AN:

1) Chapter came faster than expected because I had time to buckle down and write during the hurricane !

2) For clarity's sake, the Interludes are:

a) Any point they stop driving (can still be Ella's POV)

b) Any point we cut to a non-Ella character (Alex, Oliver, or anybody else)

3) Definitely a very dialogue-forward chapter, but a much-needed one in my opinion. Next chapter will be more action-packed.

Chapter 31: Searching for a Spark

Hour 10.5

Mt. Pleasant, Pennsylvania

Just over an hour into the drive, it starts pouring down rain. The roads are slick and wet, and shockingly, my Franken-Continental doesn't have the best tire traction.

I'm white-knuckling the steering wheel, but this mountainous, one-lane state road is terrifying.

I pull over onto the shoulder of the road. It's narrow, and it is barely even able to fit the Continental. "Alex, I don't think I can drive in this weather for much longer." The car is getting battered from every angle and I can barely even hear my own voice over the sound of rain pounding down on metal. "I know we wanted to keep trekking until it got dark, but I literally can't see anymore."

"Yeah, the windshield wipers on this thing are useless. Guess this is why you don't buy rebuilt cars. Lesson learned." He quips.

"So you're okay with me just getting off at the next exit and finding a hotel? I think we'll die if we try to camp." Alex agrees.

I drive slowly at 20mph. We're the only ones dumb enough to be out on this road at the moment, so it doesn't matter. It takes us almost half an hour to drive the 8 or so miles, but above all, I'm a DC girl and those aren't bad numbers.

I take the first exit I see and now we're somewhere called New Stanton, Pennsylvania. It certainly doesn't look very new, so I would hate to see Old Stanton.

We drive past some standard chain restaurants and gas stations before pulling into a nearly empty Red Roof Inn parking lot.

Interlude #6

Red Roof Inn

New Stanton, Pennsylvania

We only have one umbrella stolen from Camp David, so I brave the weather myself to try and get a room.

I check into the motel without issue and without much small talk. They mercifully let me pay in cash including a $100 cash security deposit. We have very few Visa Gift Cards left, and it's likely they would be declined anyway. Thank you, America, for your low-quality chain hotels.

I use a different fake ID that I had grabbed from the safe house earlier, so Maya Reed is now the renter of one motel room.

I walk back to the car, hotel key in my hand. The rain is slowing down–albeit slightly–but I run back to the car anyway. I shut the door behind me quickly, tossing the umbrella on the ground between my legs.

"All good," I address Alex, holding up the key in one hand, "And, they let me pay in cash."

"That is good news," he nods. We're both silent for a moment. I am mentally packing everything I need for the night into one backpack so I don't have to carry anything more. I assume Alex is doing the same until I hear him open his mouth.

"I'm hungry," he finally announces.

"I was thinking we could make sandwiches for dinner. We have peanut butter and honey in the back."

"All this rain makes me want something hot."

"We have some cans of soup," I remind him, "I'm sure there's a microwave inside we can use to warm them up. We'll eat soup, grab some snacks, and hopefully, there's a movie on TV. If not, we have a deck of cards."

"We're trapped indoors and that's seriously what you want to do tonight?"

"Yeah," I nod, "That, and go to bed early. I was still in Europe two days ago, Alex, I'm so tired."

"You were not in Europe two days ago. We've been on the road for a week, easily," he says, half-jokingly.

I'm unamused. "Alex, we spent the night at the campgrounds with Ricky last night. Before that, I slept at Camp David and you were in DC. The night before that, I left my grandparents' house in Den Haag for an early morning flight with Oliver. Since then, I've flown across the Atlantic, had a medical procedure, escaped from Camp David, had one of the worst days of my life, got jumped in a Wawa, averaged about 4 hours of sleep the past three nights, and driven over 10 hours by myself." I count each of these events on my fingers. "I'd be happy with a peanut butter sandwich and a–" I glance at the clock which reads 7:58pm, "and an 8:30 bedtime."

"C'mon, Ellie, let me buy you dinner, at least." God, does nobody fucking listen? And when did he start calling me 'Ellie?'

