Evanescence

Prompt: "Plucked from his home. Tortured for information he doesn't have. Dumped in a river. Alex is broken, bloody, and bruised… and he's drowning. Now, with the light from his phone spilling into the surrounding darkness, Alex knows he has one shot at survival. But with no family and no number from MI6, who can he call?" No romance.

Alex let out a groan as he attempted to scrape together some sense of time or place. Everything hurt. Being dumped in a river just capped off his shitty week perfectly. First, he'd been kidnapped, surprisingly it wasn't one of his enemies, but just people who wanted information on MI6. Why they thought he had it, Alex didn't know. Everybody who was anybody knew that he basically knew nothing. It had taken them nearly a week to figure that out, though. Morons. His ribs were broken, he could tell. Besides that, he was bleeding out into the river and going to drown soon. By some miracle, his phone was still charged. The light from that was fading, though. It seemed to almost represent his life. It could make one call before the charge was toast. His family was dead. MI6 had never given him any phone numbers. Come to think of it, that relationship seemed a little one-sided. Alex began running through the number he did have. Most of his friends were keeping a distance. He'd alienated a few more when he disappeared off to America. There were only a few left. Tom would be busy avoiding his parents. Jack wasn't up at this time of night and her phone would be in night mode. Alex scrolled through his phone through force of habit. James Hale. His other best mate once upon a time. The one who'd been oh-so-worried about him the last few times they'd seen each other. Alex pressed the number and then the call button. Please, for once, let this go the way he wanted. By some miracle, the call went through and James picked up. "Alex?"

Alex grit his teeth to keep them from chattering. "James. I need help. Send an ambulance. I'm in the Thames, where we used to hang out and skip stones."

He recognized the place, at least. If he had to die, it should be a place with nice memories. He waited for the protests, the questions. "Okay. They're on their way." No questions? "I'll ask why later. Stay with me please." Alex withheld his groan. "I'll tell you a story. Remember the time we broke out of that horrid school trip to the art museum?"

Alex felt himself smiling at the memory, even as he began to slip out of consciousness. James had a nice voice to die hearing, he supposed. It was friendly and not malicious. The water was beginning to rise as he knew it would. Soon, he would be submerged and, if help did not get there in time, he would drown. Alex listened to James repeat the often-retold (not so much anymore) story. He was fading and he knew it. Alex felt the water rise and lost the battle not to inhale shortly after. He dreamed of the memory James had talked about.

They had all been on a field trip to the art museum. Alex had tried and failed to get his soccer-obsessed friends interested in the cultural implications of some of the famous Dutch artists. They had been less than impressed and stressed that he needed to get out more. In fact, James had been rather adamant on that point. "In fact, Alex, we're going to help you get out more, right now."

Alex had felt a jolt of warmth, amusement, and alarm at what his friend was suggesting. "James, we're on a school trip."

It sounded weak to even his ears. Alex tried to reason with those two, he really did. "We'll be in trouble if we're caught."

Tom had rolled his eyes at that. "Oh, come on, Al. You don't want to be the ninny of the group, do you?"

Alex was already grinning, despite the jab. "Fine, you two win."

They had both jumped up. "Yes!"

The security guard shushed the boys. James had grabbed both of them and strode confidently through the halls and out the front door of the museum. "Alright, where are we going James?"

James had grinned. "It's a surprise."

Alex had pouted. "I hate you."

James snorted. "No, you don't. We make your quality of life way higher, unlike those moldering sack-sides the teacher calls art."

Alex had protested the entire way to their destination, which was an arcade. James had shoved him inside. Alex had found himself staring longingly at one of the games. "Well, go on then."

It had been a nice few hours. Their guardians and the vice principal had then shown up at the arcade. Ian had found it entertaining. The other? Not so much. It had been one of the few times Mr. Bray had ever been actually angry. "...totally irresponsible. You could have been kidnapped. Three weeks suspension and no trips the rest of the year."

There was a pause. Mr. Bray cooled off fairly fast. "Is Tetris still around?"

Tom had started silently laughing. James and Alex had answered as one. "Yep."

Mr. Bray had shrugged. "Well, your guardians can take it from here."

