face.

"Hey, Danielle. I was just coming to get Wolf - er, Luke."

Wolf. That was an appropriate nickname for Luke. "No," she replied. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude - I was going to ask if I could have some water? Tom's about to take me over to the Academy." Her voice rattled on through the secrets that blanketed the air like blackout curtains.

Alex nodded and hurried to grab her a glass, while Ben eased past her, careful not to accidentally brush her arm or shoulder.

"Is it that obvious?" she muttered.

"Yeah - you've favored the left side of your body all week." He grimaced. "Sorry, it's one of the things you're so used to noticing after -"

"I understand." Like the way she evaluated everyone around her. In case they'll hurt me. "How old are you?" She flinched away from the question that burst out of its own accord. "Ah, sorry, you don't have to-"

"Twenty-five."

"Only?"

"Do I look older?" he watched her seriously, but there was a slight teasing lilt to his voice. She shook her head. "No. Not at all. You just act - you're more conscious of things. Than the others."

"We were all pretty young when we joined SAS," he explained. "Luke's the oldest, and he's only a year ahead of me. That's why they stuck us as a unit"

"Wow." She almost asked if he'd ever been in combat, but restrained herself. That was tantamount to what had happened to her, as war tended to break out between two people as easily as two countries. She'd barely made it out alive, and that wasn't certain for much longer. "I ask too many questions - sorry."

"Don't apologize. that's about the limit of what I can tell you, though. anything else-"

"You'd have to kill me afterwards." She grinned wryly at him. "There might be some competition for that."

Glass shattered. Alex stared darkly at the floor in the kitchen, his hand still curled around the phantom vessel.

"I can get it," Danielle offered.

"No," He muttered a reply, scuffing the shards away with his foot. "I'll sweep it up later."

She arched an eyebrow at him but he had already turned away to get her another glass. "Do you even have a broom?"

"Is that blood on your shirt?" he countered as he filled another glass under the tap. She leaned through the half-wall to take it and downed the contents in one swig.

"Technically it's iron stains." she retucked her shirt, which had pulled out of her waistband. Unfortunately, it was the nicest of the three shirts she owned.

Alex appeared to grapple with an idea for a few moments as he silently refilled her glass. Not knowing what to say, she drank another sip.

"Come with me," he said at last, and started down the hall towards his room.

Danielle moved to follow him but glanced back at Ben, who inclined his head in an indication that he would stay. She hated that he knew the thoughts that ran through her mind, haunting all the things that people around her did, but a very tiny part of her was relieved that someone, at least, understood enough.

Instead of going into his room, Alex opened another door that was practically invisible in the windowless space. It concealed a small room filled with a sloppy assortment of boxes, loose papers, and a flimsy desk that creaked under the weight of more boxes.

"What's all this from?"

"My stay in America," Alex said as he flipped on the light. Dust sparkled in the air. He made his way to the back of the cramped room and dug out a heavy box that, unlike the others, lacked any sort of labeling.

"I didn't know you went to America."

"I was supposed to live there. Didn't work out."

"The music part?"

"No." he glanced away, stilling for a heartbeat, before hauling the cardboard box as close to the door as he could. It caught on the carpet, and Danielle finally shook herself out of the stupor-like state her mind had resorted to. She joined him and pried open one of the flaps.

Inside, women's clothes were meticulously folded and stacked. "Honestly, I don't know if this is any help," he said, more to himself than to her. "Sizes, height, whatever - I have no idea. Just - don't go out covered in blood."

His helplessness was, if nothing else, endearing until she saw the glassy film coating his eyes. She sucked in a breath and touched his shoulder. "Alex, you don't have to. I'm fine."

He made a small noise and gripped the sides of the box between his hands, clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, muscles rigid, almost trembling with the strain of holding something back. "It's - it's okay. Please."

She wasn't sure if that was a please leave or please don't ask, but the same determination that made her stay when she walked on him with a gun in hand rooted her feet to the floor. "You loved her."

"The woman in the photograph you found, do you remember that?"

She did.

"Her name was Jack. She," he trailed off, gritting his teeth. "She was my housekeeper. My uncle was gone a lot. She took care of me, like - like a sister."

Danielle wanted to do something to ease the pain etched in every angle of his rigid body, but she didn't know where to start or what to say. My uncle was gone a lot. No mention of any parents, but it was common knowledge that Alex Rider was an orphan, part of his story - that someone without resources or connections made it this far so fast in the music industry.

