A/N: Sorry guys, I have a million excuses, but none of them are adequate, it's just that I've been going through some shit recently . . . I've been having really dark thoughts, have been for a couple years now and when it finally overloaded, well . . . the results weren't pretty. Anyway, gloomy thoughts aside, I've completely changed the plotline of what has now become a trilogy, so sit tight and I hope you enjoy it, though I must warn you, it's not a very pleasant chapter.

Dedicated to everyone who reviewed and held onto the hope that I would keep writing.

Joe Byrne looked up from his desk as the door swung open, frowning until he saw who had entered. "Alex!" he cried, lips widening in a smile before his mind fully registered what he eyes were telling him.

Alex strode into the room, hiding the limp in his left leg impeccably; anyone with less experience than the CIA Director would have been none the wiser. What stood out more obviously were the specks of dried blood the boy had missed when washing his face upon his return to the headquarters. The face in question was pale and set in hard lines, accentuating the adult features Alex had grown into during the past few months, the flickering eyes boring into his superiors without his knowledge. As all ways, Byrne had to swallow down the near-overwhelming feeling of guilt before addressing the youth.

"Are you sure you're feeling up to a debriefing, Alex?" he asked in the surprisingly gentle tone he reserved almost exclusively for the agency's youngest member, "If you like, you can have a few days to recuperate and I'll bring you in at the end of the week?"

"I'd rather deal with it now and get back to school, Mr Byrne." Alex replied in a flat monotone, his eyes darting around the clean, minimalistic room in search of cameras and listening devices. He had spotted three since he had arrived.

Byrne gave him a concerned look but decided not to push the issue, making a mental note to have Shulsky arrange an appointment with the therapist who catered to the upper echelons of the CIA. With any luck, Alex might actually turn up this time.

Clearing his throat, he gestured to the chair in front of his desk while quickly scanning through the numerous files on his desk for Alex's most recent assignment, surreptitiously watching the teenager from out of the corner of his eye as he stiffly placed himself in the offered chair, his arms still and his gaze locked straight ahead.

Locating the file, Byrne pulled it to rest directly in front of it but did not open it, instead folding his hands over the cover and meeting Alex's eyes. "Well, I must say, you've done an excellent job, Alex, as always. Thanks to your efforts, Buchanan is now in a secure cell and Lyne has agreed to co-operate."

"Why would you need his co-operation?" Alex asked, his shrewd eyes narrowing slightly.

"The Navy have some concerns about his activities before he defected."

"You mean they want to know if he has any friends on the inside."

Byrne hesitated. "In a nutshell, yes."

"Friends with sensitive information, perhaps?"

Byrne's eyes narrowed. Alex met his gaze head-on. They sat in silence for several long moments before the elder man spoke up again. "Alex, the government appreciates everything you have done for us and I, personally, have a lot to thank you for. But, if there were any chance that Lyne and his possible friends have gotten into the system, that is for us to deal with, not you."

A frigid smile cut across Alex's face. "In other words, mind your own damn business, yes? Am I still not a member of this agency, in spite of my work?"

Byrne held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's not it at all. I'm simply saying that your assignment is complete and rather than worrying about the little details, you should take some time to focus on your recuperation."

"Hmm," Alex stared him down for so long Byrne felt his spine tingle as he readied himself for a debate. However, the boy changed tack abruptly. "How is Farrow?"

"He'll be fine. I'm told the hospital insisted on keeping him in for observation for a further twenty-four hours, but after that he's a free man, albeit with bed rest at first."

"Good. That's good." Alex replied quietly.

"I'm sure he'd be happy to see you, if you'd like to – "

"No. Thank you, Mr Byrne. Have the Pleasure's been informed of my arrival?"

Byrne nodded. "I sent Shulsky round a couple of hours ago to get your clothes and let them know."

A small, though sincere, smile flashed across Alex's face, "Is Shulsky in your bad books?"

"Of course he is! Have you seen the scratch he inflicted on the limousine?!" Byrne cried in mock horror, before chuckling at his own antics, gratified when the teenager temporarily joined in.

As the Director went to speak again, there was a knock at the door. Not missing the way Alex's eyes darted round to peer out of his peripheral vision, the elder man called, "Come in!" and the obstruction swung in to admit Ed Shulsky himself.

"Speak of the devil." Alex muttered.

"Sir. Alex." Shulsky gave the boy a small smile and then focused on his boss. "She's been calling again, sir. Says she needs an answer ASAP."

"She would," Byrne muttered irritably, his good mood draining away.

As the man sank into contemplative silence, Alex was left to ponder the loose ends of his mission and his biology assignment, wondering if it was overdue, which it probably was. After sharing a look with the amiable Shulsky, he decided it was time he was on his way, "Was there anything else, Mr Byrne?"

"What?" Byrne looked up, shaken from his reverie. "No, no, that was it. As I've said, well done and do try to get some rest in this time, Alex. I can arrange for some time off school? A week, maybe?"

Alex's eyes went dark. "As much as I appreciate your consideration, Mr Byrne, I've missed enough school already, thank you."

"Well . . . if that's what you want. Miss Knight will be waiting in the foyer to take you home."

Rising from his seat gracefully, despite his injury, Alex nodded to both Byrne and Shulsky, then spun on his heel, marching towards the door.

With his back no turned, Byrne allowed lines of consternation to crease his face and his shoulders felt heavy. "Oh," he added, as a piece of information surfaced in his mind at the last moment. Alex half turned away from the doorway to face him. "Happy – belated – birthday, by the way."