James Hale was standing vigil next to his best friend's hospital bed. Oh, Alex, what did you do? What did they do to you? James sat down next to his friend. His aunt and uncle had allowed him to stay and the nurses had yet to throw him out. He had no idea if Alex could afford a hospital, but he could pay for it if need be. James ran his hands through his hair and sat down. He'd been pacing. Had he failed as a friend? James didn't think so. Besides, plenty of normal people got kidnapped by nutters who liked to cut people up. There were stories in the news almost every night about that sort of thing. He honestly had no idea what he was doing. The nurses had assured him that calling the ambulance and pulling his friend from the river had been the right choice. They were still trying to teach Jack Starbright and Tom Harris. Regrettably, the two were not at home and not answering their cells at four a.m. James' other friends, really they were closer to acquaintances, had tried to get him to leave. He'd just given them a look and told them to get lost. At least Alex was clean now. James was looking at the monitors every couple of seconds to see if Alex was still breathing. The doctors had no idea if Alex would make it or not. The silence and the white of the hospital felt stifling. James jumped as a tall woman in a suit walked in. "Who are you?"

James got an odd vibe off of her. "Mrs. Jones. I work for the bank that holds Alex's trust and deals with his affairs."

James stuck out his hand out of pure social obligation. The almost emotionless woman creeped him out. "James Hale. Alex's friend."

Mrs. Jones had a surprisingly firm and dry grip. "We were wondering what you could tell us."

James sighed. "Like I told the police, ma'am, I don't know anything. Alex called, I call an ambulance and raced over, and I pulled him out of the Thames and did CPR until the ambulance got there."

James ran his hands through his hair. He adamantly refused to believe the drug rumors and the doctors said the tests came back clean and there were no signs of drug abuse of any kind. Mrs. Jones seemed to accept his answer. Well, at least he knew what the weird vibe was. Bankers and lawyers always seemed pretty slimy to him. "Shouldn't you be getting home?"

James was in no mood to be sent home. "Shouldn't you? I don't have work and school is out."

The woman sighed and muttered something about testosterone before settling down with some newspaper or another. James cracked open the new James Bond book. There was a new series out based on the old one, but it had good reviews and he suspected Alex would like the significantly less patriotic protagonist better than the original. James knew he did because he had an easier time reading someone who wasn't fanatically loyal to their country. Mrs. Jones seemed unduly amused by his choice of literature, but James wanted to finish his chapter, so he didn't take the bait. "You'll be pleased to know that I have my staff locating Ms. Starbright and Mr. Harris."

James shrugged and turned the page. Trying to get rid of him, was she? Jones could bite his ass. "I'm staying."

With that, silence fell over the room.

Alex Rider was dreaming. The memory had faded in favor of one of his most recent memories of James. Alex had watched one of the school idiots have a go at Tom for sticking by 'the crazy'. The guy had at least fifty pounds and six inches on Tom, but his best friend was valiantly defending his honor. Alex had smiled. The minute idiot one swing at Tom, he was going down. Alex watched the kid's hands as the guy rattled on about how Tom must be nuts. Then he seemed to have a stroke of inspiration. "Or maybe Rider is going at it with you and-"

The end of that sentence was never found out because James had promptly slammed his fist into the guy's face. Alex felt his lips twitching. "Nice right hook."

James grinned manically. "I learned from the best. You know, not all of believe this guy's crap, right?"

Alex had felt one of his few real smiles cross his face. "Thank you, James, it means a lot."

James had just grinned. "Sit with us at lunch today. Nobody will say a thing."

They had glanced at each other and shrugged. Ale trusted James as his friend. "Sure."

The lunch had been one of his best at Brooklands in almost a whole year. Nobody mentioned the rumors. Nobody mentioned his long trip to America. And, aside from a few belated condolences for people who hadn't made it to the funeral, nobody brought up Ian or his absences from school. James had carted them through the school on a system so efficient it reminded Alex of organized crime. They had all gone and played soccer, too. Just for fun, since Alex was no longer on the team (too many missed practices and he'd have to try out again since he'd actually changed schools). Alex had ended up in one of their legendary arguments over strategy and with a bet that he would win against James' dream team with it. They'd convinced the coach to referee the match and Alex had schooled the other team. Albeit, he had the advantage of knowing everybody's strengths and weaknesses (it hadn't been that long since he'd last seen them play) and a significant ability to apply them. He'd played as a striker to James' goalie and been particularly brutal with his goal shots, much to Tom's amusement. Sadly, it had ended in a tie, with neither boy conceding. The coach had watched with a certain fascination as they continued to argue, nearly oblivious to everybody else's profound amusement. James had tried to break his hand during the handshake (not really, but it felt like it) - Alex had responded in kind. Tom had just sniggered the whole way home as James got dropped off first after Jack offers him a ride. "Wait a minute, isn't James' house closer than Tom's to ours?"

