A/N: Wow…I’m actually crazy enough to start a new story. Again. What is bloody wrong with me!? Have I not learned my lesson about too many stories at once? (looks around at massive number of stories) Nope, apparently not. But you guys aren’t exactly going to complain, now are you?

Anyway, blame/thank JK Mafia for this one. See, she just had to go off and put in an ‘honorable mention’ towards me in her A/N, along with a note about ‘more awesomeness coming soon’, so now, I’d feel guilty about it if I didn’t post something!

So, this is all her fault, really. Though, while I’m here, I’ll tell you, if you haven’t read her story “A Close Protection, Of Sorts”, go read it now. ‘Tis awesome. (Please remember to leave her plenty of oranges).

Anyway, first part’s drabble-y, but it gets to the actual story about a third of the way through.

It had been a weird week.

Awkward, really. Great, but awkward.

Sabina could probably tell, too.

It wasn’t like nothing happened or anything. On the contrary – she practically stayed all week. Jack even left them alone for most of the days, half the days, not that they did much.

They watched TV and old movies and listened to music, dancing around idiotically, and all sorts of manners.

Not to mention all the kissing. And crawling. And the two cold showers resulting on Alex’s end. And that weird moment when Jack walked into the living room, then promptly walked out with Alex and Sabina blushing on the couch. They all wisely chose not to mention it again.

Alex hadn’t been complaining at all. Of course, there was the slight…feeling…of formality, at first. Who knew. They weren’t shy, not at all. In fact, they changed right in front of each other.

Which was where all the trouble started, in his opinion.

“Alex…where’d you get that scar?”

And him, being the complete idiot who hadn’t looked up to actually see the shock on her face, just shrugged and said, “I was shot.”

It was the following gasp and thud into his chair was what had Alex looking up.

“But…why…how?”

“Just…I’ve been doing stuff even after the whole thing with Damian Cray. I pissed some people off.”

She slowly nodded, suddenly getting up and walking over to trace the scar with her delicate fingers. He’d admit it’d set his nerves on fire.

Sabina had slowly looked up at him.

“Who’d you piss off to get this?”

“…a group called Scorpia.”

She paused for a minute.

“International criminal organization,” Alex clarified. “They’re good at keeping quiet.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“International criminal organization!? What’d you do to get on their bad side?”

“Apparently, too much to count,” Alex said. “I’d…I’d rather not get into it.”

She nodded and sat back, and he, realizing he’d been standing there shirtless, just grabbed another one and dressed, before both headed down for dinner.

Throughout dinner, things were normal. Great, actually. Jack didn’t mind letting them have just a little wine (“Just a little bit can actually be good for you.”), and she went to bed, leaving Alex and Sabina to watch old Doctor Who episodes on the telly.

Nothing in particular happened to make things…what was Jack’s phrase for it? “Go south”? Bloody hell, they snogged, on the couch, on top of each other!

But even after they’d laid, there, hands up each other’s shirts and stopping there, Alex could already feel something off with the way Sabina looked at him.

Fear.

So light, so nimble it was almost undetectable. Almost.

But by the end of the week, even after all the fun they’d had…

“It scares me, Alex,” she said quietly. “You were shot. By an international criminal group. And you said they’re still looking for you. And all this other stuff you’ve done…none of bothers you. How doesn’t it bother you?”

“It does, Sab.”

“Then why don’t you show it?”

“I just…can’t.”

“That’s what scares me.”

They’d kept in touch after she left back for America. But that was what had scared Alex – she seemed happier to keep her distance.

It was obvious things would never be the same. She was scared by him, by his world, and by his life. She was almost scared of him…almost.

And they could never go back.

“Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”

Poetic. Musical. Universal. Beautiful.

Whoever said that can go shove it up their arse.

And of course, MI6 wasn’t done with him. They left him alone for well over two months. At least they waited to call until a week after his fifteenth birthday.

But still, they called.