"Alex, we're broke," I say, trying to hold every molecule in my body together, "And we already bought lunch today. We need to start eating the food in the car."

"You're no fun."

"Alex, I'm being the adult here!" I say in a volume just below a yell, "We need to keep a low profile and not spend any more money."

"We used gift cards for Popeye's today. We didn't use any of our cash. Besides, I have $20 in my pocket from my own mission and I've seen about a thousand billboards for Cracker Barrel between here and DC and it just keeps looking better. There's one just up the road. C'mon, Ells, I know you want some pancakes."

I take a second to say some affirmations in my head. I am so serene right now. I am not going to strangle Alex. Pancakes do not sound delicious. I will hold my ground.

I sigh. "Please just call me Ella. And fine," I concede, "I will let you buy me dinner. But this is not a date and we have to keep a low profile. Hats and fake glasses stay on during dinner, and no looking at the gift shop," I say through clenched teeth.

"Alright, Ella," he emphasizes my name, probably just to (successfully) piss me off, "We'll eat fast, I'll pay, and the whole terrible ordeal will be over before you even know it. You might even make that 9:00 bedtime."

"8:30," I scowl but buckle my seatbelt regardless.

"Right, I forgot that you were the party animal among us. My bad."

I don't have a single goddamn thing to say to him or anybody else, so I make the ever-difficult decision to keep quiet.

I yawn as I pull into the parking lot. The Cracker Barrel is under a mile away, but I'm exhausted. I was fine even twenty minutes ago, but the past few days are finally starting to catch up with me. I take a deep breath as I park the car.

I'm silent as we walk inside the restaurant. I do not smile when Alex has his 'kid-in-a-candy-store' moment in the Cracker Barrel gift store. While we wait for our table, I let my mind drift to my friends. I'm certainly not in the best headspace, so what would they do about Alex right now?

Noa would slap a smile on her face but proceed to order the most expensive thing on the menu. Then, when they got home, she'd make him talk things out until he figured out his own mistakes. She's big on silent victories and making people genuinely understand where they went wrong. That's out, because I'm feeling combative, and I fear the person who doesn't order breakfast food at a Cracker Barrel.

Danny Brooke would probably hook up with him in the bathroom of this Cracker Barrel. I'd sooner turn myself into the police than do that. The kissing is one thing, but even that should probably stop before we get in too deep.

My cousin Johannes would want to talk things out or something. He'd apologize for being ornery–if he even ever got that far–and make things right before the sweet tea was even served. That is a bit too adult for my taste, so I push down that thought too.

My father would probably torture an apology out of him or completely skirt responsibility and make Alex feel like the ass. Definitely not that option.

I have a sinking suspicion that Roee would slip a little something into his sweet tea making him fall asleep at the table. He would carry him home, tuck him into bed, and avoid a confrontation from the get-go. Roee has always been…viscously pragmatic and preferred to take the path of least resistance. While it's the easy way out, it's not exactly the ethical one. I would prefer to work this out like adults, and besides, it would be a little hard to drag Mr. 6'3 back to the hotel inconspicuously.

Fenna would definitely escalate this situation. Alex and I are finally friends (with slight benefits, I guess) and I will not be doing anything to mess up our rapport just because I'm feeling tired and cranky. It's much better that we're allies/partners/whatever again because we really do work well together.

Oliver. Oliver would be honest, perhaps overly so, right there at the table. Dinner would be tense, but then they'd be sharing dessert. It's a wonder, sometimes, that he and Fenna mesh so well, but it made sense to me at 13 and it still makes sense to me now. I don't particularly want my business to be aired out in the middle of a Cracker Barrel in Pennsylvania, but maybe I could try out just being truthful once we got back to the hotel.

Yes. I wrap my face into Noa's smile, try to adopt Johannes' calming mindset, and slip Oliver's honesty into my back pocket.

"Julia? Table for 2?" The hostess finally announces. I wish there was something symbolic about the pseudonym, but honestly, it's the first name I saw on those personalized name keychains when Alex and I walked in. I motion towards Alex and we follow our hostess towards our table. We're tucked away in a corner of the restaurant's interior. It's exactly where I'd like to be.