Jack had given him an amused look. "Yes, dear, but we all know how you and James get about soccer and I wanted some peace on the way home."

Alex pouted. "We aren't that bad."

Tom and Jack had answered as one. "Yes, you are."

Alex had the grace to look mildly ashamed, but he has way too much fun arguing with James to ever quit. They had driven Tom home with his best friend cackling away no matter how many death threats Alex gave him. Jack had made one of her ten-minute dinners and it was wonderful. A nice, normal day. It was almost as though MI6 hadn't wrecked his life. It had been the last day before he'd been kidnapped from his own goddamned house. Jones had said it was supposed to be safe! She lied. It was Ian. Alex supposed the man and his advice would never really leave him. So, figure out why. Alex wondered how he was supposed to do that. He knew he was in some hospital and likely in a coma.

Jack and Tom had come in at about seven in the morning. James was exhausted but refused to leave Alex with the grey lady. Jones seemed especially creepy, even for a banker. James was glad when they got here. Now, all he had to do was convince his aunt and uncle to let him stay. He'd have to get the fact that Alex was actually in the hospital and needed months of rehabilitation if he woke up around the school. That would shut those gossipy morons up, too. James exited the building rather reluctantly. Alex had a bunch of broken bones, lacerations, burns, a partial drowning and a head injury, and infection had set in. Fuck. James wondered if they would track down the people who did it. They would, wouldn't they? James caught a cab since he wasn't in any shape to take the tube and he was a year away from being able to drive. His aunt was waiting for him when he got home. She was really closer to a grandmother to him and Alex, but James would never call her old to her face. Besides, she had a sort of timeless energy and grace. James sat down at the breakfast she had made for him. "Thank you, Celestine."

She insisted they call her by her name. "How is Alex?"

James felt any good mood he might recover evaporate. "They're not sure he'll live or wake up if he does."

Celestine burst into tears. James felt a few appear in his own eyes. Andrew Hale appeared shortly after and took in a scene. "Bad news?"

James sighed. "Alex is in the hospital. Coma. They're not sure he'll ever wake up."

Andrew Hale looked old in that minute. He walked up to James and squeezed his shoulder. "I will help draft the statement to the school."

The man walked off to do just that. James knew that exterior covered up his uncle's own grief at the friend he'd considered the best influence on James. Andrew considered most of his friends wussies, though James would never admit as much. Alex had been very much the opposite in the older man's opinion. Parasailing. Honestly, his uncle's idea of masculinity was outdated and extreme to the point of being borderline dangerous to anyone who took it to heart. But then, he wouldn't be the Andrew Hale James knew without it. Besides, if Celestine was to be believed, the man's stubbornness had won him many business deals when they built the family business. Nonetheless, James still loved his relatives, even when they were being their usual selves. This was going to be a long day. The next weeks would be even longer. James was determined to stick to Alex like glue until his friend woke up. He knew Alex would. Alex had to wake up. James didn't know what he would do if he lost one of his oldest friends forever.

Alex Rider knew he was drifting, fading. But, the dreams were nice. They mostly consisted of his memories of James. James, Tom, Jack, and sometimes Ian. Alex, focus. Speaking of Ian. Alex let out a (mental?) sigh and thought about his last few days. He was kidnapped. Alex didn't know the information they wanted, but he was targeted for it. The people had to be mid-level, then. They knew enough to be dangerous, but not enough to have his entire file or be too dangerous. Or they'd had contact with SCORPIA remnants, but not regularly enough to know about the price on his head. Jones hadn't been protecting the house, he realized. They didn't even have a low-level surveillance team on them. Alex had checked for bugs in a few fits of paranoia. There had only been the ones that the idiot reporter clearly marked as property to return to him. As if. Alex had taken a little too much glee in destroying them. None had appeared before or since. So, MI6 hadn't been listening. They had been relying on their deal and his nearly gone anonymity, then. The stupid bastards. Or perhaps they simply didn't care. Maybe Blunt? Jones seemed to have a little bit left of human compassion. It could be his imagination, though. The kidnappers had to be stopped, though. It was clear they were a threat. Alex tried his best to wake up, but it just wasn't sticking. Crap. He was stuck here. Then, he felt that icky fading feeling. Morphine and antibiotics. Must be. James had rescued him, after all. James. Alex felt another memory come up.

