The room was shady with it's deep russet paneled walls and maroon curtains. He had never liked the texture or style of their apartment, but then, all that mattered to him was what she wanted. Now, it didn't surprise John about why she had always liked darker colors than light, airy, joyful shades. Why she had insisted upon taking late night trips out just to buy groceries. Why she had preferred war films to romance. Why no one in her family had shown up at her own wedding. Why she had always avoided the subject when he mentioned his work.

There was always that moment where he had wondered why she acted so very different than other women. She never had friends or coworkers over , but was never home. Even he took some time to talk to Ash or Crawford about something other than his job. And her secretary job at the local bank was rarely in a conversation. It wasn't that he had cared about that about it as much as the reason as he wondered...why?

So here he was, sitting at the kitchen table, stressing over the woman in his life like any other man would. But he wasn't any other man. And, despite the reassuring smiles she threw at him early all the time, John knew something was strange. They felt fake. She was smiling to calm him down, not because she was joyful.

He stood up. She had told him to meet her here an hour ago. But she was late. As usual. He noted another odd quirk of hers and walked into their bedroom, gently tossing his casual black coat on the bed. Then he looked toward the dresser in curiosity. He had never had use for the drawers because he was usually on a mission or staying miles away on a military base, but it was now that he wondered if his wife could possibly be hiding something.

John opened the tope drawer. It was full of socks. Very well organized and color coded, which surprised him because Ari had never seemed to have time for anything, much less folding socks.

The other drawers were also clothing items, shampoo, classic books by Charles Dickens. Picking a book up, he opened the front and shrugged. It had never been opened before. The ink smelt fresh and the pages cracked from separation.

John scolded himself for being so impersonal about someone he cared so much about. It was childish really. And he had probably mixed up the time when she was supposed to meet him-

"John? Are you in here?"

He quickly fumbled with the drawer and hurried to the doorway. There she was, wearing beige pants and a simple white shirt, carrying a plain brown bag. Not a fashionable purse, just a bag. He ignored it.

"You called me three hours ago. Did something happen?"

"Our meeting was longer than I expected and my appointment ran late." She held her hands to her side, as if daring him to guess a riddle.

The sentence didn't fully register.

"...are you okay?"

"I'm fine, John. I just wanted to see you."



"About what?"

She frowned in annoyance. "What do you mean? Is something wrong with wanting to talk to you?"

"-You could have talked to me on the phone. I left my duty because I thought this was important."

He tried to read her smooth features and powerfully intense eyes. They were glaring back at him, also penetrating and debating...something. It was only at this moment that John truly noticed how alert she really acted.

"Is that all you care about? Your job? Why can't you just quit it altogether?"

"Is that what you want me to do, Ari?"

"Don't call me that! And yes, I do want you to quit. I want you to do something else for a living, and stay here."

John sighed. "You could have told me about how you felt before I was assigned a new location."

"I didn't know that you were going to Malagosto!"

His head shot up in disclosure. "Who said anything about Malagosto? You never asked where I went, even though I have tried to tell you many times."

She stuttered on her feet and lost composure. John stepped forward in alarm. "What's wrong?" He tried to reach out and grasp her hand in comfort, but she only slapped it away. A cold gaze now occupied her face.

"You don't understand, John", She said. her gaze was far from him though. She was staring straight ahead, distantly in her own thoughts.

"I really am trying to." He pleaded with her and tried to come closer. Ari glanced back at him once again, and an unrecognizable look that John had never seen upon her face was suddenly there.

"I have to go out ."

And she was gone.

He woke up with a jolt. It was impossible to tell the time because there wasn't a single window occupying the depressing room. This had been the third time he had dreamt this particular scene, and it hadn't progressed thus far. John rubbed his grainy eyes and looked shifted his gaze to shudder at the small, compact mirror lying by his bed. He still did not believe that he had been in a 'coma' for fourteen years. And he hadn't aged a bit. It was the worst lie he had ever been subjected to, and he had heard some pretty stupid coverups at that.

If it was a lie(which there was a ninety nine point nine percent chance of in his personal view), then he was in enemy territory. That meant only one thing-he had to get out of enemy territory. Sitting up (rather awkwardly)was the easy part, he found the hardest part to be standing up. Taking just one baby 

step felt alien to his body. It was as if he had to relearn to walk. Maybe he had been out longer than first thought, but either way, he needed to regain some strength before he made his move.

Taking a deep breath and sitting upright again; he took time to attempt to remember the last thing that happened to him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Crawford had momentarily forgotten about why he had journeyed through this part of town in the first place. He had commenced to studying the unconscious man in front of him instead. He was wearing a sturdy jacket-probably bulletproof-the kind issued to soldiers, important people in a government, or can be easily bought on illegal grounds, mused Crawford.

