Ian was near panicking. He'd already dialed MI6's emergency number and explained the situation - including how he'd tested the tracking device on Alex. They instructed him to return to his apartment and wait for other agents in the area to save Alex. They didn't want the unpredictable factor of father-son-like relationships, as Ian understood it. MI6 also turned on the tapping device in his phone, in case the woman should make contact.

She did.

"Hello?" Ian answered uncertainly.

"Hi, Ian!" Alex's happy voice answered. Ian breathed a sigh of relief. At least Alex wasn't hurt - yet."An old friend of my father's showed up while you were on the phone. Her name is Joyce, and she's telling me all about him. I'm at her apartment right now."

Ian felt worry spread. He was in Alex's room. The walls were a baby blue, reminiscent of the sky. They'd talked about painting the ceiling like the night sky. Ian had rummaged through the dresser; he'd been worried. In his hands was one of Alex's favorite outfits: jeans and a green t-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face. Would Alex ever see it again?

More importantly, what should Ian say to Alex?

"Ian? Joyce wants to talk to you." Well, that solved his problem.

"Hello, Ian," a pretty, female voice answered in English after a long moment. "I know you're MI6. Don't talk - just listen, if you ever want to see Alex again."

Damn.

"You can probably tell that Alex is unharmed presently. He's also very calm and unaware of the danger he's in. I want complete amnesty for myself in exchange for his safe return."

"Amnesty?" Ian asked before he could stop himself.

"Yes," the woman replied. "That, and a new identity with credentials and protection. I want out of this business."

Ian heard a click and realized another party had tapped into his conversation. Another female voice spoke. "Hello, Joyce." Ian cursed mentally. It was Jones - that new agent. He wished it was someone more experienced. "We can arrange that for you. In return, we would like-"

"NO!" Joyce shouted over the line. "I'm not betraying my organization any more than I already am. They'll let me go at this point, but if I sell anyone out, I'm as good as dead."

"I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say that we would like it if you would keep Alex under the impression that you are one of his father's friends." Ian was surprised. That was definitely not part of MI6's orders. Maybe this new agent was still human.

The line was silent. After a while, Joyce answered quietly. "I can do that."

"Then we have a deal," Jones replied. The line clicked. "Joyce is gone, Rider. Just stay where you are, alright? I'm leading this operation, and I don't want any mistakes."

Ian felt like his stomach had dropped out. Then again, it was the perfect operation for a newbie - nothing was expected to turn up in France. They were there for the 'just in case' scenario; the organization was supposedly based in another country with a few links in France. Ian had requested it on purpose - light work, since he had a child with him.

"Are you going to keep up your end of the deal?"

Jones snorted. "If we weren't, do you think we'd tell you?"

"Fair point." That didn't really answer Ian's question. He hoped Jones simply wasn't sure yet and was going to contact their superiors. "I think I'd like to be there. I think - I think that Alex would respond better to seeing me."

Jones was silent for a long moment. "I see your point. We'll contact you when we have Alex."

"Still, I'd-" click. The line was dead. Ian sat for a long time where he was, not moving.

He wasn't going to recklessly endanger Alex's life by showing up on the scene. Hostage situations were always tricky. Ian had dealt with them before, but it'd never been personal. Now he understood why relatives never got to know what was going on with the rescues. They would react poorly.

Ian picked up the small outfit beside him again. He'd put it down when Jones had come onto the line. With a sigh, Ian threw it into a briefcase along with a few toys Alex liked. A yo-yo, a hand-held game device, a French board game, and a few others.

He hoped Alex wouldn't need the toys' small comfort.

Joyce ran a hand through her hair. She was in the bathroom of the dingy apartment, having just finished her call with MI6. Alex was watching French cartoons in the living room.

It was a small, quaint bathroom. The bathtub was about a third of the room - barely large enough for one person. The off-white stained toilet was beside it, and the dingy white sink was on the opposite wall. It was like a hotel's.

With a sigh, she opened the door to find her accomplices right outside. They were masked - identities thoroughly concealed.

"Amnesty, huh? Funny." He grinned maliciously, then stepped aside. He was the other ringleader; Joyce could hear his gravelly, snide voice.

A henchman was holding Alex, and the poor boy was struggling desperately. Joyce briefly wondered if he understood what was going on, or if he was just terrified. Somehow she suspected the latter.