Tulip Jones found herself in the very uncomfortable position of explaining exactly how Alex Rider came to be in the hospital, with limited information, to his best friend and Jack Starbright, both of whom were currently glaring daggers at her. "Exactly how did Alex end up here, Mrs. Jones?"

That was Starbright in all her passive-aggressive glory. "We aren't sure ourselves. This time, we were not responsible for his disappearance."

Starbright looked like she might actually slap her. "Let me get this straight, Alex has been missing for a week, actually missing, and YOU'RE JUST NOW TELLING US?!"

Jones pursed her lips. "Well, we had hoped to prevent any adverse reactions while we recovered Alex or the situation resolved itself. We did not want any police interference, as our operatives are typically more efficient."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, and you didn't want anyone finding out your dirty little secret."

Ah, that was Harris. He really did need to sign an OSA. The boy's marks were not the highest, but the child was far from unintelligent. Alex Rider would hardly have, much less confide, in a stupid friend. He knew better. Jones figured she had better defuse the situation. "Yes, well he was found alive now."

Harris glared at her. "No thanks to you. We're lucky James is part insomniac."

Jack sighed. Jones continued. "Yes, a rather clingy insomniac at that."

Jones didn't think Hale would be an issue, even if he did find out. She was fairly certain he wouldn't, though. Tom gave her another scorching look. "Look, lady, I don't care what government position you hold, if you knock James, I will personally make sure you regret it. 'Sides the three of us have been friends since primary."

Jones had the grace to look contrite. "Is there a chance he was otherwise involved? I have to ask for investigative purposes."

Tom laughed out loud. "James? No. He'd kill anyone who offered, for real. Most likely, Alex called him. It's not like he's got you lot on speed dial, remember?"

Jones had the phone in evidence. Actually, that was the truth. Alex Rider didn't have a single phone number for anyone in MI6. That was an oversight on her part. So was not watching the house. Tulip had honestly thought that she had worked out enough deals and threatened enough people to keep the location of Alex Rider a closely guarded secret. It seems they had a mole. "Excuse me, I have a mole to catch and guards to assign. You have my deepest condolences over what happened."

Tulip then all but ran from the hospital. There had been very few people in the loop on where Ian Rider lived. Even fewer still that knew Alex Rider still lived in the same house. The leak could be in the CIA, but she doubted it. They had no way of knowing when she sent him out on missions after all. No, she had to clean house. It was time to call - damn it, Crawley was on the list and needed to be cleared. Blunt. Alan would never willingly allow something to harm his pet project. He also knew the people she worked with well enough to provide insight. Yes, Alan Blunt would have the answers just this one last time. Tulip wondered whether the price of information wasn't her soul at times. Now, she needed to focus. And have lunch with her old boss.

Alex Rider was now actively working on the problem. Tulip Jones had no reason to see him harmed. He hadn't gone to the press. He hadn't tried to kill her (recently). He hadn't given away or sold secrets. He hadn't become a freelance assassin in his free time (hell, she might even hire him if he did). There was no reason for her to be behind this. It probably wasn't a charade, then. Besides, if she wanted to torture him, he'd be kidnapped by Crawley and disappeared into a fake mental institution, not into a glorified shed. So this was probably genuine stupidity from actual criminals. Where had they gotten the location of his house? Even Joe only knew he lived in London, but not the part. Admittedly, his accent was something of a giveaway to any Londoner, but, for all Joe knew, it could be totally fake. It was probably a leak or a mole in MI6. Jones had assured him he was a closely kept secret, but how secret could he really be if most foreign intelligence agencies knew about him? There were K-unit and anyone in that particular selection. Jones said that where he lived was not relevant and hence kept out of files, but Alex was not sure he trusted that. Plus, it wasn't like the other intelligence agencies didn't have spies of their own. He hadn't shared that much with SCORPIA. I mean, he was fourteen, not stupid. They openly trained assassins in a specialized school. Of course, he wasn't going to tell them where he lived. Then again, they might have invested some serious time and money into it with the way the family record was. For all he knew, they hadn't asked him because they already knew. Julius had found his actual school. Finding his house couldn't be that much of a stretch. The other agencies had no reason to see him dead, considering the number of lives he'd saved. There was the possibility of a mole. John Crawley knew where he lived. Smithers had hinted at it and sent him a package. Blunt. Jones. Maybe Ben? Alex honestly had no idea how many people knew where he lived and the idea was suddenly terrifying. Alex felt his thoughts began to fade he could almost hear the beeping of what sounded like a heart monitor and Jack talking. The fog seemed to be coming back. Alex felt the current line of thought fade and wanted to scream. How was he supposed to warn people if he could wake up?!

