Well, I'm back with another one-shot that randomly popped into my head at 5am when I really couldn't sleep. So, knowing full well that I had to get up in three hours, I turned on the light and wrote it all down until my hand hurt and I finally konked out at 7. Then woke up at 11, waaay later than I originally intended. And now I'm staying up until 2am typing this all out for you people! Why do I put myself through this?? Oh, and just wondering, does anyone else remember when there wasn't even an Alex Rider section? I remember searching for "Alex Rider" and the only thing that popped up was a poem about Alex's POV throughout Point Blanc or something like that. And now there's over 700 fics...wooow. That's pretty damn amazing, if I do say so myself...

As usual, I don't own squat.

It wasn't the same when he was gone.

Not like all the overdramatic soap operas where "the sun doesn't shine as brightly, the birds don't sing as sweetly and the food just doesn't taste right". In fact, Jack had a habit of eating more when Alex was gone. She couldn't help it. She ate when she was nervous or worried. Because of this, she had gained a good ten pounds in the last few months from eating McDonalds and other fast foods –something Alex would definitely frown upon—that she usually avoided like the plague.

But when Alex was gone, everything changed. The house became eerily quiet –much too quiet for Jack's comfort, the kitchen was always spotless because Jack compulsively cleaned with nothing else to occupy herself with and the living room was depressingly empty without Alex's things strewn about the place. After the first few days, she always found herself actually craving the mess she was constantly pestering Alex to clean up.

Already, the seventeen-year-old had been gone a little over three weeks –23 days, to be exact—on another mission for MI6 and Jack was going out of her mind with worry. This was about the time he usually stumbled in through the front door –exhausted, bruised and about to collapse—and into Jack's waiting arms. For the last two days, Jack hadn't left her post of the couch from where she could clearly see the front door and the TV. There was a large stack of corny DVDs she had already watched on the coffee table and, having run out of anything else to watch, she had resorted to late night soap operas. She wasn't really paying attention to them though, as seventy-five percent of her attention was focused on the door, waiting for the sound of the doorbell. Alex never took his house keys on missions and the one time she had left the door unlocked for him, he had given her a lecture about assassins coming to kill her. She loved the kid with all of her heart, but he took the "paranoid spy" routine to a whole new level.

Changing the channel, Jack glanced at the clock above the television. It was nearing three in the morning and still there was no sign of Alex. Growing more worried, she sighed, wondering if this would be the night he would return. The thought of him not coming back never even crossed her mind. He had to come back. He always did.

Not one to disappoint Jack, Alex got home almost an hour later, just as Jack was about to turn off the TV and go to bed. At the sound of the doorbell, Jack leapt up, suddenly wide awake, and sprinted to the door, tripping over herself in her haste. She flung the door open to find Alex, leaning against the doorframe, half asleep and shivering slightly as the February wind whipped snowflakes past the open door. After waving thank you to the agent in the black Ford who had dropped the teen off, Jack pulled Alex into her arms, silently thanking anyone who might be listening for finally have him back again.

"Sorry I'm late." He mumbled into her shoulder with a tired smile on his face, his words muffled by the fabric of her thick sweatshirt. He wrapped his heavy arms around her to return the hug, or maybe just to warm up, either way, Jack was just happy to have him back alive.

"Better late than never." Jack sighed happily, running her hands over his back, warming him up and reassuring herself that he was really back. This was one of her favorite moments, holding him in her arms, knowing that he was safe and that no one could hurt him as long as she was there. She silently dared anyone to try to get through her to hurt him and come out of it alive. "Let's get you inside. You look exhausted." She finally broke the hug and, keeping one arm draped around his slumped shoulders, led him inside. She kicked the door shut behind them with a triumphant flourish, as always, imagining Alan Blunt and Tulip Jones standing on the other side, just close enough for the door to knock them backwards.

"When was the last time you slept?" Jack asked as she guided him onto the couch. She didn't even have to push him to sit; he just dropped down and leaned back, sighing.

"Does passing out on the plane count?" He asked with a wry smile, but at Jack's expression he answered honestly, well aware that it was almost four in the morning and that she was probably about as tired as he was. "Maybe a day or two?" He guessed, not completely sure, staring at the ceiling as he thought. He had large bags under his darks eyes and he looked much paler –and thinner—than usual. "I don't really remember." He added, the last words lost in a large yawn. He let himself tip over onto the couch pillows, frowning at the sound of crinkling aluminum foil. He reached under the pillow and pulled out a large, empty, crumpled-up bag from potato crisps. He stared at it for a moment, his eyebrow raised, before training his gaze on Jack.

"Don't even start." Jack ordered playfully, snatching the bag away and tossing it onto the coffee table with other wrappers and cans. She watched, slightly embarrassed, as Alex's eyes slowly traveled over the mess then slid shut in a slow blink, looking slightly more depressed than he had a moment ago. Sure, Alex hated junk food, but that didn't mean Jack couldn't have her comfort food while he was gone.