His mobile phone rang then, but he ignored it and grunted in impatience. He had meant to turn it off before he came out here.

Proficiently, he searched the man for identification of any sort. He ended up with a lightweight professional gun and a sharp, glinting dagger that he mistook for an average pocketknife at first. The situation was not looking bright at the moment. But were his assumptions justified? After all, the other man was nowhere to be found. If you had been attacked, most people wouldn't have run off at the sight of help.

He glanced back toward the man who appeared slightly younger than middle aged. Maybe late twenties or so. He was well toned, and he was-awake.

Crawford braced himself for any sudden attacks. Even though he didn't like to admit it, it had been a while since he had been engaged in open combat. He prayed that the man wouldn't try anything, for his sake.

The body quaked a little before the eyes shot open. They settled on Crawford and the man frowned as the eyes searched for someone else that wasn't present. He tried to pull himself up but Crawford decided that now was the right time to strike and he pushed the man back down, while adding pressure from his hand on the man's throat. He received a startled choke as reply.

"What is your name?"

No answer. He tightened his push on the neck. Another strangled choke came out. The man was getting blue in the face.

Maybe I'm not as out of touch as I thought...

"Answer me!"

"...David." Crawford recognized an American accent. Of course, he was a little rusty and could have mistaken it for southern Canadian. And anyone can learn to fake an accent to conceal their identity.

"Last name?"

"I'm not telling you."



This time all it took was a warning glare. If Crawford wasn't interrogating a potential enemy at the moment he would have been as giddy as a schoolchild with excitement for his revived control.

"Javenson."

"And why were you attacking that man, Mr. Javenson?"

The dark eyes darkened even more. David tensed the lines on his face in anger. "He killed my brother less than a year ago."

Crawford felt a slight pang of understanding as he remembered his own past, but then he quickly let it go and reminded himself that attempted murder could not be justified.

"How did you find out who murdered him? Did you know him before he killed your brother?"

"No! I'm just good at tracking people. It's what I was trained for when I worked for the government."

He became a little hopeful. If this was a government job, then perhaps this man was just doing his job like Crawford would have done. And he could have information.

"Which government?"

The man shrugged. "The American one."

"So, you work for the American government?"

"Not anymore."

Crawford released that small shot of hope and abruptly realized that it wasn't safe out in the open with a potentially dangerous man who obviously knew obviously knew at least one way to kill someone.

"Stand up slowly", he told David while shifting one hand to pull a pair of handcuffs out of his coat pocket. He ignored the younger man's scowl as he snapped a cuff on his own wrist and the other on David's.

"Walk forward", he muttered to the man in front who was still very put-off about the handcuffs.

"Are you with the police?" He asked.

"No. Not really." Crawford chuckled and then frowned in realization that he could lose his job at MI6 if he didn't turn this man over. But he probably knew where to get information if he had successfully discovered the identity of his target.

"So Mr. Javenson, how did your brother die?" He asked. The question seemed to do the trick because the expression on David's face clouded with sadness and all anger washed away as if it had never been there. It almost made Crawford feel guilty enough to let him go. Almost.



"He was a guard for Air Force One. There was a hijacking attempt a few months ago and he was killed in the open fire of it."

Crawford resisted the urge to point out that it hadn't been an attempt, but a nearly successful start to another war, but he then realized that it was doubtful David knew that to begin with. His tongue tasted sour. Alex had stopped that flight. He had only now remembered the reason for coming out here. How funny that everything was connected somehow. Trying to clear his head, he paused.

"You knew that the man would be coming here." Crawford said to himself. David took it as a comment directed toward him and replied.

"I was given information."

"Were you given his name?"

"Yassen Gregorovich."

Crawford wanted to faint right there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I tried to call Crawford, but he didn't answer his phone."

Do I look that stupid?

John shrugged and decided to humor this idiot. "Well I'm sure he'll come back." He reassured Dr. Hoskins. James didn't look quite settle at this very second. He stood, staring at John in contemplation, like there was a million pieced puzzle right in front of him that was missing three sections to the picture.

"Do you remember much?" He asked, almost timidly.

So it's information they want...

"No. Nothing", John lied.

James nodded, as if his fears were short-circuited. He glanced toward the door and twitched a foot, trying to decide whether to say something. In the end, he gave in and spoke. "Someone abducted your son a couple days ago."

The partially recovered man narrowed his eyes at the casual tone but listened. He didn't think this man was lying. Or at least he didn't think he was lying. Someone else could be lying to Hoskins in order to lie to him.

John sighed in weary perplexity. This all so bizarre...

He hadn't noticed that Dr. Hoskins was still talking, "...idea who did it. Crawford said he was going to look around though. And I don't know much about you people, but for the short time I've known him, I'd say that John Crawford knows what he's doing. And he cares about your son too. He looked like he was at death's door when I gave him the envelope-"



"What envelope?" John cut him off and James felt his face grow hot.