The hostess leaves us with our menus. I decide to break the ice. Alex was annoying the hell out of me earlier–my God, I could be in bed right now–but I'm a whole new Ella Cornell. Better yet, I'm Julia No-Last-Name (first cousin of Lachlan No-Last-Name). I clear my throat. "Have you ever tried sweet tea?"

"Like, tea with sugar?" Alex looks up from his menu.

I shake my head. "Ever had iced tea?"

"What did you just say to me?" He acts mock-offended.

"As the resident Southerner here, trust me. You have to order it."

"Ella, my English ancestors will haunt me if I order iced tea."

"Sweet tea," I correct, "Just trust me."

"My English ancestors would probably also haunt me for giving into an American Girl's demands so easily, but alas," he shows me that damn smirk again and I almost forgive him for everything ever.

I take a second to compose myself. "Do one thing every day that scares your ancestors," I smile back.

Our waitress takes our orders: 2 sweet teas, blueberry french toast for Alex, and scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and biscuits for me. I take not ordering the buttermilk pancakes as a moral victory, and take a second to reflect on how my life has gotten to that point.

I'm pleasant, though quiet during dinner. I achieve my second moral victory of the night when I get Alex to admit that sweet tea is the American South's gift to the Earth. We eat quickly, he pays, and we get the hell out of there.

I will confess that eating a second real meal today makes me feel a bit better, but I genuinely cannot remember the last time a vegetable passed my lips. I make a mental note to take a few multivitamins once we get up to the room.

When we get back to the hotel, it's raining again. Hard. The umbrella is not helpful at all against these squalls of wind and the rain soaks the entire right side of my body.

We walk past the front desk, soaking wet and unrecognizable. Alex leads the way to the elevators, holding both of our backpacks and a third bag of supplies. The second the door closes, he drops two of the bags and puts arms around my waist, pulling me close.

"Thank you for getting dinner with me," he whispers in my ear. His breath smells like maple syrup. "I really needed to get out of that car and do something besides sleep."

"Next time we'll get a hotel with a gym, or I'll take you to a dog park to run around or something."

"That's really how you see me?" he raises an eyebrow, "As your pet?"

"I prefer the word 'Companion,'" I smile wryly.

"Oh do you?" he asks. The elevator beeps as we get to our floor. He picks up the bags–all three of them–and follows me down the hallway.

Alex's lips crash against mine as we finally get to our door. I'm on my tiptoes and my back is against the front door and my hands are wrapped around his shoulders. I'm not sure how it happened, but here I am with someone's tongue in my mouth. After a moment, I stumble backward because Alex manages to open the door. He wraps his arms around the small of my back, catching me, and I blush so hard.

Before I can even think about doing my standard checking of bugs in the hotel room or double locking the door, Alex guides me maybe ten steps backward and I'm leaning against the side of a bed. He's standing over me, my legs between his, and we haven't broken our kiss once. We're both breathing really heavily, and I pull away and sit down on the bed to catch my breath for a second.

"You okay?" Alex pants.

I nod, holding up my index finger to signify I need a second. I pull my legs up onto the bed and into my chest. I'm leaning over my legs with my arms wrapped around my knees. Somewhere in the back of my brain I remember I was taught to lean forward like this when I'm short of breath, but Alex's lips have burned the entire inside of my brain and I can't remember much else. One thought does surface. This room was supposed to have two beds in it.

After a moment, I unfurl my body and let my feet hit the floor. I look back up and Alex is standing over me with a glass of water. Him bringing me water is the simplest thing, but it's an incredibly sobering moment. This is all so sweet, and it's all so thoughtful, and it's all too much, and I cannot fucking do this.

"Thanks," I manage to smile, taking the glass from him. I take a sip of the water, and I can tell he filled it from the sink in the bathroom because it's disgusting. I fake another sip of the water before handing him back the glass. "Thank you," I repeat, my breathing finally at a normal level.

"Everything good?" Alex asks, sitting next to me on the bed.

"Yeah. Just needed a breather," I say, standing up because this is all too fucking intimate for me.

