The next couple of days passed scarily quickly. Alex got a text from Sabina, telling him that they'd arrived in the South of France, and that the weather was fantastic; James had pulled a face, and muttered half-heartedly about clingy girls who just couldn't take a hint; and James slowly but surely got over his slightly over-protective phase once Alex saw a doctor who declared him to be 'slightly battered' – this with a disapproving look – 'but otherwise fine'.

James' house in Austria had a swimming pool, which was where he and Alex seemed to spend most of their time, over the next three or four days. The weather was fantastic – which surprised Alex, who had always imagined, for some reason, that Austria would be permanently snowy – and Dieter even joined them a couple of times, though he seemed to spend most of his time swimming lengths; 'more fitness than fun', as James ironically put it one night at dinner.

They settled down easily into the routine they had half-established the last time Alex had visited – spend the day doing nothing in particular, have dinner with Dieter, and then watching a film, or something, until bed. And if the films sometimes ended up with James rather awkwardly putting an arm round Alex's shoulders, self-conscious and a little nervous, neither of them mentioned it.

Their relationship was a slightly strange one; neither of them seemed to know quite what to do with the more-than-friends aspect of it; there was always a slight frisson of what Alex called nerves, and James insisted on calling 'sexual tension'. Alex retorted that James wouldn't know sexual tension if it bit him, and James loftily replied that Alex was 'too young' to understand.

Alex had pushed him for that, and James had landed in the swimming pool with a satisfying yelp of surprise.

About four days after Alex had arrived, just two days before they were due to go to Paris, he and James had just finished watching a film again; James arm was around his shoulders, and Alex, extremely awkward, and looking anywhere but James, had shifted just a little closer. Sometimes, Alex was convinced that kissing James would have been much easier than trying to be 'romantic'. Neither of them were cut out for it, and they hadn't known each other long enough yet.

On that thought, Alex broke the silence which has fallen over them. "How long have you known Lucy?"

"Lucy?!" James glanced at him, surprised, but didn't take his arm from Alex's shoulders. "What brought that up?"

Alex shrugged. "I was just thinking about her."

"And yet I'm the one with my arm round your shoulders. I feel so used."

"Shut up." Alex returned, comfortably. "I was just wondering about here. I mean, I told you all about Sabina, and you only mentioned this 'Lucy' a couple of days ago, but you've known her for ages. So I'd just like to know something about her, you know? Like, how long you've known her."

It was James' turn to shrug. "I'm not sure – forever. I think we went to the same nursery school, or something. And we went to the same school after that, until I went, um… bad."

"And she stuck around you? Even when you were being – bad?"

"Well, she was a bit distant when I was – not good." James said, awkwardly. "But it's better now, you know? I don't see much of her, since she's at boarding school in England, but we still get on."

"Oh." There was another brief pause. "And you didn't want to see her this holiday?"

"Well, yeah, but you were coming, and she's in Switzerland with her cousins, then she's going to Egypt, to visit her mother. She works there." He added by way of explanation.

"Right. So I was a second choice?"

"Alex." James said, refusing to rise to it. "Of course not, stop trying to be difficult."

Alex just grinned, but it turned a little wistful. "It must be nice to have someone who's known you for so long."

"Yeah – until they bring out the stories about the time when you tried to eat sand, or whatever." James agreed, with a slightly rueful grin. "Don't you have any old friends?"

"Not really." Alex shrugged. "We – my uncle and me – we moved around a lot when I was little, and only settled back in London for good when I was about nine – probably something to do with his job, I guess. And then I changed schools twice, so… I didn't really have a chance to make friends. Not ones that I could keep, anyway. You don't really bother about keeping in touch when you're nine."

"But you do have friends, right?"

Alex gave him a look. "I'm not some kind of loser." He retorted. "I don't just sit at home all day and wait for you to ring me."

"Yeah, I know!" James back-tracked quickly. "But, I meant, what with MI6, and all."