Gently cruising down the road on his bike after spending the afternoon with Tom and a few other friends, his cell phone rang. Pulling out the BlackBerry that Jack had gotten him for his birthday, he didn’t even check Caller ID before saying simply, “Rider-boy, here, how may I service ye, today?”

A joke known by anyone and everyone who’d want to be bothered to call him.

Unfortunately, that also included…

“Mrs. Jones here, Alex.”

His heart sunk, and anchored on the road as he pulled over to talk. This would not be a conversation he could have while riding his bike.

“I thought I was done with you lot,” Alex said. He’d given up on being polite.

“It’s just a favor.”

“It’s always just a favor-”

“Please. Come in. We’ll explain. Believe it or not, you might actually like it.”

Alex sighed.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“This time, you do.”

“Of course I do,” Alex said sarcastically. A choice between risking his neck and life for them, or being shipped off to a dreary boarding school from hell while Jack’s deported back to America…like that was a real choice. “I’ll get there when I get there.”

Receiving no real answer, he gave a clipped, “Bye,” and hung up.

Then he dialed home.

“Alex?”

“Jack…”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll be home a little late. I’ll see you for supper, though hopefully I’ll be home before then.”

He didn’t mention that he was meeting for MI6. She didn’t ask. Alex was just starting to get along well with his friends again, and she encouraged his every chance for him to go out with them, and did nothing to stop it.

“Well, then…I just lost the chicken-”

“How do you lose a chicken?”

“I burned it, all right? Get some pizza on your way back if you don’t want pasta again.”

“All right. See you then.”

He was already turning his bike around to head to MI6 headquarters.

This time, as usual, Alex knew ‘the drill’ while walking in. Quite simple, really. He was alone, and all the low-level operatives playing as tellers were actually receptionists, keeping up the bank front while really redirecting all the MI6 agents the building held.

Walking up to any one of them at random, he simply mentioned he had a meeting with Mrs. Jones. He was given a card, took it to a guard in the back, guard took it and showed Alex to a ‘private elevator’.

It was just remembering where and when to turn in what direction after that.

He didn’t even knock as he walked into Alan Blunt’s office and took a seat across from Blunt and Jones, sitting across from him, behind the desk.

“Alex,” Mrs. Jones said. “Do you remember your time with Scorpia? In Malagosto, specifically?”

Alex paused, then slowly nodded.

“Yea…why?”

“Because,” Blunt said. “You’re the first agent to get inside in over eight years. And that one was killed in a week – she was discovered to be a spy too soon. The last person before her to reach Malagosto was your own father, sixteen years ago.”

Another slow nod. Where was this going?

“One of the ways we fight against Scorpia is, obviously, knowing what we’re up against. Much of that includes their training facility, Malagosto. But…with only a few vague changes known from eight years ago, all we’ve got is from your father’s time there.”

Alex cocked his head, waiting for them to continue.

“We doubt that too much has changed, but whatever has changed, we need you to look into it and correct it, so we know and can adapt to it, as well.”

Alex raised an eyebrow.

“That’s it? No sending me to my death with shitty protection and less plans or ideas of what the bloody hell I’m supposed to do?”

They didn’t respond to his glib.

“Quite a change,” Alex said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jones said. “You might actually enjoy this. The reports you’ll be looking over are your father’s.”

Alex’s eyebrows shot up.

“Really?”

“It’s almost a journal, really,” Mrs. Jones said. “Simply read over his descriptions of Malagosto, correct anything you’ve seen changed, and add anything that he missed.”

Another slow nod.

“His entire report was mostly one, long journal – piece by piece of what he’s found, there,” Blunt said. “We have also digitalized it long ago. It can all be downloaded into a flash drive for you, or maybe onto your phone – A BlackBerry, yes? – and you can read with ease, where and whenever you are, and send us back the corrections instantly. Smithers has a method to immensely improve the memory and reception of your phone and computer, so this should be easy. We can also give you a printed version, if you like.”

Alex paused.

“Just my phone is fine,” he said, slowly. No life risking, no neck breaking, nothing. This was a change he’d be wary of. “Is there any sort of dead line you want this done by?”