"Let him go. He's just a boy."

"Got maternal instincts?" the leader asked sarcastically, mocking Hood commericals. The henchmen holding Alex snickered. "You know how we get out of the organization, Joyce." He held up a gun. "Good night."

Alex stopped struggling when a red cloud appeared behind Joyce and she fell into the bathroom. She wasn't moving.

He'd just been watching cartoons a moment ago. He didn't really understand what was going on. But he liked Joyce, and she seemed to be in trouble. Maybe she was - no, it couldn't be.

Suddenly, Alex felt sick.

Then he was sick.

"Aw, damn brat! He threw up all over me!" the henchman cried. He used one of his hands to wipe off some of the throw-up onto the floor. The leader watched with a vague disinterest.

"I don't care. Let's get the hell out of here. Throw the brat in the bathroom."

"Come on, man! Let me shoot the f***ing brat. This is my favorite black shirt." An object like the thing the other man pointed at Joyce was pointed at Alex. He froze.

The leader snorted. "He doesn't know anything about us. It was Joyce's last wish, after all. She was good until she tried to get out."

Alex was trembling. He only understood a little about what was going on, but he got the distinct feeling that the man holding him was not on his side.

"We don't leave witnesses, boss."

"He's not a witness. He didn't see anything but a dead woman. Come on, throw him in there. We'll barricade the door and let the cops find them."

The man holding Alex finally conceded. "Fine."

Alex felt he was surely dead as he flew onto Joyce's body. He barely registered the sounds outside the bathroom - the lock, the barricade being made, the men leaving.

Alex looked very closely at Joyce. She wasn't moving but was warm. She was wet. Alex knew what the red liquid was.

Blood.

Ian jumped when his phone went off. The caller ID indicated it was Jones. It was built in as a contact that couldn't be seen, in case the phone was stolen.

"Jones? What's going on?"

"Something's wrong. We were tracking both her cell phone signal and the tracker in Alex, but they've split up."

Ian swallowed hard. "Which one is moving?"

"Alex's tracker." Ian furrowed his eyebrows. That was unusual. "But that's not what's important. We need you to contact Joyce."

"Me?" Ian was very confused.

"Yes, you. Joyce knows you want Alex back. You won't double-cross her, in her eyes."

Ian rolled his eyes. The logic was weak. Jones had been the one to strike the deal, not Ian. But he wasn't about to give up his chance to be involved in Alex's rescue.

"All right. Connect the line for me."

Alex was sitting in the bathtub with the water running and the curtain drawn, naked. He was trying to wash Joyce's blood off himself. He was shaking horribly, despite the warm water.

He was terrified. And worried.

At first, he'd tried to get Joyce to wake up. Her head had a hole in it, though. Calling her name didn't work, and Alex had panicked. He'd kicked and screamed at her, but nothing seemed to rouse her. Not even touching her breasts - Ian had told him that infuriated women.

It was only a while later when her body got colder that Alex realised she might be dead. That she was dead.

Then he'd climbed into the bathtub. Ian always gave him a bath when he had a nightmare, and he was damn horrified now. The sink had blood in it.

The bathwater was a slight pinkish, so Alex began draining the water to fill it up again with clear water.

Ring-ring, ring-ring...

Alex started, then looked around. It was coming from the other side of the curtain.

He didn't want to look. He couldn't look. He knew Joyce was still there.

Ring-ring, ring-ring...

He was clean, now. The blood was in the water, and it was washing away, draining. Alex didn't want to get dirty again.

The ringing stopped.

Ian swore. No one had picked up.

"I can hear you, you know." Ian swore again. Jones was still on the line.

"What now?" he asked after a moment.

"We'll try again. Keep trying. I'm going to stay on the line, for your information."

Ian would never admit it, but he was scared for Alex. "What are you going to do otherwise?"

"We have agents following both signals. One moment, Smithers is hooking us up again."

For a moment, Ian wondered if Jones was trying to make him laugh or if she was that socially incompetent.

He suspected the latter.

The bathtub had drained. Alex was cold, so he filled it again. This time, the water was clear. Nice, warm, clear water. Alex splashed his hand into the water and watched the ripples bounce off the sides of the white tub.

No red. No red at all. Not even pink.

Alex looked down at his hands, which were shaking. Then he jumped again as Joyce's cellphone began ringing again.