Alex shrugged. "Well… yeah, I guess. Most of them think I'm some kind of mad, drug-crazed fiend, though, so it's not always easy."

"I bet." James agreed. They sat in silence for a few moments, Alex almost-unconsciously shifting a little closer to him, until they were almost, but not quite, flush together. Finally, James said, casually, "So, are you ready for Paris?"

"Pretty much." Alex nodded, folding the newspaper carefully. "You?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "I love Paris – have you been before?"

"I lived there for a while." Alex told him, with an answering grin. "When I was seven – went to school there and everything." His grin slipped a little. "I, er… It was to get me speaking the language fluently, I think, and to make sure that I could integrate into the culture if I ever needed to, probably, but… I liked the city." He frowned, lightly. "But I don't think we ever really did the tourist sights, or anything; my uncle never had the time, and, you don't really seem to, when you live somewhere. I mean, we lived there for nearly a year, as far as I remember, and if I saw the Eiffel Tower, it was by accident, you know?"

James shook his head. "Never really thought about it." He shrugged. "But we'll have a week there, we can go anywhere you want."

Alex offered him an almost shy smile. "Yeah – thanks."

James grinned back. "Don't mention it."

They sat in a comfortable, slightly sleepy silence for maybe five minutes more, before Alex stretched a little, sitting forward away from James' arm, and saying, a little reluctantly,

"I should really go to bed…"

James nodded, standing and stretching. Alex turned to go when James called, casually, after him, "Hey, Alex?"

"Yeah?"

James closed the distance between them, and grabbed Alex's hand, pulling him closer, and wrapping an arm round his waist; but it was Alex who actually kissed him. James just deepened it, smiling to himself as he felt Alex's arms wrap round his waist, letting his own hand card through Alex's hair, placing his other low on the other boy's back.

When he finally pulled back, he took one look at Alex – hair messy, pupils blown wide, lips red and puffy – and grinned.

"OK, that was my best kiss ever."

Alex grinned back.

They took Dieter's plane into Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, and were met by another sleek black car, which drove them to the Georges V, another amazingly impressive hotel in the heart of the city. Dieter had booked two suites – one for himself, which included a board-room, and the other for James and Alex.

"I hope you will have a good time here." He said, offering the two of them a smile. "And I have organised that we will go to some museums together, OK? I know you will love the Musee Carnavalet, Alex – I am sure you have better taste then my son, who hates museums." He smiled at James, who rolled his eyes, but smiled back. "And, if it is alright with you, we will meet for dinner here at eight every night; I will be busy, but I should like to spend time with you both."

James gave his father a quick, rather awkward hug, and Alex had looked away, trying – not very successfully – to act as though he didn't feel like an intruder. "Thanks, Dad." He muttered, as he pulled away, and Dieter gave him a wide, proud smile.

"Don't worry about it." He said, in German, patting his son on the shoulder. "I am pleased that you are happy."

The suite awed Alex, just as the one in Vienna had, but he was given very little time to think about it, as he was pulled out of bed early the next morning by James, who had laid out an entire programme of things for them to do, ranging from visiting the Eiffel Tower – "we'll have to see if we can get Dad to let us go after dark, it looks amazing at night!" – to walking along the Seine – "apparently, it's tradition, or something…"

Alex allowed himself to be dragged out of bed, and pushed into a taxi, which took them to the square outside the Louvre.

James looked at him. "Have you been before…?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but it was ages ago, I only remember the Mona Lisa, and the Venus de Milo. You?"

James nodded, glumly. "Yeah. Dad sent me to school here a couple of years ago, one of those really strict school, to get you 'into line'. We had an art trip here – I only went on it cos it got me out of that bloody school. We got dragged round all the really old, religious art, with some woman talking about how it was 'revolutionary' that they painted Mary's halo white, or something."

