A/N: So SpyFest is having a Fic Exchange, and this is my response to the prompt I received, which was: "It might have been the bitter and jaded part of him, but he'd expected worse. Honestly, he was just surprised nothing had ended up on fire or in pieces."

I'm not entirely sure where this came from, or if it's what my recipient had in mind, but somehow this oneshot was born from my musings on this prompt.

Enjoy, and happy Christmas!

(also I'm insanely proud of this so I've got to share: I made a CAKE yesterday and ahh it was so good even though I say it myself because damn, cream cheese frosting is the most amazing thing ever. It was pumpkin spice and cream cheese and it tasted like home omg)

Disclaimer: I don't own Alex Rider, or any of the characters/amazing beings associated with said book series, nor do I own "The Raven," which belongs solely to Edgar Allan Poe, that brooding romantic.

The Royal and General Bank was as dreary as it always was. People went in, people went out, money changed hands, and MI6 operatives conducted their particular brand of business. One such operative strode into the bank now, black coat buttoned up to his throat and hands in his pockets to combat the insistent cold of an English Christmas. Alex Rider stepped through the doors of his workplace, glancing, as he always did, at the section of pavement that had once been stained with his blood. The doorman nodded at him, expressionless, and Alex returned the gesture in kind, catching the familiar gleam of sympathy in the man's eyes as he saw where Alex had been looking.

Continuing on his way, Alex exchanged soft pleasantries with the receptionist seated before the lifts, then stepped into one of the aforementioned conveyances, running a bandaged hand through his blond hair and exhaling tiredly. He winced as the motion tugged at the stitches at the base of his spine, holding a deep slice (one of many) together. The lift stuttered to a halt, doors opening in near-silence to reveal a nondescript office hallway, notable only due to the people who walked its length.

Alex got out of the lift, moving in the direction of his office – the office that had once been his uncle's, though the man had been dead for five years.

"Back so soon, Rider?" a voice called down the hall, and a dark haired man poked his head out of an office. "Happy Christmas, by the way."

Alex shrugged. "Didn't feel the need to stay any longer than I had to," he replied, voice slightly hoarse. "And it's Christmas Eve. How are you, Felix?"

"Not my name, and you know it," the man laughed back, and Alex cracked a smile. "Saw the director heading in your direction, by the way. Can't be sending you back in so soon, can she?" 'Felix' sounded curious, but Alex was in no mood to speculate on the machinations of his superior.

"Better go see what she wants, then. See you, yeah?" Alex bid his coworker farewell, pulling open the door of his office and stepping inside – only to see a familiar face seated in his chair

"Hello, Jones," Alex murmured to his boss, unsurprised by her presence.

"Alex," she returned, the faint scent of peppermint lingering around her. "Happy Christmas."

He raised a single eyebrow at her, lowering himself into the chair opposite her with a barely-concealed wince. "Can I help you? You know I've been working for the last two weeks, right?"

Her lips twitched slightly at his expression, her slight snort no more than a swift exhale through her nose. "Is that what you call it? One of your easier missions, wasn't it?"

"If your definition of 'easier' is getting nearly burned alive and having to hurl myself into an ocean twenty meters below me to escape, then sure. It was easier." Alex's retort was heavy with sarcasm, but Tulip Jones remained unfazed.

"Your report is done, then?" she asked, face impassive save for a slight twist to her lips.

Alex sighed. "Of course. You know I don't come in until it's done – I'd rather do the paperwork in the comfort of my own home than in this office."

"Would you like a different office, Alex?" his boss questioned him archly, raising a defined eyebrow at him.

"Depends – does the one you're offering me belong to a dead man, too?" Alex returned wryly, leaning back in his chair and hissing as the back of his coat came into contact with the unyielding wood.

His boss looked at him suspiciously, sharp eyes catching his slight wince. "Do I need to send you back into the hospital, Agent Rider?" The use of his formal title was not lost on him.

