A week later, Alex was finally home. Properly home, in her own house, in her own country, and with two weeks of hard-earned downtime to look forward to. Two weeks of relative solitude too, since Jack had been visiting relatives in the USA when Alex reached the hospital in Prague. Alex had spent an hour on the phone convincing her that no, she didn't need to cut her holiday short, and yes, Alex could take care of herself and the house for a few weeks, and no, Alex wouldn't let herself get murdered before Jack got home.

The MI6 car that had dropped her off drove away as Alex pushed open the front door and stepped into the hallway, bolting the door behind herself. She dropped her bag on the floor and her keys on the table by the door and reflected that it was nice to return to normal for a while, before registering the creak of a floorboard in the kitchen and cursing herself for having mentally jinxed her own holiday.

You promised Jack you wouldn't get murdered.

The intruder would already have heard her come in, so there wasn't much point in attempting to be stealthy now. She reached down and pulled the handgun MI6 had finally issued her with from her bag, cleared her throat, and called towards the kitchen.

"Come out now, with your hands where I can see them, and I'll consider not killing you."

There was a brief silence, then a familiar voice responded.

"I don't know why I've bothered coming all the way to London and breaking into your freakishly well-secured house if you're not even going to pretend to be pleased to see me."

"David?" Alex replied, preventing herself from following his name with what the fuck are you doing in my house, because she'd already been actually quite rude, and because she knew how difficult her house was to break into so could appreciate that he'd evidently made quite an effort.

David stuck his head around the kitchen door, grinning.

"The one and only," he answered, smirking. He was clearly very pleased with himself, and as Alex approached the kitchen she could see why - a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of roses were placed centre stage on the kitchen table. David was still grinning at her, but Alex was bemused.

They didn't really do romance - gun fights, explosions and destroying international terrorist organisations, yes, but not romance.

Their relationship had developed from a sort of grudging admiration when they'd first met on Malagosto during Alex's brief defection from MI6, to mutual hatred in the months directly after, followed by a period in which they each simply tolerated the other.

He'd found her in a bar in Munich the week after her sixteenth birthday, told her that he knew how to destroy Scorpia, properly this time, but that he needed her help to do it. The whole mission had taken around six months and had been filled, as Alex's missions generally were, with near-death experiences.

But there had been someone to nearly-die with, and that, along with the nights of drinking until 4am, because how else do you respond to having nearly-died, had bonded them in a way nothing else could have.

And when, in the middle of one of those drunken, thank-God-we're-alive nights, David had leaned over and kissed her, Alex had found herself unsurprised. It made her feel more alive than she had in years, and so they'd continued their joint mission with this new secret, their love played out in European nightclubs and cheap hotels, them against the world, unstoppable.

But then he'd faked his own death, and it was all over before they'd even been on a normal date, before they'd even existed together in the real world, away from the spying and guns and danger. And Alex was suddenly uncertain about whether there could even be a them without the rest of that.

And so she found herself standing in her own kitchen completely unsure of how to respond to what was basically a fairly normal romantic gesture.

Luckily, she didn't have to respond, because a few seconds after she stepped into the light of the kitchen the grin slipped off David's face.

"What happened?" He asked, gesturing at the bruises and cuts on her face.

"Oh, this?" Alex grimaced. "Had a bit of an adventure in Uzbekistan."

She certainly wasn't going to tell him what had really happened, because she didn't want to think about it.

Then something clicked in Alex's mind. She hadn't seen an operation like it since Scorpia had been at its height. Someone had killed all of those men and left her alive. Someone who'd had very good training - the best, actually. Training like hers.

She narrowed her eyes.

"But you already knew about Uzbekistan, right? I have to say, the romantic gestures are great now, but next time, Prince Charming, try not leaving the damsel in distress unconscious on a basement floor."

David just stared at her, mouth slightly open. His eyes flicked to the stitches on her forehead, as though he was wondering whether there might have been some sort of permanent brain damage.

"I - what?" He just looked confused.

Alex frowned.

"It wasn't you?"

"What wasn't me? Are you feeling ok?"

Alex shook her head, exasperated.

"In Uzbekistan, I was... in a spot of bother, and - well anyway, I woke up, and someone had killed everyone else in the building. And I haven't seen shooting like it since - well, since Scorpia."

"So, you thought..."

Alex shrugged.

"It made sense, for a second. I've been trying to work this out for a few days now, and I'm getting nowhere."

David gave her a sharp look.

"You said it looked like Scorpia?"

Alex nodded tiredly.

"Yes - at least, it was their style."

His eyes were still on her face, but she could see that he was no longer concentrating on her - he was turning over this new problem in his mind. Then he snapped out of his reverie.

"I have to go."

"You're leaving? But -"

He cut her off, shaking his head.

"No, it's just I've forgotten this... thing I had to do."

Alex nodded.

"Uh-huh. You should really try to improve those acting skills. That was shocking, I mean, really..."

David laughed.

"Whatever. Besides, you think I'm charming."

Alex opened her mouth to protest, but David interrupted.

"Nope, I distinctly heard you say charming. Must be doing something right."

"Well, that was when I thought you'd sort of saved my life, so I think I might retract the whole charming thing."

David sighed.

"Ah, well. You've never been a very good damsel in distress anyway."

He headed towards the back door.

"I'll be back in about half an hour, ok?"

Alex shrugged, but failed to keep a straight face.

"Fine. Not like I can stop you getting in here anyway, apparently."

"That's me. Persistent, if nothing else."

He stepped out of the door into the garden, then turned and popped his head back inside, serious again.

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't have left you behind."

He was gone before she had time to respond. She looked down at the roses on the table and smiled, then shook her head.

What the hell are you doing?