"You seem off. Will you please talk to me?"

"Yeah. Talking is a good idea," I nod, avoiding his very intense eye contact. "Alex, did you plan on sleeping with me tonight?"

He flinches for a second. "You're very direct, but yes, I thought that is where this was going. Did I think wrong? Do you not want to?"

"And what would happen afterward?" I push.

"I assume I would hold you while you fell asleep," he looks up at me with those big brown eyes.

I scrunch my eyes shut and clench my fists because this is all too fucking romantic and my brain is filled with fog and clouds. "No, Alex. I meant in a broader sense. What would this mean for you? For us? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem like the type to just have casual sex."

"Is that all this is to you? Casual?"

"Alex, please no accusations right now. I want to have the clearest, most open and honest fucking conversation we've ever had."

"Okay," he takes a deep breath and resumes that devastating eye contact, "I don't do casual. I won't judge anyone else for it, but it's not me."

I nod. "I figured. So tell me, what does this all mean to you?"

He looks at his shoes for a moment before standing up and facing me. "Ella, I like you more than as a friend. I thought you did too, but I'm beginning to question that now. I thought that today was us both finally acknowledging those feelings," his voice breaks a little.

"Alex, you can't like me. You don't know anything about me."

He reaches over to hold my hand. "Ella, I know that you're smart, and thoughtful, and you make me smile. Being with you just feels easy in a way I haven't experienced in years. We understand each other in ways that I've never had before. I may not know everything about you, but there's nothing I want to do more than learn."

My heart shatters and part of me definitely dies then and there. "I'm not the girl you have a relationship with, Alex! I'll never actually live up to the version of me in your head. I'm flighty, and messy, and selfish, and somehow have both Mommy and Daddy Issues. I'm no good in the long term. Everywhere we go I have a weird ex. I'll just fuck this up like I do everything else," I feel tears threatening to spill over, "I mean think about it," I sniffle, "When we first met and got close in Texas, I fucked it up with the pills and yelling at you. Then, I only came back into your life because I needed help. This summer in Den Haag, I finally thought we were back to being good, and then I ran away and didn't talk to you and messed this whole thing up again. I've told you about my previous relationships and how they all crashed and burned. Alex, you're too important to me to not have in my life over something petty." I'm breathing hard again and I might actually throw up. A ball of mucus clogs the back of my throat. My face is wet and it takes me a second to realize it's because there are tears spilling down my cheeks.

"Woah, okay. Why don't you sit?" He guides me back over to the bed and sits me down. He grabs a tissue from the box on the bedside and wipes my face which just makes me cry harder. He sits down next to me on the bed and pats my shoulder. "There, there," he says.

He hands me another tissue and I cover my eyes with it. I lie my head on his shoulder while my head pounds rhythmically with my heart.

"Are you ready to talk about it?" Alex asks me once I've calmed down a little.

"Could you hand me the water again?" My voice is weak and scratchy. I lift my head up and he reaches over to the bedside table for the glass. I gulp down about half the water, ignoring the taste in the back of my throat, and hand him back the glass. "Thanks."

"'Course."

As the one in the room who had the breakdown, the ball is definitely in my court. They should invent a freakout you don't have to answer for. "Yes, we should talk, but I want to check the room for bugs first," I say, attempting to buy myself a few seconds, "I know the chances are low, but it's a habit that's been conditioned into me."

"Yeah, okay. We can do that." Alex nods.

I offer to take the bathroom. I touch my finger to the mirror to make sure it's not one of those two-way mirrors and someone can see in. After confirming it is not, I stare at my face again. My cheeks are puffy and the whites of my eyes are completely red. I take out those stupid blue contacts because I only want to see myself in the mirror. My eyes water a little and I sigh with relief when I see my green irises looking back at me.

I wet a washcloth and rinse my face with cool water to alleviate some of the redness. I'm a mess, both inside and out. I blow my nose and am greeted by an avalanche of mucus. I shudder into the tissue.

I take a few deep breaths while I wash my hands, letting the lemony soap smell fill my senses.