She knew it was wrong to leave someone alone with cyclones like that living inside their minds - so many times she wanted someone to stay, or to ask one more time whether she was sure she was okay, then she'd have an excuse to confess that no, she was not okay. And - Tom came for her, back on the sidewalk. Alex had gone insane, practically, with - no, not scorn, she realized, guilt.

"I can't take this, then," she tried to fold the flap back beneath the others, but he reached out and grabbed it before she could.

"No, you should. It can't keep lying around in here forever." he sniffed hard and turned away, towards the wall, wiping his eyes. "All her things are here, somewhere. It felt wrong to just . . . throw them out. Her family - didn't want to talk to me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Something had happened and. . .Alex thought it was his fault. That explained a lot. She reached out and touched his arm, internally shying away from contact, but she forced herself to keep her hand on his shoulder until he glanced up at her. "Thank you."

He nodded.

She rummaged through the upper layers in the box, trying not disturb anything more than necessary, and ducked into the bathroom across the hall before he had a chance to say anything else.

She dressed quickly - the jeans were a little tight, the t-shirt too loose, but that would hide her stiff movements - and left her bloodied clothes scrunched into a ball at the bottom of the trash can.

Alex and Ben were gone by the time she went out into the living room, but Tom stood in his stead, jangling his car keys before her eyes. "Now you're officially late."

She huffed out a sigh. "You should've came and got me sooner."

"Actually, I did," he admitted sheepishly. "But I heard you talking and decided to stay away."

"Creeper."

"Says the one who was overtly checking out the SAS squad above our heads."

"Tom!"

"Come on, do you want to miss an entire class of - what was it again?"

"Composition in the modern era."

"Maybe you do want to miss that."

She huffed, snatching the keys from his hand and marching towards the door. "It's interesting."

Tom reached over her shoulder to open the door and was almost run down by a delivery man who levered a rectangular box on top of a rolling cart. The man halted. "Sorry, mate," he said with the distinctive brogue of an Irishman. "Here's the new microwave." A pen and clipboard were thrust into Tom's face. "Sign here."
"Uh - this isn't my flat. The owner's currently away."

"Then you can sign for it. Against company policy to leave merchandise in the hall."

Tom scribbled his signature on the line, ducked out of the way as the cart was rolled in, and practically shoved Danielle out the door. He glanced at the delivery man as the door swung shut, but his face was obscured by a bright red hat.

As he drove through downtown, Tom couldn't shake the dread that he had just made a horrible mistake.

Alex, Ben, and Wolf scattered throughout the Palace Theater; Wolf to the east wing, Ben to the west, and Alex to the stage. It was a lovely venue - superb acoustics and gorgeous, sweeping carvings ingrained into the flying buttresses. All the seats were arranged in arcing rows, better for sightlines to the stage, and audio amplifiers hung so far above that they wouldn't interfere with any vibrations produced from high notes on the violin, which tended to go staticy with poorly arranged speakers.
He stood in the middle of the stage and slowly turned in a circle, eyes fixed on the upper mezzanine and balconies.

As much as the theater was the perfect venue for a concert, it was also an excellent choice for assassination. Much of the upper level of seating was cast in shadow by the domed ceiling, concealing anyone from sight, and with the lack of structure to obstruct the view of the stage, sightlines were nearly perfect. Any amateur with a rifle could hit a target from up there.

But what if they weren't on the upper levels?

Alex faced the empty audience again, his hands on his hips. The doors sat about three feet behind a row of columns that supported the upper mezzanine. There would probably be some amount of security at the doors, but Alex was willing to bet that the bulk of the secure checkpoints would be at the door to the building, not the theater, on the assumption that once someone got past the doors they would go straight to the theater. Perhaps there'd even be some SAS stationed to reaffirm that assumption and direct visitors to the proper doorway.

Alex paced along the curved lip of the stage and found it to be almost fifty feet long. If he faced forwards, he could see everything. But he didn't face forwards; usually, soloists faced to their left, opening their bodies up to the audience so that everyone could see the finger position and vibrato, the proof of their skills.

He reached for one of the heavy ball chains that levered the curtains up and down and gave it a tug. The heavy fabric swished and sent dust flying into the air. Alex pressed his sleeve over his mouth to avoid inhaling any. He slipped behind the curtains into the dark backstage area, feeling his way to the sound and lighting boards. His fingers bumped a small switch, and he flipped it on.

Light streamed into the theater from a massive spotlight. It was bright, almost like sunlight, and already the bulb was beginning to heat up. Alex carefully avoided the glass dome as he slid past it and wandered back out onto the stage.