Ring-ring, ring-ring...

Alex listened carefully this time. The noise originating from near the door, but it stopped after one ring cycle. It was going directly to voice-mail.

Joyce had dropped it when she was shot. Maybe he could get at it without looking at Joyce or going near her.

Alex pulled back the curtain a little bit to peek out.

Joyce's ankle and leg was pale, and the bottom was blue. Like a sheet of paper that had been dipped in blue from Alex's watercolor set at home. Alex didn't mean to look, but he saw.

She looked dead. Very dead.

Alex's breathing picked up. It was faster than his heart rate. But the phone - if he could talk to someone, maybe he'd be all right. He was a big boy. He could dial Ian's number.

Maybe.

He covered his face with one hand, blocking his view of Joyce, and reached out carefully with the other. Just as he was about to reach it-

Ring-ring, ring-ring...

This time, Alex snatched it up and answered. He didn't want to be alone. He yanked the curtain closed as he retrieved his connection to the outside.

Ian's hands were trembling minutely as he held the phone up to his ear. Anything could have happened. Jones and he had dialed the number twice, but three times was asking for a little much. As the phone began ringing for the third time, Ian sighed and almost missed the voice that was in his ear.

"Hello?" Alex answered, in English. Ian wondered why, but he wasn't about to make Alex change languages. Not now. Not when his voice was distant and scared.

"Alex? Alex, is that you? Are you okay?" Ian was desperately worried, but he was trying to cover it for his nephew's sake.

"I'm okay," Alex answered quietly. "I'm taking a bath."

"A bath? Why?"

"I was dirty. Now I'm clean."

"Alex, where's Joyce? I want to talk to her."

Alex hiccuped. His voice cracked as he answered. "Something bad happened."

"What?" Ian was now extremely worried. "What happened?"

"Two guys showed up and pointed something hissy at Joyce." Ian knew what he meant: a gun. "I threw up on one of them, and he pointed his at me but it didn't hiss. I think... I think Joyce is..." Alex sounded scared and on the verge of crying.

"What, Alex?"

"Morte."

Ian's stomach dropped further than humanly possible, and he felt numb. Alex didn't know how to say 'dead' in English.

He was so young...

"Alex? Can you take a deep breath for me?" Ian said calmly, despite his racing heart and speedy retrieval of his coat. He was going to find Alex, no matter what. Ian glanced at the cellphone's map and took off out the door while talking to Alex.

Alex hiccuped again. "I don't know what's going on, Ian." Alex's voice was thready and unsteady, and he didn't seem to realise he'd started speaking in French again. He was definitely going into shock. "They left me in the bathroom with her, and I- I-"

Ian realised Alex must have been listening to the men's English for a little bit and had been speaking it because of that. Now he was back in French. Ian wasn't going to force him into English, for he didn't want to stress Alex any more.

"Alex, I need you to take a deep breath. I'm coming. I won't hang up."

"Ian, she's-"

Ian dry-swallowed and kept his voice very, very calm as he tried to get Alex to calm down. "Alex, can you take a deep breath for me?"

Alex's breath was audible, but very short. "Drain the bathtub and take another deep breath, Alex."

Suddenly, Alex gasped and started crying, punctuating his speech with hiccups. "I can smell her blood, Ian! She- she-"

The line fizzled and went dead.

Ian swore.

"I'm still here, you know."

Ian swore again.

Alex cussed in French. His hands were shaking so badly he'd dropped the phone in the bathwater. It had turned off and stayed off no matter what Alex tried.

He was alone with her body, again.

His breaths were shortening, and things were getting blurry as he started crying in torrents. He was only five - why him? Why now?

Alex tried to reach the drain to let it empty like Ian said to, but he couldn't move. He was petrified. It was as if Joyce's ghost was pulling him under the water. Alex hyperventilated at the thought.

The edges of his vision darkened, and Alex succumbed quickly.

"Rider? Don't rush in. We don't know the situation or if Alex is alone," Jones instructed.

"Get real, Jones. Did he sound alone to you? Do you think they'd give him a bath? He's alone, Jones. They left him behind with the body. He might drown if we don't reach him in time."

Jones was silent. Ian snapped the phone shut before she could answer. He didn't need her answer.