I'm just about to start actually looking for bugs when I see something that makes everything feel a little brighter. There's a window in the bathroom that looks out over a tall oak tree. By my estimation, I'd only fall about five feet before grabbing onto a branch.

I clench my fists and take a step closer to the window. I know I should stay here, but there's something about climbing out of a window to safety that always draws me in. I turn the latches on the window and slide it open. The rain has not slowed down a bit, but I've escaped in worse conditions.

The stormy wind feels good on my wet face. It's not peaceful like the West Virginia mountain breeze from last night, but it still breathes life into me. I take another deep breath and lift up my leg to slip out before I wonder what the hell I'm doing. I shake my head to clear my thoughts and try again, but I just can't do it.

I need to be mature. Adults don't escape through windows every time they're sad and scared. Old Ella definitely would have done this. Hell, Two-Days-Ago Ella at Camp David snuck through multiple windows before going rogue. But it's possible that Old Ella needs to make a change because Alex doesn't deserve this. Maybe I don't have to ruin everything?

I can't abandon him here like this. I need to buck up, leave this bathroom, and face this conversation.

I sit down in front of the window, cross-legged. There's a hurricane brewing inside of my head and no amount of deep breaths, affirmations, or other bullshit will help the storm dissipate. I rub my temples, keenly aware I'm making Alex do all of the work out there, but I'm glued to the floor. I've never given much–any–thought to escaping before. I just leave and deal with the consequences later. It's my MO, and how do you change that?

When was the last time I felt like this? My mind flicks back to just before I left home for Oxford. I left, but that's because leaving was better than staying. I had to get out. If I leave through that window, what then? Do I take the car and leave Alex stranded? Do I go out alone on foot? That's stupid, even for me.

At first I was afraid, I was petrified.

The lyric hits my frontal lobe like a police cruiser hits a tanker truck. Woah. Too soon. I shake my head to clear the thought.

I've got my life to live/And all my love to give and/I will survive.

I have a sound mind in a pure body and am as strong as an ox.

I don't have to ruin everything.

I can still turn things around.

I start by closing the window. Temptation gone. I hang up the wet washcloth from earlier and then actually search the room for anything weird.

I don't find anything, but I still can't leave the bathroom. Some type of invisible force is trapping me inside. I look back out the window and see that the sky is covered by a thick blanket of clouds. No. I hang one of the folded towels over the window to remove the temptation completely. This window is no longer an option. There. Now I can leave.

My fingers grab the metal doorknob and I take a deep breath. It's just Alex, and you are Ella Fucking Cornell. You have never met a mess you couldn't get out of.

I am finally able to turn the knob and step outside. Alex is lying on his back looking under the bed with one of the flashlights. "Hey," I smile weakly.

"Hey. You find anything?" I shake my head. "Great, me neither. Can you look behind the paintings?" I nod and lift the first one, an image of a lonely sailboat at sea, and check the wall behind it.

"Nothing," I announce, hanging it back onto the wall. The second is a picture of that weird cliffside house with the waterfall. Fallingwater, I believe it's called. That's right. Andrew Lloyd Webber's house.

There's nothing behind Mr. Webber's house or the third and final picture of two squirrels sharing an acorn in a tree. "All clear," I call out. Alex and I search the rest of the room: he takes the cabinets while I search the air conditioner and curtains. "For the record, I asked for a room with two beds and I guess they ignored that very vital request."

"So, are you ready to talk to me?" he responds flatly.

I scramble for a second, looking for another excuse, but I come up short. "Yeah," I say, defeated. I climb back onto the bed and sit against the headboard. "Same rules as last time?" I raise my eyebrows, "No yelling, no lying, no interrupting, and, uh, what was the fourth?"

"No touching." Alex deadpans.

"Oh, awkward," I click my tongue. "Uh, why don't you come sit on the bed and we'll talk." This is already going swimmingly.

"I'm just fine over here," Alex sits down in that weird armchair that hotels always have but no one ever uses.

I pull the decorative pillow, a square maroon thing, off the bed and clutch it against my chest. "I assume you want me to go first?" Alex nods once. "Right," I clear my throat, "Okay. I'm sorry for freaking out on you like that."