He glared. "I'm fine, thank you, Director." He turned her title over in his mouth, tone slightly mocking. "I feel just dandy. Could send me back into the field, if you wanted, in fact," he said, watching her reaction.

He was rewarded with an eye-roll, his boss lowering her expressionless mask slightly. "No, Alex, I'm not sending you back into the field. You look as if you wouldn't last a day in training, let alone a real op."

"I'm not going home, Jones," he countered stubbornly. "I can't stay there anymore – especially not today." Not with all the memories, he didn't say. Not on Christmas.

"I wasn't going to send you home," his boss defended, frowning lightly. "In fact, I was thinking of sending you to training after all."

"I'm not exactly in mint condition," he warned, mouth curling.

"Understatement of the century, as always, Alex." Jones' voice was dry, ever-so-slightly sardonic. "No, our usual training instructor has been – ah – incapacitated, and I was hoping you'd step in."

"Incapacitated, eh?" Alex muttered, eyeing his superior warily. "Trainee miss a knife throw, then?"

"Gut punch," Jones admitted, and Alex snorted.

"I'm not punching anyone," he cautioned her, lips turning up in a farce of a smile. "I can barely move, so you'd better have found something easy for me. Of course I'll do it," he continued, forestalling the question on her lips. "I need to get out of the house anyway."

"Good," Tulip Jones told her favourite agent, smirking slightly. "You're teaching field survival."

Alex's theatrical groan, only half-faked, startled a slight laugh out of her. "Field survival?" he repeated incredulously. "You want your new agents to learn how to survive in the field from someone who nearly blows up the entire world once a month?"

She waved this away. "You've also been saving the world regularly since you were fourteen, Alex. I trust you."

"Some decision that'll turn out to be," he muttered. "All right, Jones, field survival it is. Don't blame me when your baby agents come crying, though. Me, teaching," he half-laughed. "Yeah, that'll go over well."

"Delightful as ever, Alex," she retorted. "Now go. And for goodness' sake, eat something!" she called after him, startling some of her newer agents. Alex grinned wearily over his shoulder at her.

"Will do, boss."

Making his way back into the lift, Alex pressed the button for the basement of the bank and leaned back heavily, his head hitting the back of the lift with a sharp thud.

"Field survival," he murmured again, his slight smile becoming a little bitter. "Wish I'd known about field survival before I'd gone in." Despite the five years that lay between him and his last mission, the old acrimony was quick to rise in him.

The lift pinged, doors opening with a cool expression of "Basement."

"Thanks," Alex muttered to the lift, stepping out of the transport and into the slightly chill air of the basement of the bank. The sounds of arguing came distinctly to him from an area on his left, where he knew the training center to be, and so Alex strode off in that direction, rubbing the back of his neck and feel a whole lot older than his nineteen-almost-twenty years.

Opening the door, Alex was met with the sight of twenty trainees – MI6's newest recruits – locked in a heated debate.

"There's no teacher," one of them hissed, missing the open door and Alex's frame leaning against it. "Can't we just go?"

"We can't just leave!" another trainee countered, sounding outraged. "Christmas Eve or no Christmas Eve, they'll kick us out on our arses, and you know it, Miller."

The first trainee, Miller, scowled, but subsided into silence.

"Perhaps we could train on our own?" another trainee suggested timidly. "We know how to fight, so can't we just bring out the dummies and practice?"

The recruits dissolved once more into debate – all except one, who met Alex's eyes calmly. "We can't just practice fighting," he pointed out to his fellows. "Miller here punched the trainer yesterday. We'd end up injuring ourselves."

"What do you think we should do, then, Hale?" Miller shot back.

"Who says there's not a teacher?" Hale retorted, gesturing to Alex's position at the door.

The agent took that as his cue to make his presence known. He straightened off the doorframe, stepping into the room and fighting the urge to rub at the slight burn the motion caused in his shoulder.

"Agent Rider," he offered, wishing there was a wall behind him on which he could lean. "And yeah, I'm training you today."