"They sent letters warning, well you that they had Alex. They sent hair...and blood...I don't think they realized it would take you a while to wake up and recuperate..."

"Did you say blood?"

The calm look on Dr. Hoskins face flickered slowly. "Yes."

He frowned in disgust and stood up. He was feeling much better and the man blocking the doorway definitely wasn't Hulk Hogan. So he walked forward casually and nodded expectantly toward James.

"Well then I'd better see to them, shouldn't I?"

James Hoskins had, unfortunately for him, just discovered how fragile and puny he was standing next to John and hesitated.

"We don't know if your body can operate properly after all that time in-"

"If you don't mind, I'd prefer it if you could at least make up a believable story. But don't worry, you'll have plenty of time for that after I leave."

"Wait!"

Yeah, right. He was really going to wait. Even if this man was right about Alex, then he wasn't going to sit around and let sadistic criminals torture a baby. He had risked everything for Alex before and-

Wait.

John was stricken with grief. "Ash, you have got to help me. I want him back. There's no telling what she'll do. She tried to kill Yassen, and now it's Alex she's got."

He remembered the controlled anger on Ash's face when he mentioned Yassen's name. He hadn't paid much attention to Ash that day, but now looking back...

"Don't worry John. You know I'd go with you anywhere. We can figure this out."

"I can't believe I trusted her. You don't know what it feels like to have one of the few people you care about betray you..."

"Does it hurt, John?"

"Yes. More than anything I have ever felt before."

Ash's eyes flickered with unknown emotion. John didn't notice.

He felt so cold outside. But it was not wintertime. Perhaps...summer? fall? He didn't know or even care. John trudged on. His memories were flooding back with overwhelming speed. It felt like a hurricane crashing against his, now small and weak self. And he did feel very small right now. The restaurants and 

shops were both new and old, fancy and average, busy and desolate. They had bright, colorful signs with dainty letters spelling out the names and people smiling through windows.

But he didn't recognize any of them.

He saw the hospital in the distance. He had been to it many times. But where did all of this come from?

"You've been in a coma for years John..." Hoskin's voice boomed through his head.

He stopped on back street and sat down against a brick wall.

She laughed with an inhuman tone he had never heard before. It didn't sound right coming from her beautiful face. A face that once held warmth to him.

"This can't be true! Please explain it to me Ari. I need to know."

"Poor John. So experienced, and yet, so naive. In fact, I think that I don't understand you as much as you don't understand me, John. MI6 doesn't even understand you! Do you remember how you came home in an angry fit because Blunt questioned why you didn't let Yassen die? Why, you were upset for days...about your enemy. You could have had one less danger in the future-even you see how dangerous he is getting-but no, you didn't only let him live, you saved his life!"

"You said I did the right thing..."

"-Because that was just one thing. I figured you had some reason for it, that you would explain later, but you never did. You just saved him because you became to attached to your "new" identity, didn't you?"

"That's not why I saved him."

Her eyes narrowed. "He is going to grow up and kill people. That is what you are teaching him. He never had a real parents, so stop hoping that one day you can tell him the truth. If he's forced to decide between you and SCORPIA, the answer is obvious. Besides, you don't need him..." She smiled a wickedly secretive smile.

John's head had been hanging down, staring at the ground for most of the time, but now, it was looking at her. Looking at her in a mixture of rage and sadness.

"Well then, I guess I don't need you either."

"That is not what I meant."

"All I know is that you have lied to me about everything I've ever known about you. I know what you really do while I'm gone. Where you go and who you talk to. And none of it looks very innocent to me."

She stepped closer to him. Only a ghostly reminder of the woman she once was. The woman he thought she was.



"And you are innocent John? You kill people all the time. I know this because I've seen you more at work more times than you think. I've seen shoot and stab and murder. And you know what? I-don't-care. I married you because of that very reason. You weren't afraid to do what was necessary for your country, just like I can and will do what is required for my...organization."

"There is a difference. I hunt the guilty. You hurt the innocent." His tone was firm and jaw clenched. Slowly, he reached for his gun, concealed behind his back at the moment. Some things were meant to be stopped.

She scowled and pulled back, twirling a lock of black, silky hair in one pedicured hand. "You are changing John. Or maybe I have just failed to notice you all along. Either way, I hate the idea of raising my baby alone."

He nearly dropped the gun. "What?"

"Oh yes. That day when I called you? Well, believe it or not my appointment was at the hospital. I was going to tell you the good news. But instead you wanted to whine about your duty and Yassen, the former little street brat."

Faster than lightning, John whipped the gun out. She didn't even flinch. Another smile.