"That's all you have to say?"

"Hey," I shoot back, "I'm trying to find the right words. Give me a little grace."

"You kiss me first so I confess romantic feelings to you, and then you flip out and want nothing to do with me. I'm supposed to give you grace?"

"I almost escaped out the window!" I blurt out. "In the bathroom. But I didn't, because I'm trying to be mature, and I just need a little time to think. I know I messed up badly, but I have a lot of really complicated feelings that I'm struggling to communicate right now."

Alex is silent.

"I'm sorry I kissed you," I say after a moment, "This next part is going to sound really fucked up but bear with me for a second. It was the only thing I could think to do to make that cop less suspicious. Two teenagers making out in a car is a nuisance, but two teenagers on the run from the government with ghost guns is a felony. I knew that if he saw the guns he would arrest us. We'd be recognized at a police station, and I had to stop that from happening. Does that make sense?" Alex nods. I continue on, "You can hate me for that, but it was the only thing I could think of to not get us immediately turned over to the CIA. I know what they're capable of. They would have done unspeakable things to you, probably while I watched, and all of my autonomy would be stripped away. It might not have been conventional, but that's what I was trying to protect you from when I kissed you."

"But then you kissed me again," Alex says plainly.

"I believe you were the one who said 'Ella, I didn't get to kiss you back," I remind him, mimicking his accent, "And I'll accept that I was in the wrong for not pulling away, but I got caught up in the moment because I wanted to kiss you again," I whisper that last part.

"Sorry?"

"I wanted to kiss you again!" I blurt out, "Because it was a great kiss, and you were lying to the police, and I wasn't thinking straight when your lips were 3 inches from my face."

"You thought I was a good kisser?" I see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"You must have thought I was too if you went in for seconds," I shoot back, daring him to smile.

"Interesting wording there, but I will concede that I did in fact think that."

"So we've accepted that the quality of the kiss was not the problem," I summarize, "The issue is that we both have different ideas on where to go next."

"Yeah," his tone is biting and sarcastic.

"Look, this is me doing my best. I didn't grow up in a 'talk through your feelings' family, nor were genuine apologies ever a thing. I'm talking slowly because I'm trying to make things right. I care about you enough to not just bulldoze through this or leave out a window and mess us both up forever," I say softly.

"You really think you could mess me up forever? I'm not some fragile little boy. I have witnessed unimaginable horrors in my life, so if you think you can mess me up forever, I'd like to see you try," he challenges. His words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Alex, stop," I whisper.

"Fine. What kind of family did you grow up in then?" He changes the subject.

I look over at him. "I may be emotionally vulnerable right now, but I still know when someone is trying to extract information from me."

"Ella, this is a conversation, not an interrogation. You've cited your family as reasons for your behavior a lot the past few days, and I think it's time we had that conversation."

I stay silent. There are some words that are just unfathomable to say out loud. How can I trust anyone? I've been kicking myself for telling my Uncle Johannes anything, and he's currently my #1 favorite family member. If I don't talk to Alex, I'll lose him as a friend, but how can I even begin to let the words form?

"Woah, are you okay?" Alex stands up.

"Hm?" I focus on him.

"You started breathing really heavily all of a sudden and look like you're about to pass out." I take a few deep breaths and shut him out. I can just be quiet! I'm great at not saying anything at all. "What are you thinking right now?" he asks, sitting next to me on the bed.

"That I would literally rather be waterboarded than do this," I wince.

Alex snorts. The sound surprises me. "You can take the girl out of the CIA, but you can't take the CIA out of the girl."

"Have you been given such a treatment by the boys in red, white, and blue?" I raise an eyebrow, thankful to change the subject.

"One lovely afternoon in Cairo," he nods.

Egypt? "Wait, Alex, when were you in Cairo?" I ask.

"Maybe four years ago," Alex thinks back. "Why?"

"Holy shit. You were the sad little British boy?!" I exclaim.

"Ella, that was one of the worst days of my life," Alex flinches, "Actually, I can definitively say it was the worst day of my life. How do you know about it?"