It was a magnificent sight.

All the shadowed carvings suddenly dominated the space, catching the light and twisting it in glimmers that made some of the creatures seem alive. The upper mezzanine almost looked like it was glittering, and suddenly, Alex could see every niche up on the balcony. The hall looked like a temple built to honor the finest art.

Clonks echoed off the walls as footsteps approached from the hall. Alex quickly fumbled to flip off the light and hopped off the stage.
Mr. Endles, the building's manager, stuck his bald head in the door. "Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Rider?"

"Yes," Alex replied. "I'll have some requests as the date approaches but for now, all seems well." As he started up the center aisle, he took one last glance around the cavernous space. Yeah, there would be several *requests*, such as mezzanine lighting and, perhaps, reduced seating only if all the necessary paperwork was processed correctly, which rarely happened in corporate divisions of music.

"We're all very glad that you're performing here. We take great pride in our theater, you know - the janitors come every day." Mr. Endles swept open the doorway but didn't hold it, so Alex suddenly found himself shoving open a very solid piece of oak and his side twinging with the effort. He swallowed down an irritated sigh.

"Yes, it looks beautiful."

Mr. Endles hummed a jaunty tune to himself, completely oblivious, and strode down the hall. When he disappeared into an office block, Alex quickly walked back out to the library and onto the sidewalk. Ben and Wolf were already waiting, they sat side-by-side on one of the benches and looked for all the world like two businessmen on their lunch break. It was a stark change from the grey-blue janitor uniforms they had donned to get into the theater. Alex walked past them on his way to Ben's car, where he sat in the back and fixed his eyes on the window.

He couldn't leave fast enough.

Danielle was, needless to say, late for class. To avoid the awkwardness of having to walk down aisles of gawking classmates, she sat outside the building on the low wall of a fountain with her notebook and a pen in hand. The chill didn't bother her.

When students began exiting the back door in twos and threes, she hurried in and apologized to her professor, who smiled and said not to worry, they didn't cover much anyways.

So Danielle went home.

'Home' was Clara's flat, only a two block walk from the Academy's main campus, but rather far from Alex's place. The walk wasn't too arduous, though Alex thought she was getting rides from her friends.

Obviously, she was not.

Danielle knew how to be careful. She'd made a mistake, just one, and it had nearly cost her life. She didn't want to be afraid of being alone, no matter how tempting it was to stay with Clara or Alex all day.

"How's moving going?" Clara asked from the kitchen as soon as Danielle's foot crossed the threshold. "I can help with anything you need."

"It's going okay."

The soft murmur of voices filtered in from the lounge. Danielle frowned. "Who else is here?"

"Greta and Kai. You know, our other friends?"

"Yeah, I know," Danielle sighed, rubbing her forehead and allowing her backpack to slide off her shoulders. It hit the floor with a thunk. "I'm exhausted - I think I'll just go sleep or something."

"Dani, it's only one."

"I'm tired." Danielle couldn't hold Clara's gaze, so her eyes flickered away to the cabinets. Clara tsked disapprovingly, sounding much older than her twenty years, and waved her hand dismissively.

"Fine, then. Be antisocial."

"Clara-"

"Danielle, either you have a problem or you don't, but you can't keep hiding from people." Clara's almond-shaped eyes flashed with irritation. "We're trying to help you!"

"Then leave me alone!" Danielle snapped with more venom than she meant, and the voices in the other room quieted.

Clara just shook her head and turned away. Danielle almost wrenched her shoulder out trying to yank her backpack up, but she stomped down the hall, into the guest room, and slammed the door behind her. Backpack and everything, she collapsed onto her bed and pressed her face into her pillow, trying to ignore the hot tears that burned her eyes.

She hated that man, August. Was her body not enough? Did he have to take her mind, too?

From the sound of the fridge opening and closing, Alex guessed that Tom was back in his flat. Sure enough, dark hair stuck up over the counter, soon followed by Tom's head as he straightened up and pushed the bread drawer shut with his foot. Dark circles smudged the skin beneath his eyes, and his skin held a sickly pallor.

Alex's brow furrowed with a familiar ache. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, mate," Tom muttered as he plonked a slice of bread and a cup of instant soup onto the counter. "Not looking so hot yourself.

"What's up?"

Tom heaved a sigh. "Mum wants me to visit her for summer holidays. She didn't invite Jerry or his kids or anything. Just me."

Alex flung his jacket over the back of the couch and sat down at the table. "Why is that a problem?"