“Not much,” Mrs. Jones said. “Scorpia is still recuperating after the heavy blows you’ve dealt them. You killed two of their executive members in the span of about two months. We, as a whole, have only managed the same in about a decade. We’re not sure, but we think there might be a massive change of management going under. It will definitely be some time, several months at least, until we hear of them again. Though, it would be helpful to have it back as fast as we can.”
Another slow nod.

“I’ve already downloaded everything to your phone, now,” Blunt said, causing Alex to reach down and look for the red phone. “Along with a few ‘gifts’ from Smithers.”

Alex grinned at the hint of annoyance in Blunt’s voice and the prospect of something from Smithers.

“Well…erm…thanks…I should just be going, shouldn’t I?” Alex said. Mrs. Jones nodded.

“Thank you, immensely, Alex,” She said. “Though please, do get it back as soon as possible. It is a bit of a lengthy report, but I think it’ll be worth it in the end.”

Alex got up, pulling on his school bag. “I’ll send it back whenever I send it back.”

And of course, he just left without another word.

“Alex!” Jack said, greeting him in the hallway and relieving Alex of the pizza box in his arms. “Where’ve you been?”

He didn’t even bother lying to her as he pulled off his school jacket and she set the box down on the counter.

“MI6.”

She froze, before slowly turning to look at him.

“Oh no…they’re sending you someplace for an assignment, aren’t, aren’t they? They didn’t even wait two months and they’re starting all over again-”

“No, actually…they’re sending me something for an assignment…”

Now she just looked confused, before shaking her head.

“You’re not going anywhere?”

“Yes, I am, actually – to the restroom. Then to the sitting room to eat.”

She smiled.

“Whatever this is, tell me over…well, dinner.”

He shook his head and went to the bathroom, loosening his clothes as he walked, pulling on some jeans and a tee-shirt for the house while he washed his face and brushed his hair, coming back down in a few minutes to see Jack setting down plates with pizza slices on the living room table.

They watched more TV, a bit, getting pizza everywhere and opting to clean up later, before Jack brought it up again.

“So what do they have you doing?”

“Corre’ing m’dad’s ol’ reports.”

“…say what now?”

Alex swallowed the bite in his mouth.

“Correcting my dad’s old reports.”

“I’m still lost, here.”

Alex smiled.

“My dad made some long reports on Malagosto – Scorpia’s training facility – so that MI6 would know what they’re up against. The last agent after him got killed, there, so I’m the first one in about sixteen years to really get inside. They want me to look over it all and make any changes and what not so MI6 can adapt.”

Her eyebrows rose up.

“Sounds like more homework, if you ask me.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be a problem. I caught up with all my school work a few weeks ago, I believe, with the rest of my class. I think I will move on ahead, actually. This shouldn’t be a problem at all,” Alex said. “But anyway, I guess it is…but these were written by my dad.”

Finally getting why Alex wasn’t pissed as bloody hell about this, Jack smiled.

“So…any ideas on what’s changed, so far?”

“I don’t know if they had PlayStation 2’s back then, so I imagine putting one of those into every room’s changed…along with a full fridge and plasma television.”

Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds like you had a nice time there.”

“Would you be freaked out if I said I did?”
She sighed.

“It kind of scares me that an international criminal organization has consistently treated you ten times better than our own government, even when you were their prisoner and not student…but no, I wouldn’t be surprised at all.”

Alex smiled through his bite of pizza.

“Good…because I did.”

A/N: Okay, I know, it's a little slow, but I swear, it gets at least somewhat better near the end. Again, blame JK Mafia. But still, go check out her stories, and leave plenty of oranges.

Also, just something you might be interested in if you're a writer. I have started a blog on writing, conceptual ideas, tips, hints, and how to improve. Mostly posts on subjects most mishandled (I wrote five straight posts on torture alone - and a sixth one to summarize the other five). If you go to my profile, near the top, there should be a hyperlink: "Writing Help Blog". Click if you dare. ;D

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