"You were with some CIA guys in a helicopter, right?" Alex nods slowly, "My older brother was one of those guys. It's like, his only successful mission to date and he bragged about it constantly for years. Now," I smirk, "I know it was all you."

"Wait, seriously? I met your brother?"

"I don't think he talked to you–he probably thought that would be beneath him–but he was definitely on that helicopter. All he ever talks about is how he saved this sad little British boy's life. God, this makes so much sense now. I knew he wasn't the reason that mission succeeded." I have never needed to gossip to Oliver so much in my nineteen years on this Earth.

"That is not what happened," Alex replies.

"What did?"

"In a very short summary, the CIA guys were my backup on a mission I was on for MI6. I was doing my own thing and they found me. Sure, they covered for me, but it was my intel, my connections, and my work. Why would he lie about such a thing?"

"My brother is the oldest child and the first son of my father. He's been told how great he was his entire life and constantly uses it to punch down at me. He always used that mission in Cairo to build himself up, but now I know he was just a pawn. My whole life," I continue, "We've been pitted against each other and now I know the truth: he's nothing. I think it always killed my father a little bit that I was a better field agent than James. James actually likes the field, for one, and there's something about fathers and sons."

"I wouldn't know."

"What?"

"Both of my parents died when I was a few weeks old. I never got to know them."

I don't know how to tell him that I already know this. "Both of my parents are pretty dead to me right now," I reply.

"More so than usual?"

I nod my head. "I have nothing to say to either of them for the foreseeable future."

"Ella, what happened?"

"The thing is, it's not even in my top 5 most fucked up things I've witnessed this past year. It's just really fresh, Alex." My lip trembles and I can't do anything else except cry, cry, cry.

"How do you cope with it all?" I whisper once the tears stop falling.

"What do you mean?"

I lift my head off of his shoulder and make eye contact. "I don't know the specifics of what you've been through, but if it's anything like me, you've seen a lot of traumatic shit from a very young age."

Alex pauses and nods slowly. "I was fourteen."

"Ten," I reply.

"Christ."

"Yeah," I pause, "So how do you do it? I can usually get through the day alright, but I literally cannot envision myself living long enough to actually take my future seriously. That's why I'm so reckless, I think. I'm going to be sent into the field no matter how 'good' or 'bad' I am, so I might as well just have fun in the short term."

"Fuck, that's heavy," Alex says somberly, putting his arm back around me. "I never expected to make it to nineteen either. I think a large part of me died when I was fourteen. At first, I still hoped that one of the adults in my life would rescue me–Jack did try," he corrects himself, "But no one ever came to save that poor fourteen-year-old boy. After that, I learned I couldn't rely on anybody but myself and seriously three other people."

"And how do you cope with that?"

"I don't know," Alex considers, "I feel like the fire has gone out inside of me years ago and I've stopped even searching for a spark. I used to fight MI6 before I went on missions and now I just…go. God, I can't believe I just said that."

"I get that. For me, I just wonder if I'll ever get to stop fighting before I die. I just want to know a little peace. I guess…I guess I just want to be normal for a little bit," I balk at the word, "My whole life people have been telling me that I'm extraordinary but I just want to be average, if that's even possible for me still."

"And also," I continue, "Am I doing the world a disservice by not working for the CIA or AIVD or Mossad or something? Can I still be something good? Am I wasting my talents, and my training, and all the work my dad put into me by choosing a different path? Or, does none of it matter because I was doomed from birth?"

"I thought you didn't care about what your dad thinks. He's a prick."

"It's…not that easy," I pause, "I'm fluent in a dozen languages and conversational in several others. I can reload a gun with my eyes closed, I can change my whole identity in five minutes, I can run a 5.5-minute mile with a backpack on, and I can out-strategize the second-in-command at the CIA. I'm smart on paper, but I still can't find it within myself to cut my father out of my life. Yeah, he was an ass in that hospital in Texas, but he's also the person who would wake up extra early with me before he went to work to make biscuits and watch foreign cartoons together. He's basically the root cause of all my problems, but he's also the first person I'm going to call if the Nationals somehow make the playoffs this year. Cutting him out would make a lot of things easier, but there's not a single other person in the world who I can have a conversation with where every sentence is in a different language. He's the worst, but he's also not always the worst."