Alan Blunt was not terribly surprised to be asked for lunch by Tulip Jones. They usually still met for lunch at least once a week instead of almost every day. Neither of them had actual friends outside of work, mainly because the job tended to end friendships due to lack of time to socialize. Now, they tried to cut down on the meeting due to both security and rumormongers. Bad enough that both of their spouses had accused them of seeing each other at least once. Tulip's husband during the divorce and his wife on one occasion. She had met Tulip and Blunt had been pleasantly surprised to find out that they could stand each other, although they had completely separate interests and worldviews. Plus, she'd backed off on accusing him of an affair. Apparently, she felt like she was prettier than his coworker. Blunt was just relieved that the awkward questions and calls finally stopped. He might have had to tell her what he really did for a living and she was not the best at keeping her mouth shut under the best of circumstances. His wife believed in being the typical housewife and had traditionally feminine interests and had finally. Tulip Jones was the epitome of the modern woman and had eventually taken his job. Alan admired her ability and had enjoyed having her as a deputy and protégé. He was proud of her, not that he would ever say so aloud. Tulip had turned out much better than his own daughter, but it was a bit unfair to compare her to one of the brightest women in the world. Still, he and his wife were still in counseling about it. Apparently, she felt like his tendency to prioritize his job over his family had somehow triggered her alcoholism. Bah, the genes came from his wife's family, thank you very much. Still, he was quite relieved to cut the post-therapy talk short to go meet Tulip. She was definitely more fun to talk to than anybody in or out of MI6.

James Hale went to visit his friend, who was still in a coma. It had been weeks. James ran his hands through Alex's hair. His best friend was still in a coma. The doctors said there was still hope since there had been brain activity, but James wasn't quite sure he had the same faith. Nonetheless, he came here almost every day to visit Alex. Tom and Jack were never too far behind him. There was the weird bank IT guy, the creepy grey lady, the creepy grey dudes, and the guy who looked a little too much like a brick to not be ex-military. James shuddered. Wasn't there supposed to be one person who managed an estate or something? His uncle had said something about trusts having trustees when James had asked, so maybe they were the people who called the shots. Either way, he was here and glaring at the creepy grey lady, again. "Don't you have, like, work or something?"

The woman raised one of her dark, perfectly plucked, eyebrows. "My hours are reasonably flexible."

James was calling bullshit on that one. Everybody knew bankers worked from nine to five. "Don't you have set hours?"

No way was he leaving creepy and grey numbers one and two alone with Alex. The man had said nothing so far. James was shocked at the sheer monotony of his voice at the answer. "I'm retired and she's salaried, not hourly."

James sighed. "And you are?"

The grey eyes studied him. "Alan Blunt, former head of Royal and General Bank."

James shook the hand and resisted the urge to shudder. He was just so grey and corpse-like. Maybe if he got a suit with red accents? Meh, some things you couldn't fix. Like creepy old dudes. Seriously, the guy should have gotten a background check at least. "Nice to meet you."

James said out of pure habit. Andrew would throw a fit if he was rude to people without a good reason. Even if it was to those two total creeps. The grey man looked amused like he knew full well James didn't mean it. "And you as well, Mr. ?"

James sighed. "Hale, James Hale."

Jones seemed amused by something - her lips twitched. James rolled his eyes. Not his fault that he read too much James Bond. James went back to reading the new James Bond books series. Really, Alex had to read these. They were awesome. There was even a man-eating laser shark in one of them. Plus, these puns were just too awesome. James waited until those two walked off before he started reading the book aloud to Alex. He hoped his friend heard it somewhere in coma land. James had gotten through about three chapters when Alex shot up in bed. James watched in horror as his friend pulled out the breathing tube. Alex seemed to calm down momentarily at the sight of his friend.

"Welcome back to reality, Al."