"Jerry and I were going backpacking. I don't want to tell him - he'll hate our parents even more than he already does. But if I don't go to Mum. . . she'll be mad too, and my Dad will rub it in her face." Tom sighed, ineffectually trying to smooth his hair down. "I don't know what to do."

Alex tried to think of something to say, but his past experiences had been vastly different from Tom's. "Tell her you already have something planned with Jerry. She's your mother - parents are supposed to want their kids to be happy, right? Or does that just stop when you're adults?"

Tom shrugged. "No clue." He slowly flipped on the tap and stared at the water as it filled the soup cup up to the line. Then he turned away. A door opened and slammed; something beeped. Alex didn't see what it was, he was too busy trying not to remember Jack's stories about her parents and childhood. Maybe opening her box wasn't such a good idea after all, even if it was for Danielle's benefit and not his.

A sharp beeping noise cut through his musings and he looked up.

Tom was slumped against the counter next to a microwave.

Alex knew for a fact that he'd never had a microwave in his life.

"Where'd that come from?" he asked.

"The delivery man brought it. Said you ordered a new one."

Alex scrambled to his feet. Dread congealed into ice inside his chest and he threw himself forward, grabbing Tom's arm and hauling him away just as the beeping abruptly cut off.

"What -?" Tom sputtered. "I take it you didn't order a new one, then." He shook Alex off with an unsettled glare and began walking back towards the microwave.

"Tom, no." Every muscle in his body tensed; the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he got the feeling - instinct, really, even after so many years out of the field, that something was very, very wrong.

He was saved from deciding what to do because the microwave gave one more strangled beep, then imploded.

His flat became a blur of noise as bits of plaster rained from the ceiling, shards stinging and scratching his face. Alex threw his left arm up over his eyes and blindly reached out with the other, searching for Tom. His ears rang. When he tried to yell out, he couldn't hear anything - not even his own voice. The deafening noise disappeared, leaving an equally loud silence in its wake.

Alex felt the floor creak beneath him.

He dared to move his arm away from his eyes, just enough to see what damage had been done.

There was a gaping hole in his countertop half-filled with shards of industrial-strength plastic and fraying wires, the copper exposed because their plastic coatings melted and dripped away, congealed near the base in clots of mushy, oily substance.

Tom's feet stuck out from in front of the couch.

Alex felt his heart leap into his throat. Tom - no, not Tom. He couldn't be dead.

The door burst open, almost tearing away from its hinges. Alex still couldn't hear anything, so as Snake and Eagle rushed in and Snake ran over to him, grabbed his shoulders, and began moving his mouth, Alex could only shrug and lift his hand to his ears, gesturing in what he hoped was the universal gesture for I'm Deaf.

That was when he saw the sunlight.

It streamed in through the windows through a break in the cloudy skies and struck the plaster dust, suspending it in a column of golden light. Absurdly, the sight reminded Alex of the Palace Theater.

We take great pride in our theater, you know - the janitor comes every day. Mr. Endles' froggy voice rang out in his mind.

If the janitor came every day, then why was the mezzanine covered in dust?

More importantly, if the particles that glittered in the spotlight weren't dust-

"I'm fine, birdman!" Tom bellowed. Alex's ears popped rather painfully and all sound was restored, including his best mate yelling protests as Eagle forced him to sit on the couch. Aside from having plaster dust in his hair, Tom looked fine. Hence the protesting.

"Seriously, man," he continued. "I'm not a kid!"

"Alex," Snake said. "What happened?"

Two hands gripped Alex's shoulders and turned his torso towards the living room, leaving his legs with no choice but to follow. Alex numbly fell to the carpet, his knees bent, arms around his legs.

"It was the microwave," Tom babbled. "It exploded! Some guy delivered it today, when I was on my way out-"

Alex tuned out his friend's words and focused, trying to remember what he had been thinking about . . . sunlight. . . a palace. . .yes!

He had to get back to the theater.

The mezzanine glowed like that for a reason, and it wasn't dust.

It was plaster.

Someone had done their own private renovation, and Alex wanted to see it.

Review Replies

Op-Fan - Ahh, thank you! Alex's character has been one of my favorites to write out of all the fanfic I've written. I'm glad Danielle's backstory seemed reasonable. Clara's part in this is mainly to be Danielle's friend and a relatively minor character, so she won't be heard from as much as, say, Ben or Wolf.

Guest - Thanks! I'm glad my OC isn't infuriating :) That was my goal!

Zilcatblack - Danielle and Tom. . . hmm, I can promise Danielle will definitely end up with someone :)