"It's weird," Alex begins, "That you and I both had fathers who were spies. Yours lived and mine died, and yet we still ended up in exactly the same place. Both literally and metaphorically. I wonder if it even mattered what happened to our fathers at all."

I nod. "They aren't the main characters of our stories, and it's time we take that to heart. Maybe it's time I stopped being the daughter of John Cornell and started just being Ella."

Alex nods. "Being John Rider's son has brought me nothing but trouble. Maybe it's time I just started being Alex," he shudders, "That felt weird to say out loud."

"Good weird, or bad weird?"

"Just weird. Like I'm finally admitting something to myself I've buried for years." He pauses. "I've never told anybody that before."

God, I wish I could do that. I wish I could just talk to him. Alex's arm is still around me, and I reach across my torso and grab his hand. "That makes you brave. Alex Rider, you are the bravest person I know," I murmur.

We make eye contact. He leans in ever so slightly. I pause for a second but I start leaning in too, closing the gap between us. He puts his hand on my cheek and kisses my upper lip so softly. I know I have to stop this, but I selfishly…so selfishly…let it go on for another couple of seconds.

I break the kiss and rest my forehead against his. "I'm so sorry, Alex."

"I still don't understand why not," I can hear his voice breaking, "Why won't you give this a shot?"

"Because we're still strangers, Alex. You don't know anything about me."

"Let me learn," he practically begs. I can see his eyes beginning to well up, and it's the first time I ever see Alex Rider cry. I can't believe I just made Alex Rider cry. "You hardly know anything about me either, but I know you have feelings for me too. Just let yourself be happy, damnit!"

I pull away from him. "You think the reason I won't date you is because I don't think I deserve to be happy?" My mind flicks back to my conversation with Noa. "I'm doing this to protect us!"

"Stop being a martyr." He maintains eye contact, "Against all odds, I've survived nineteen-and-a-half years on this planet and I can handle myself. I don't need you to protect my feelings."

"Stop making this so difficult," I look up, tears in my eyes, "I'm trying to be the mature one here and you're making it so hard."

"Okay. I'll make it easy for you. Just look me in the eyes and tell me you don't have feelings for me."

I look him in the eyes. "I don't have feelings for you," I say flatly, barely believing the words myself.

"That's bollocks and you know it."

"Feelings aren't the issue, Alex, practicality is. It's time for me to stop messing around and be more pragmatic about my personal life."

"God, Ella, you have everything!" He exclaims. "I'm not a bad guy for wanting something like that for myself too."

"I have everything?" I repeat, incredulously, "What could you possibly mean by that?"

"Well, your parents didn't get blown up in an airplane when you were two months old, for starters. You didn't lose the only family you ever knew at age fourteen to a Scorpia assassin before getting sent on the same mission that killed him. You have friends, Ella. Real friends who understand that none of you are perfect but you still can rely on each other. God, Noa and Oliver," he pauses, "Noa and Oliver love you so much. Anyone can see it. And Yuri dropped everything to help you out at the safe house, even though you two don't seem quite as close."

"You have this whole group of friends who love you because of your past, not in spite of it. You don't have to worry about them growing up, or moving on, or moving away to bloody Italy while you're still trapped inside your own head after five years. Your friends are just like you–like us–and you made a community out of it. I never thought it would be possible that there were other people like me out there. But then, I poisoned my place of work and made this girl throw up, and now I'm sobbing in front of you."

Alex's tears are flowing now and I'm taken aback. Fenna would escalate. Danny would kiss him. Johannes would apologize. Ava would give him the best hug. Oliver would…

"Alex, I think it's time I told you the truth."

AN:

1) I am very aware that Andrew Lloyd Webber did not design Fallingwater, but it is objectively funnier if Ella is not.

2) The line "I have a sound mind in a pure body and am as strong as an ox" is also adapted from Catch-22. (can you tell it's my favorite book?)

3) Whose side (if anyone's) are we taking here?