Alex had never been more relieved to be on the receiving end of James' sarcasm in his short life. "You mean it's not a dream involving a laser-firing shark that walks on land and eats people."

James looked down guiltily and quickly hid his books in his backpack. Maybe they weren't the best choice for someone stuck in a coma. James had figured something thrilling might make Alex wake up faster. "Err, no. Sorry to disappoint, mate."

James said with a grin. "Had some weird dreams, then?"

Alex shrugged. "Yeah. What's the date?"

James told him. Alex looked panicky. "I've been out for a month?! What about school?!"

James grinned. "No worries. I've got all your assignments and notes. The whole school knows you've been in a coma after being kidnapped by those nutters that got caught last week."

The pile was literally over a foot high, not including textbooks. Alex groaned. "What about Tom and Jack?"

James grinned. "Regular visits and boohooing over your bedside. Other than that, never been better."

Alex cuffed James. "Thanks for looking out for me, James."

James grinned. "Sure, Al, try not to get kidnapped by nutters again, though. The hospital bill must be a killer."

Alex gave his friend a glare. "Yes, James, I can totally happen to control when evil crazies kidnap me."

James grinned. That was the sarcastic friend he knew and loved. "Well, now that you're not dying, any chance you'll help me write the speech due for French class?" Only James, only James. Alex put a pillow over his face and groaned into it. Well, he knew it was James and not an imposter at least. James looked at him with wide pleading blue eyes. "Pleeease?"

Alex gave his friend the evil eye. "Due tomorrow, is it?"

James grinned. "Nope, it's due at midnight."

Alex shook his head. "One of these days, you'll procrastinate yourself into a big fat zero."

James kept grinning. God, he was infuriating. "Fine, you wanker, my bedridden, almost dead arse will write your goddamn fucking French speech."

James gave him a smile that outshined the sun. "Thank you, Alex. I knew I could count on you."

Alex snorted. "Even when I was in a coma?"

James snorted. "Even then. You know how many assignments I've gotten extensions on thanks to you?"

Alex laughed out loud. Oh, James. Alex shot up and hugged his friend. "Never change."

James returned the hug. "Even when we argue about soccer?"

Alex whacked him. "Especially then. Do you know how hard it is to find someone who speaks my language?"

James whispered into his ear. "What? The language of a deranged soccer lunatic? I'm afraid we're two of a kind."

Alex felt his stitches threatening to tear under the force of his sniggers. The nurse suddenly burst into the room. "He's been up and you didn't hit the call button?! Out! You hellion! He needs his check-up!"

James all but ran from the room. The nurse's face softened at the sight of Alex's stunned face. "Now, dear, if any of your visitors get to be too much, just hit the call button…"

Alex hated hospitals. Nurse Ratched - sorry, Nurse Richardson - seemed determined to keep him under observation, forever. By the time she got done with the odious check-up, James had gotten dinner and done his math homework. "Nurse Richardson said I was supposed to rest."

James had gleefully whipped out their French textbook the minute she was gone. "I suppose it's time for your long-overdue teenage rebellion to begin, then."

Alex flipped him off but began to write the speech. It was going to be a while. Jamie started on his biology homework that was due first period. Alex knew full well they had a full week to do said homework, but decided not to comment.

Tulip Jones was ready to barge into the hospital the minute she heard Alex had been up. Instead, she forwarded to message to everybody involved. They had apprehended both the kidnappers and the mole in the last week. As it turned out, they had another analyst turn traitor, they were supposed to be vetted, but occasionally someone slipped through the cracks. Still, they hadn't had a leak on that end this bad since Winston Yu. It had been that investigation that had gotten Blunt to move her into active agent status instead of just analysis. She remembered the day quite well. Alan had brown hair back then and had been a department head, not the head of MI6. It was almost enough to make her nostalgic. Tulip began to clear her and Crawley's schedule for the next day and tried to decide how to best block the others from visiting during the debriefing. The last thing they needed was another person finding out the secret of Alex Rider, especially now that he'd be recovering for at least another month. Alex was in no shape to walk a half-mile, much less go on a mission of any kind or find any of his usual trouble. Ah, she finished clearing the schedules and blocking up the visiting.

The next day, she entered the hospital room and found Alex in his bed. "Alex, welcome back."

The boy looked at her. "I have questions, Tulip."

She sat down. "I shall endeavor to enlighten you, then."

Fin