"But it's Christmas Eve," one of the trainees groaned. Suddenly, his voice took on a slightly wheedling tone. "Wouldn't you rather be home with your family?"

Family, Alex thought. Yeah, because I've got so much of that. "No," he said, voice clipped. "I'm fine where I am, thanks."

"What are we learning today?" another called, and Alex sighed, ruffling his hair with his undamaged hand.

"I'd tell you, if you'd shut up for long enough," he growled, sighing. "Line up, would you?"

They scrambled to do as they were bid, Miller and Hale ending up beside each other and wearing expressions of mutual dislike as they took in the person beside them.

"All of you here?" Alex asked.

Various nods around the room. "Fantastic," Alex said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "All right, find a seat." As there were no chairs in the training center, the trainees sat on the floor, looking up at him. "I'm teaching you field survival today, because your instructor was incapacitated," he said, remembering his boss' words. Miller looked slightly uncomfortable. "I trust you'll be more careful in the future?" Because I really don't need to be injured by trainees along with SCORPIA's parting gifts.

Not waiting for a response, Alex plowed on. "Let's begin. Presumable, you all already know the basics of battle – no one in their right mind invites anyone to train with MI6 without prior experience." His lips twitched wryly. "You there – summarize the basics for me."

The recruit he'd pointed at gulped audibly, beginning nervously, "Well, you've got to complete your mission, right? And then…you get out alive?"

Alex slid down the wall to sit on the floor in front of the trainees, arms draped over his knees, face pained from the sudden motion. He pressed his back against the wall, rubbing at his bandaged hand. "Yes, you get out alive," he repeated dryly. "That would be ideal. But how do you do that?"

Another trainee raised his hand. "Sir?"

Alex motioned for him to go on.

"Well, since your mission is completed, you've got to get out of there…arm yourself, if you're not already armed."

Alex nodded. "Good. And how do you do that, exactly?"

"Well – you could take weapons from someone else? A hostile, say?"

Despite his weariness, Alex was slightly impressed. "Yes, that's true. Where did we pick you up from, out of curiosity?"

"SAS, sir."
Alex's head snapped up, five years' worth of memories of soggy Wales rushing through him. "Really?" he managed, hiding his slight surprise. "What unit?"

"K, sir. Are – are you all right, sir?"

At the mention of his old unit, Alex had stiffened so badly that his injuries protested, drawing a hiss from him. Even so, his gaze did not leave that of the man still looking at him in confusion. "What did you say?"

"K-Unit…been with them for the last two years, sir, before '6 picked me up."

Alex relaxed slightly, tension easing from his limbs. This recruit was too new to have met him, although he was sure they'd have some mutual friends.

"I see. Hale!" he barked suddenly, turning his attention to yet another trainee. "We've got acquiring weapons as part of survival. What else, once you've completed your mission?"

"Medicine, sir? Treating your wounds," he clarified, glancing at Alex's bandages. "You can't make it too far if you're badly injured, really, so…" he trailed off, receiving a nod from Alex.

"Very good. Yes, you should try to treat your more serious injuries – you're of no use to anyone if you're bleeding out. What kinds of medicine do you recommend you and your fellows learn, Miller?" Alex asked, turning to yet another trainee. "Don't be shy, now, spit it out."

"Yes sir," the man muttered, not quite hiding his apprehension. "Stitches would be good…basic first-aid, I suppose?"

Alex nodded, pleased. "Yes, and learning basic medicine is necessary not only for use on yourself, but also in case your allies are injured…it wouldn't do for your informant to die because you didn't know how to help him, especially before he's given you your information."

"All right," he continued. "To summarize, we've got completing the mission, acquiring weapons, field medicine…give me one more important one, and I'll let you off. Don't look so excited, Miller," he told the man, half-smiling.

"Sir?" One of the recruits, seated toward the end of the line, spoke up. Alex gestured for him to speak. "Well – supplies, sir? Food, and all that?"

"That really depends on your mission," Alex corrected, frowning slightly. "If, for example, your exfil team is already there, there's no point in stocking up on supplies when they're sure to have some. Finding food and water in the wilderness is a good skill to have, although we've not got the time or resources for me to try to teach it to you today."