"If you kill me, you kill your child."

A lone trickle of sweat rolled down his forehead. His face felt damp and hot with tension. He wanted nothing more than to pull the life out of this evil person that had done so much. The thirst for blood was overwhelming. He wondered if this was how his enemies felt all the time. Just the thought of it was horrifying.

"Go ahead, John." She winked her pearly teeth at him. Taunting like the face of the devil.

He dropped the gun to the ground and watched as she lifted up the grenade she had been holding. Her hand curved and index finger settled on the release ring.

"Just think of what a great story this will be for my child when he grows up."

She backed up a distance and pulled the pin off the grenade. It flew toward him without a thought of mercy. Death was at it's edge.

"Get out of the way!" Something hard hit him squarely in the chest and he flew several feet to the right before landing with a loud 'thud'. A heavy body was on top of him. He looked up and saw the baffled expression of Crawford, who quickly got off John and let out a long stream of apologies. Several feet behind him stood Ash, who looked astonished at the sight of John. When he noticed John was looking at him, his mouth awkwardly formed a smile.

"That was a close one, mate", He said slowly.

John could have sworn he saw his eye twitch.



Out in the alleyway, a single tear ran down John's cheek. Though he didn't know quite why it came.

"Helen, I'm so sorry...", He sobbed to himself and closed his eyes, seeking any form of comfort.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He caught the man unawares and slammed him into the stone wall of the subway station. Barney's face read, first: shock, second: horror. Yassen smugly noted the second one and decided to use it to it's fullest.

"Well, something tells me that you weren't completely honest with me last time Barney. Oh, and I was sure to greet your friend waiting outside. He was such a good host."

Barney's eyes were round and watery. He knew he had been caught like a fish in the net. And he was about to have a few scales scraped off if he didn't think fast.

"Was?" He squeaked out.

Yassen narrowed his eyes. "Don't you worry about him now. Why don't you just tell the person still standing here the truth?"

He hoped the small man wouldn't faint. That would be a bothersome inconvenience for him.

"He got here first! He said he was looking for the people responsible for the...er...Air Force One incident. You were the only name I knew to mention Mr. Gregorovich!"

His eyes were now blades of ice. "So you know who I am now? Interesting. How much did he pay you?"

"Alot more than you would have," He muttered and very quickly regretted it when Yassen slammed his head against the stone hard surface.

"Wait! WAIT! I'll tell you everything. I swear it!" He screamed out. Yassen loosened his grip a little bit and nodded in acknowledgment.

"Talk fast."

Barney stuttered, but spoke," The boy's name is Alex Rider. The woman really did give her name as Sierra. That's what she always goes by."

"She comes here often?"

"Yeah...sometimes..."

"Why did she take Alex?"

Barney tried to lift his shoulders and shrug, but Yassen was still in an attack position. "I dunno. I think it has something to do with the boy's father. Maybe she wanted to hold him ransom or something...?"



Yassen threw the man to the ground and cracked a knuckle. "That's impossible. His father is dead."

"Look, I'm just tellin' ya what I heard! Maybe she doesn't know he's dead, but I don't know anything about it!"

"Oh really?" Yassen questioned in expectance. "You mean, you don't know where they might have gone?"

The fear in Barney's eyes was unimaginable. "She'll kill me."

"And you think I won't?" Yassen spat out.

Barney shivered. "...I might..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He flinched away from her closeness and was taken aback to see a hurt look on her face. The soldier man was watching from the doorway and shooting Alex a look with-pity?-in his eyes.

"What do you mean?! What did my father do?"

The soldier man shifted his gaze from the door and turned to stand straight ahead. The woman just gave him a satisfied look as if she had been waiting for him to ask.

"Alex-,The woman smiled patiently, with a manner similar to when one talks to a small child,-I'm your mother."

He heard it, but it took a few seconds to register. Then the world began to take too much energy to make sense of and Alex fainted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A/N-Sorry I didn't put much Alex into it(specially' since it's called The ALEX Rider series. winkwink). He'll play a bigger role after this chapter ;D

Pictures for this story are on my profile page. I highly suggest you go check them out. I haven't found one for Crawford yet, but I'll keep checking. And Yassen gets three because he has a gun and I value my life to a dangerously high extent.

What's that, Yassen? Oh, and to the person who mailed Yassen the gag peanuts: Very funny but he knows where you live.

Why did AH decide to make Yassen book number nine? WHY?! Book eight had BETTER be good then! Ooh! Let's all blackmail Anthony Horowitz! Who's with me? ...put your hand down Sabina.

I will give longer chapters and shorter time between updates if you review! tell me what you want to see and what you don't(I for one never want to see Sabina Pleasure...anywhere...ever...unless of course she's being killed off...hey, it's a jealousy complex –winks-)