I do not own Alex Rider.

The real threat to spies, Alex reflected idly, wasn't bullets, he could dodge those. Neither was it the constant flirting of death nor the danger of disease and infection in some exotic locale. No it was something much worse. Something even more sinister than crazy terrorist organizations, something-

"Alex, you done with that file yet?" A perky voice sounded behind him, interrupting his contemplations.

The teenager sighed, as if mustering up the willpower to do something besides stare at the black dotted line on one of the many forms in front of him. He then turned to snarl at his intruder. "Do you ever knock? Go away Ben."

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed today," his former unit mate teased, holding up his hands in a universal gesture of surrender. "Besides its not my fault you put off your paperwork till two days before it was due."

"Ben," Alex grit out, inwardly trying to maintain a tranquil appearance.

"Alex," the overgrown toddler grinned.

"Shut up and go away before I end you," The boy threatened calmly. "And for your information, Tulip told me that she wouldn't accept any more reports done with a broken arm. She claims they aren't 'readable'. Whatever that means."

Ben Daniels snorted, ignoring the aforementioned threat. Alex was too much of a softy to carry through with it. "Broken arm or not, I'm surprised she can read them at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The teen voiced crossly.

"Hate to break it to ya' kid, but your handwriting is illegible at best. I dated a college student who was training to become an archeologist. She saw a sample of your work and you know what she asked me?"

"What did she ask you?" Alex deadpanned.

"She asked me why I didn't tell her I knew Ancient Sumerian."

Alex threw his hands up."You wouldn't have had that problem if you hadn't left your reports out in the open."

"Stop changing the subject. Now where's that file?"

"Have fun looking."Alex gestured towards the foot tall pile of stapled packets, manilla folders, and loose forms covering his desk.

The man's eyes widened, but he began looking through the files, "Geez Alex,how can you work in this disaster zone."

"In my defense," he murmured, "The pile is about half a foot shorter than it was this morning. Not that you're listening."

Ben absently nodded, still sifting through the clutter. A minute later he was quickly yanking out a thin blue folder and clutching it like an Olympic athlete clutches a gold medal. "Found it, Bosnian Terrorist Cells." He then glanced at the mess he had made. "You should really clean that up," Ben nodded towards it.

Alex looked for a long moment then pointed imperiously at the thin office door all the while glaring at the man. "Out!"

Ben backed away as if he was trying to not upset some vicious carnivore, "I'm going, I'm going. Don't get your panties in a twist."

He was out the door before Alex could throw something.

. . .

No, the real threat to spies wasn't any of those things, at least in Alex's own opinion. It was something worse: paperwork.

Doing it was a lethargic uphill battle. One that he always lost, much to Mrs. Jones' perpetual annoyance and Ben's constant teasing.

Reluctant to get back to work, Alex bent down to pick up the discarded mess that that idiot had left. All that remained, in the end, was an official looking letter addressed to one Agent Rider.

He was instantly on alert. Few people knew his name, and fewer still actually knew his office address. He checked for letter bombs.

Finding no signs of malicious intent but still wary, he slit the envelope with a knife strapped to his calf. What the teenager found inside, though, made him almost wish it had been a letter bomb.

Crap.

He needed to find Tulip.

. . .

"No Alex."

"But-"

"We cannot get you out of this," Tulip Jones said with an air of finality from behind her ornate, leather-bound, mahogany desk.

"So send me on a mission, I don't care if its in Antarctica just don't let those meat heads near me," he pleaded.

"As useful as you would be-."

"So I don't need to go," the boy interrupted.

"I didn't say that. As useful as you would be, I'm afraid that you were on missions during the last two reunions,"She continued."Besides, the report from your therapist specifies that you should have more social interaction than just your coworkers at MI6. This is a perfect opportunity."

"Can't you people just set me up with a fake ID and send me to a club?"

"No." She then continued less harshly, "What sort of intelligence agency condones underage drinking?"

Alex refrained from commenting. Barely. He then changed tactics, whining, "Why doesn't Ben have to go?"

"Agent Daniels will be there for the second half of the reunion. Someone hacked into his files and translated them into Sumerian. Tech support are trying to figure out how to re-translate them," She glanced at him as if she knew he had something to do with it. He also knew she had no proof that he did it, "In the meantime Daniels will be rewriting each of his files. And you will still have to go, but alone for the first few days."

Alex shuddered, being alone with the same men who had gleefully dubbed the boy 'Double O Nothing' three years ago, brought phantom shivers down his back in a way not even Dr. Three could. The spy could already feel himself being pulled back into the frigid, soggy void that had been his eleven day stay at the SAS.

Ben had grown up enough for him to become a surrogate brother, occasionally providing distraction for him to escape the hospital. In return, the boy often found himself hosting Ben when the spy was trying to get away from psychotic exes.

On the other hand, though he was the main instigator of their fights, Alex liked to think that he and Wolf had come to some sort of mutual respect during his mission at Point Blanc. Alex hadn't seen the man since that day, not that he had expected or hoped to.

The man was still alive according to Ben, who still bothered to keep in contact with his old unit for sappy personal reasons that didn't make sense to Alex.

Tulip drew his attention once more, "Your next mission won't start until a week after you get back from the reunion. Smithers is in France at the moment, but he sent something for you."

Alex smirked then quickly arranged his face in some sort of dignified scowl. "Is that all?"

Mrs. Jones sighed tiredly as if to alleviate her sudden feelings of doom, "Yes Alex, you may go."

He stood up.

"And finish your paperwork," She called.