Ian reached the apartment where Joyce's cellphone had been marked on his phone. Thankfully, it was fairly close to where Ian had been. Ian parked illegally, grabbed his briefcase, and ran inside.

He grabbed one of the residents who happened to be exiting her room. "Where's Joyce's room?" he asked fiercely.

"What? Why are you-"

Ian yelled in her face. "My kid is dying in her room - tell me where the f*** she is!"

The resident mumbled out the answer. "S-second floor, third on the right."

Ian barely said thanks before racing up the stairs and breaking down Joyce's apartment door. It seemed to be alright, until he saw the bathroom. It was barricaded off. Some dried throw-up was on the floor; its rancid smell raised hairs on the back of Ian's neck.

Ian moved the sofa surprisingly quickly, given his strength. It must have been the adrenaline. He tore the door down with a well-aimed kick.

Joyce's body. Just like he'd guessed. The bathtub's curtain was drawn.

I'm taking a bath...

Ian ripped the curtain aside. His own breath left him. Alex was unconscious, underwater. He must have been leaning against the side of the tub, passed out, dropped Joyce's cellphone - which was under the water - and fallen. Without a moment to spare, Ian yanked Alex out of the water.

To his eternal relief, Alex began coughing up the water. Ian glanced around and grabbed a clean towel from beside the door, then took Alex into the living room away from both the coppery smell of the blood and the reek of the throw-up and put him down on the couch. He covered him with the towel carefully, drying him.

After what felt like an eternity, Alex stopped coughing and croaked, "Ian?"

"That's me."

"What happened?"

Ian blinked. Alex didn't remember.

It was probably better that way.

"You fell asleep in the bath, and I wasn't watching carefully. You almost drowned."

"Oh."

"One moment. Just stay here, okay?" Alex nodded, and Ian went to get his briefcase from where he dropped it. He didn't remember when he'd dropped it. "Here - get dressed."

Alex sat up, confused, and took the offered clothes: one of his favorite outfits with the jeans and smiley-face shirt. "Where are we?"

Ian didn't even try to answer his question. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the toweled Alex, who didn't say anything else. Somehow, Alex seemed to understand that Ian wasn't up for answering, and let the older man hold him tightly. He even buried his face into Ian's shoulder and hugged him back, giving Ian comfort in his own five-year-old way.

"You're okay," Ian murmured quietly. He wasn't sure who he was talking to. "You're okay..."

"Rider!" a new voice chimed in. Then the agent saw Alex. "Oh, damn."

Ian sighed. It had been a long day and night.

Back in Chelsea, Ian cracked the second egg next to the first carefully. His nephew deserved a treat - the boy had barely asked what happened, even when the other agents showed up. He just let Ian hold him (after getting dressed quickly) and rock him to sleep. They'd barely been given any time to pack up before MI6 shipped them back to Britain. It was no surprise, though - the mission was over, thanks to Alex.

However, MI6 banned bringing family on missions altogether. Ian knew why. They had told him so on his plane ride back to Britain.

"And if you ever pull anything like that ever again, you don't even have to give a report." The agent (who Ian didn't recognize) had thoroughly chewed Ian out for disobeying orders, then complimented him for saving Alex's life. Then they told him Alex had managed to throw up the tracking device onto the henchman and had therefore saved the day, with the headquarters being located not long after.

The organization had catastrophic plans, which had been foiled by Alex's barf.

How sickening.

"Ian?" Alex asked, rubbing his eyes and pulling Ian out of his thoughts. "What's for breakfast?"

Ian smiled at his nephew and held out a plate of eggs with a piece of bacon. It looked like a smiley face. "Your favorite."

The boy's smile was wider than the bacon-egg face's. "Thanks!"

Maybe Ian shouldn't have brought Alex into his dangerous world. Maybe he should have left him to the orphanage, like the MI6 agents suggested.

And perhaps Alex would lose that glorious smile in time, which radiated warmth and just how happy he was as he scarfed down the left 'eye'. Perhaps he'd grow to detest water, despite how much he loved the ocean the first time he saw it.

Perhaps MI6 would remember how Alex assisted them, however unintentionally.

Regardless, Alex was back, safe and sound. That was what really mattered.

AN: You've reached the end of this chapter with a solid WHUMP! XD

Remember, NEVER leave young kids unattended in a bath. They can drown.

Really.

Thanks for reading. Did you like it?