"Oh." The recruit looked slightly crestfallen.

Alex turned his attention back to the group as a whole. "It's a big one," he told them. "Possibly one of the most important – you've got a weapon, you've patched yourself and your allies up, but that's all useless if you've not got this…think!" he urged them. "What are you missing?"

"Communication," a familiar voice said from behind him, and Alex grinned wearily.

"Hey, Daniels," he greeted his partner tiredly. "I was just finishing up."

The man frowned down at him. "Why are you sitting on the floor, Alex?"

"Can't really get up, I suppose. Leaning on the wall hurts," he admitted, swearing softly at the looks he was getting from the recruits. "Did you think these bandages were just for show?" he snarled at them, uncomfortable under their suddenly analyzing gazes.

"Easy," Ben murmured, sitting beside him, and Alex calmed, leaning unobtrusively into his partner's warmth.

"Communication," he continued, sighing. "Yeah, it's probably the most important thing, in my opinion at least." Seeing the confusion on the recruits' faces, he sighed. "Think, would you? Your supplies, your medical training, and your weapon – they're useful, but your end goal once you've completed your mission is to get the hell out of there. You can't do that unless you've got some form of transportation or your allies know to come pick you up, which all requires communication. Unless," he added dryly, "you're planning on staying in whatever hellhole you've been dumped in, in which case I wish you all the best of luck."

Understanding dawned on the trainees' faces, and Alex got to his feet slowly, accepting his partner's help with a sigh. "Dismissed," he told them. "Don't forget what I've taught you today – it's saved my life, our lives," he corrected himself, glancing at Ben, "multiple times."

The trainees filed out of the room, and it might have been the bitter and jaded part of him, but he'd expected worse from his unplanned teaching session. Honestly, he was just surprised nothing had ended up on fire or in pieces. Sighing, he turned to the man standing beside him.

"When did you get back, Alex?" Ben asked, studying him with slight concern.

"The twentieth," Alex admitted, biting back a sigh. "Turned in my report to Jones this morning, and she somehow roped me into teaching."

"Think she'll miss you?" Ben questioned, already steering him towards the door. "You look like you're about to pass out. I'm taking you home," he said firmly, forestalling Alex's protests. "You're not going back to that empty house of yours to mope and ignore your wounds, and you're not staying here. You live at my place half the time, anyway," he finished, voice brooking no argument, and Alex sighed.

"Fine," he muttered. "Let's go."

Ben grinned in triumph, heading towards the lifts and stepping inside, arm still comfortably around Alex's shoulders. Despite the pain, Alex made no move to remove it.

Leaning over to press the button that would take them to the ground floor, Alex whispered, "Thanks."

"I know what it's like for you in that house," Ben responded, face serious. "I also know you. What kind of partner would I be if I let you go there?"

"Yeah, yeah," Alex said as they got out of the lift, sending his partner a half-smile. "Happy Christmas, by the way."

Ben snorted, sounding uncannily like Alex himself. "Oh, now you remember. How long have we been talking, again?"

Alex punched him lightly, smile widening. "Wish me back, you know you want to."

Ben scoffed, but grinned at him. "Happy Christmas, Alex. Even though you're nearly half-dead and you've probably got no plans for the holidays," he laughed, dodging Alex's blow.

"Watch it, Daniels," Alex smirked. "I am your superior, after all."

"Oh yes – senior agent by ten months, how could I forget?" Ben retorted, pulling the bank door open. "Let's go, Rider, I've not got all day," he commanded, laughing, and Alex stepped out of the bank, feeling the chill of the December air even through his coat.

"Yes," he agreed, tucking his hands into his pockets and smiling at the man beside him. "Let's go home."

The title is stolen from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven," which is as beautiful as it is long.

Also, the Alex/Ben interactions there at the end might have a tiny slashy undertone...make of it what you will, but that was my intention, anyway.

Review?