"Do you want anything to eat or are you just going to sleep?" She asked, figuring that if he hadn't slept in two days, he probably hadn't eaten much either.

"Too tired to chew…" He mumbled into the beige pillow, bringing his legs up onto the couch without taking off his shoes. Jack chose not to mention it at the moment as he was probably doing it partially to annoy her. Punishment for the junk food. She thought bitterly. "…I think I'll just curl up and die for a day or two…" He shifted into a comfortable position and winced as he probably jarred whatever injuries he had.

"Can you at least make it upstairs to a real bed?" Sure, it was a nice couch, but it wasn't all that comfortable for sleeping on. Alex just shook his head, wincing again. Probably a headache. Jack concluded. "Okay, but at least take off your shoes and make yourself comfortable. I'll be back with a blanket." She reluctantly stood up and slowly left the room, walking sideways to keep an eye on Alex as he very slowly sat up to untie his shoes. He didn't seem to notice her gaze as he took a deep breath and blew a few candy wrappers away from him, sending them fluttering across the glass coffee table.

Smiling to herself, Jack turned the corner to the linen closet. She took out a fleece blanket and a heavier quilt as it was a fairly chilly night and tucked them under her arm as she made her way back to Alex, stopping by the bathroom to grab a bottle of painkillers. By the time she got back, Alex was curled up on his side, fast asleep, one arm dangling off the side of the sofa. He had taken off his thick sweatshirt and dumped it onto the floor with his wet shoes, the snow having melted into the carpet already. Sighing, Jack stood back and simply watched him for a moment. He always looked so peaceful while he slept. All the stresses of MI6, school and the pressures of everyday life seemed to just melt away, leaving a regular teenage boy who just loved to play football.

She shook her head, bringing herself back to reality. She unfolded the two blankets and spread them out over Alex, tucking them in around him. She was a little surprised he didn't wake up as he usually did, but she was glad he was finally getting the sleep he deserved. She didn't know what he had been doing in Greece this time, but they were definitely going to be talking about it all when Alex was up and about again. She didn't care how much he griped, protested and whined; talking to her about it all seemed to help him through it all more than any MI6-appointed therapist ever could. She set the bottle of painkillers on the coffee table (now clear of all the wrappers and cans as Alex had apparently been overcome with the obsessive compulsive urge to clean) then filled a glass of water to place next to it. She knew he would wake up at some point and need them as he usually did.

She sat down on the edge of the surprisingly strong coffee table and sighed, watching Alex again. It wasn't too often she saw him so still as he was always on the move, running around outside or playing football in the park. He was never the sort of kid to sit inside and read a book or take a nap, so Jack liked to savor these few truly still moments in his life. These moments let her forget about Alex-the-Covert-Operative and focus solely on Alex, just Alex. He had grown up so much since the death of his uncle Ian. It was almost inconceivable that he was the same little blond seven-year-old boy who had grinned up at her toothily her first day in the Rider household. She smiled as she remembered how surprised she had been when he started rattling on enthusiastically in Spanish, one of the languages Jack had never really gotten a firm grasp on. It wasn't until later that Ian explained that they had just returned to England a week ago after living in Barcelona for almost a year and that Alex did, in fact, speak English.

Now, that very same boy lay in front of her, a master of six languages total, possessing a black belt in three different martial arts, having saved the world many times over and who still refused to eat Spinach.

Jack couldn't help but laugh at the teenage spy. He was so grown up, but so childish in some ways. She covered her mouth with her sleeve, forcing herself to stop laughing as Alex frowned in his sleep and rolled over, muttering something about gyros before falling silent again. Still smiling, she got up and turned off the table lamp above Alex's head. After taking one last look at his almost angelic sleeping face –knowing full well that by tomorrow afternoon be would be back to his usual sarcastic self—Jack climbed the stairs as quietly as she could, making sure to not wake him. It was almost 4:45 in the morning and Jack, she realized with a sudden jolt of panic, still had breakfast scheduled with her friend at seven-thirty.

Sighing louder than necessary, Jack shut the door to her room and crawled into bed, finally closing her eyes after another late night of waiting up for Alex. She just hoped he really was worth all of the sleep she was losing over him.

Well, there it is. My random, plotless brainfart. I hope you enjoyed it. It's things like this that are keeping me from finishing Carnivale. In fact, I'm reaching the point where I think I would be better off just rewriting the whole damn thing. We'll just have to see what happens. Ooo, there's a real cliffhanger for you!

And now I have to go to sleep because I have to get up early to help my "hobo" friend (his term, not mine) get health insurance. This should be interesting...

Saynt Jimmy