Chapter 3: Can't Ask Nicely

A/N: Let's get the disclaimer over with… I don't own Alex Rider, unfortunately, but then again, you really can't own a person…so authors are breaking the law by writing!

Joking, joking. ?

So…I have basketball practice for two hours in an hour. I might have to cut this chapter, so sorry if I leave you on a cliffhanger.

And all of those people who are reading this and groaning, don't blame me! Blame the fact that we have a basketball coach who doesn't accept anything below a perfect grade. Yes, that means…

"A 99.9 is unacceptable! Go run 10 laps around the gym, and if I even see you stop once, it will be another 5 laps!"

Nutters. And enjoy.

Alex woke up again with his head pounding. There was no one on the room this time, and Alex managed to get a few glimpses around his hospital room.

There were pale blue curtains and windows with locks on them. Probably to keep kids from accidentally falling out, thought Alex. The carpeting was shag, and brown. There was a brown bedside table next to his bed. A glass of water occupied his night stand. There was a small sleek black TV remote and a telephone with speed dial numbers listed underneath it on a a plastic card.

Alex gripped his pounding head. It hurt so much, Saying that it was annoying was an understatement. It wasn't annoying. It was a complete and utter nuisance.

Alex considered calling a nurse for an advil or something. He was half way done with dialing the number down to the Lobby when the door open.

He froze as three familiar people entered the room.

" Put the phone down."

He practically threw the phone down.

" What do you want?" He growled. He may have 2 broken ribs and a bullet wound but that was not going to stop him from strangling this person, this despicable excuse off a human being. And his accomplice. He looked at her equally distastefully. She at least had the decency to look ashamed, but him...no, he was just marching into Alex's room as if he damn well owned it!

" Get out off my room."

" It's not your room. Your not the one paying for it." Blunt smiled, and Alex realized with a certain sense off sorrow that the glass off water from before was no longer there. If it had been there, it would have ended up in Blunt's face, half way across the room.

" May I take a seat?" Ms. Jones asked. Alex sighed, annoyed.

" You're the one paying for it, right?" he muttered. " Than don't ask for my permission."

Ms. Jones and Blunt took a seat.

" Do you know why we're here?" Blunt asked.

" To recruit me for another mission." Alex rolled his eyes, adding sarcastically, " That's hardly surprising. What is it this time? Business man making suspicious deals with other countries? So I go in as a delivery boy or something like that and find out what he's doing?"

" You have a very active imagination. No, Alex, we're here to talk to you about your previous mission."

Alex was suddenly wary. He had been trying his best to forget about that mission. He turned his head away, to the side, pretending to look out the window.

" What about it?"

Ms. Jones cleared her throat quietly. " We know that something happened on that mission," she began, " and we want to know what it was."

" Nothing happen."

" How old are you Alex?" Blunt asked suddenly. Alex suddenly felt queasy, but answered anyways.

" 15."

" How many 15 year old girls were in that village?"

"One. Mazim. Why?"

Blunt and Ms. Jones looked at him as if he knew what they should know. Oh…

Alex laughed suddenly. Ms. Jones looked at him.

" What, you think I shagged her?" Alex laughed even harder. "Please. Just because I'm a boy doesn't mean I shag random girls I meet. That's, that's," laughing so hard that he was afriad he might burst his ribs open again, he said, " that's Tom's job!" He kept giggling like he was delirious. Ms. Jones and Blunt looked at each other again, silently asking each other if Alex had suddenly experienced a bout off laughing gas.

Alex managed to compose himself after several solid minutes off laughing.

" No, I didn't shag anyone." He finally said seriously.

" You spent an awful lot off time with a few boys from the village. 19 year olds notorious for using females anyway they wanted to-"

" Doesn't mean I did it."

" We know you didn't. But we want to know something more."

" And what's that?"

Blunt took a deep breathe. " They found a girl, near the creek," he said at last. " She was dead. Brutally murdered. We don't know who or what did it. Her body was horribly disfigured. Her cervix was torn open, and we think she was pregnant. However, due to the injuries and forensic report, she was young, younger than you. 12, we believe. Fingerprints were found on her and they were that off the 19 year old boys you hung around."

Alex felt sick. But Blunt wasn't finished. He gazed steadily into Alex's eyes, searching.

" Your fingerprints were on her wrists."

Something rose in his throat, hot and furious and soon Alex was leaning over the opposite side off the bed vomiting. He hadn't eaten anything for a while; they had given him a muffin, crackers and some apple juice while on the chopper back to Britain, but that was 36 hours ago, and nothing came out except stomach acid and bile. Alex coughed, hacking up everything in his stomach and when he finally came back up again his stomach was rolling and he was drenched in cold sweat.

Ms. Jones offered him a peppermint. Blunt had already called the nurses, and as Alex took the peppermint, a nurse came rushing in through the door. She saw the vomit on the floor and immediately saw Alex drenched in sweat.

" Dear, I think you shouldn't eat normal food for a while. Maybe liquidifed food would be better."

" I don't want food." Alex managed to croak out. He didn't want anything except to go home, to have his memory wiped, to block the painful memories. Starting with the one about Ian dying. His life really had gone downhill from there.

The nurse glanced towards Blunt and Ms. Jones.

" Perhaps it would be best to leave him alone for a few hours."

They got the hint. As soon as they had left the room, the nurse called a janitor and led Alex to the bathroom to wash out his mouth with Listerine. Shakily, Alex forced his body to move, to walk to the bathroom and open his mouth and gargle the sharp liquid in his hot, ragged and torn throat. It cooled down his throat, momentarily, but Alex retched again and had to do the whole thing over again.

The nurse led him back to his room and made him sit in an armchair while the janitor cleaned up the mess. He obeyed, clutching his stomach. Not daring to shut his eyes, he stared at a point somewhere in the distance and when the janitor was done he was led back to his bed and told to go to sleep for a few hours.

For once he obeyed.

A/N: Even teenage spies have limits. And that was the limit for Alex.