Alex stared at him, expressionless, for a drawn-out moment before moving his lips briefly outwards in an utterly mirthless smile, his already-dark eyes flickering. He exited the room without a word.

Shulsky breathed a sigh of relief, happy that the tension in the room had been dispelled. At least until he looked at the Director, who sat back in his leather office chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow creased sternly. "I am quite certain I made myself clear on what should not be said in front of Alex, Ed."

"I know, sir, and I'm sorry but she really is harassing my whole department."

Byrne snorted. "Yeah, Jones is pretty stressed nowadays." The man lost himself in thought for a moment as he considered the difficult, deceptively simple decision that lay before him before he turned, once more, to his subordinate. "Have you anymore news on this Earnshaw character? What is it about him that's got her so riled up?"

"No updates, sir. We've been able to find nothing new, I'm afraid."

Byrne grunted crossly. "Then I'll have to give her an answer blind."

Shulsky waited for several minutes before he felt compelled to prompt the response from his superior. "And what is that answer, sir?"

Another pause.

"Tell her yes."

XXXXX

Acknowledging Tamara Knight's wave with a slight smile, Alex turned to face the two-story urban residence that he been his home for the last seven months and forced himself not to show any outward sign of dread. The possessions he had taken with him had either been confiscated by the CIA or had already been returned by Shulsky, so he had no excuse for dawdling.

The door was unlocked, so there was no need to lock. Closing the door quietly behind him, he strode down the hall silently and stepped into the kitchen, intent on fixing himself a drink and writing a note before going to bed.

"You didn't call out."

Not turning from his goal, he opened the fridge and reached for the orange juice as he replied, "I thought you'd be in bed."

Two sets of footsteps meandered about the kitchen. The slightly uneven gait and minute scraping of the metal on tile told him that Edward had seated himself in a stool at the island while the lighter, brisker shuffle by the sink signalled Liz's choice of area to lean on.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Alex turned to face his guardians, thanking Liz as he took the proffered glass. She nodded but didn't say anything, folding her arms across her chest and looking down at the sparkling floor.

"We always stay up when you come back." Edward continued, attempting to pinion Alex with his sharp eyes, leaning his upper body on the counter, his hands clasped in front of him.

"It's later than usual. Would you like some?" the teenager added, shaking the bottle slightly. He replaced it in the fridge as they declined.

"We need to talk." Edward said, voice low and serious, before Alex could walk away.

'We always need to talk, according to you two,' Alex thought tetchily. Aloud, he simply said, "Yes?"

Edward looked down for a moment, the angle of the lighting creating a sheen across his lenses that obscured his eyes from view. When he looked up again they were hard. "How long do you intend to play this game?"

"Game?" Alex asked, keeping his voice level.

"Don't mess around Alex. We know about what you've been doing."

Alex shrugged his shoulders, leaning back. "Funny, I thought the details were classified."

Liz let loose a strange, shuddering sigh that briefly drew Alex's attention away from her husband, but said nothing, still avoiding his eyes.

"We told you to say no. To them and all the others."

Alex swivelled his eyes around to meet Edward's stern gaze, noting the repressed frustration there dispassionately. "There are times when I cannot say no."

"I am aware that you have history with these people, but you were supposed to put all that behind you." The barely constrained frustration gave way slightly as Edward roughly ran his hands through his hair and set them down again on the marble surface with more force than necessary. "I don't understand Alex. I thought you had changed."

"I have changed."

"For the better." Edward cut himself off there as he voice increased in volume.

Before he could compose himself, Alex started up, feeling inexorably tired all of a sudden. "I was ready to start a new life when I came here. I really was. But the first time, I had no choice, as you well know. It was meant to be my last one. But things happened. Things changed. And now . . . now I have to do it."

"Tell us what it is." Liz suddenly blurted out. On turning to face her, Alex saw that her eyes were red, as if she had recently been crying, large and glistening in her pale, drawn face, her usually immaculate hair a haggard curtain framing her face. "It can't be as bad as all that, honey. Tell us and we'll help you see that."

"I can't." Alex answered flatly, feeling both sad and not at the same time.

"Why?" Edward demanded, refusing to look at his foster son, a quiet anger in his voice. "Because we wouldn't understand?"

"Exactly." Alex said, no longer hiding how tired and melancholy he felt. A heavy silence descended on the occupants of the kitchen, weighing them down until the teenager could take it no more. "I think we need to be honest with ourselves here. Maybe . . . maybe you shouldn't have taken me in."

"I'm beginning to wish we hadn't." Edward answered softly.

Alex breathed in and out through his nose several times, then headed for the stairs, plucking his glass of orange juice off the island with one hand. No one said goodnight.

He was almost to the top of the stairs when he heard the creak of a bedroom door closing and had set one foot on the landing when the light under Sabina's room abruptly switched off.

As he prepared for bed, it occurred to Alex, like a flash of light, that he actually missed his old life, moreso than he had previously ben willing to admit to himself. It appeared his situation had done a complete hundred and eighty degree turn. Once upon a time, he was tugged about like a piece of equipment at the leisure of MI6's bosses, but was content to come home to the accepting, familiar Jack and then his comfortable life with Wolf. Now, he was respected professionally and the thought of a whole week post-mission spent with only the Pleasure's had become a repulsive thought. How times changed.

A/N: Yeah, I know, depressing. Don't worry, it gets better! Sorry about any mistakes and how short it is; I've got about three minutes left of battery life on my laptop and I don't want to risk it, so you're getting this as is, I'm afraid.