Alex hesitated momentarily, before saying, slowly, "Well – Ian used to say that if you were ever bored in an art gallery – though he kind of implied that if you were, you were an uncultured moron with no taste," James pulled a face at him, and Alex grinned "If you were bored, you could go round and try to find the ugliest baby Jesus in all of the religious paintings. Some of them are hideous."

A slow smile spread across James' face. "Sounds like a plan."

They spent the rest of the day wandering round the small area of Paris around the Louvre, and had lunch in a small Chinese restaurant (1), where James spent nearly half an hour mocking Alex's apparently sincere interest in art.

They got back to the hotel at seven thirty, and James disappeared into his room, giving Alex the blanket suggestion of 'dress smart'.

Twenty minutes later, James reappeared, in black trousers and a white shirt, which was apparently the nearest he got to 'smart', and gave Alex a slightly confused look.

"You haven't changed."

Alex shrugged helplessly. "You said 'dress smart' – I didn't know what you meant; I don't really have any 'smart' things."

"Black trousers generally work? With a white shirt, maybe?"

"James, we'd match." Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "And I do have enough fashion sense to realise that 'Men In Black' is not a good look. Plus, I don't have anything like that with me…"

James paused. "Oh. Yeah." He bit his lip for a second, then beckoned Alex back into his room, rifling through the bag he hadn't yet bothered to unpack, throwing a blue shirt, a jacket, and a pair of black trousers at Alex. "There. We're pretty much the same size, they should work, right?"

Alex looked from the clothes he'd caught, to James, and back to the clothes. Then he smiled a little, faintly despairing, shook his head, and headed back to his room to change.

"Don't feel like you have to leave the room because of me!" James called after him, following him into the living area of the suite. "You know I'd love to watch you strip off!"

Alex didn't dignify that with a response.

The meal that night was rather more restrained than it was when they were 'at home', as it were, and the conversation took place predominantly in German, most likely, Alex suspected, due to Dieter's desire to keep what they were saying private, rather than anything else. Dieter seemed somewhat preoccupied, but James didn't seem to mind, and Alex supposed it was because this was a business trip for him, rather than a simple tourist visit. Alex hoped – sincerely – that there was nothing wrong, but made sure to keep his end of the conversation light and inconspicuous.

It was almost a relief to be able to go back to their suite – after James had acquired Dieter's permission to visit the Eiffel Tower one night "provided they take some protection with them". Alex had ended up with an image that he really didn't need from that particular instruction, and had struggled both to keep from blushing, and to keep the smile off his face.

In their room, however, there was less need to worry about keeping up a polite, innocuous façade, and he and James sat and talked for nearly two hours, though Alex wasn't entirely sure, the next morning, what they had talked about; he wasn't even sure that there had been a particular subject, just that they had managed to pass a couple of hours talking. He did remember, however, that James had kissed him goodnight, rather embarrassedly, and that he, Alex, had enjoyed it hugely. He just wished that he had had the courage to kiss James.

The next day, however, was when everything started to fall apart. In the morning, he and James had visited Place de Pigalle, and had spent an amusing – if juvenile – hour or so pointing out all the sex shops they could find around there, before heading up to the Sacré Coeur, where James – who, Alex was surprised to find, had been raised a devout Catholic – lit a few candles at various shrines. Under his breath, he explained to Alex the various reasons that each saint had been canonized, and what they were the saint of; and then he dragged Alex into the all-too-crowded little gift shop, and bought him a guide to Catholicism and a couple of prayer cards, telling him, cheerfully, that he needed 'all the help he could get'.

After that, they headed down to the area around Angers tube station, and found a small, nearly empty restaurant to have lunch in. James chatted, idly, about visiting Pere Lachaise that afternoon, to see the grave of Oscar Wilde, and Alex paid attention with half an ear, more interested in trying to decipher his menu, which was old, a little dog-eared, and had had one too many sauces spilt on it to be easily readable.

When his phone rang, he seriously considered ignoring it, but, when it rang insistently for nearly a minute, he picked up, giving James an apologetic look, and heading for the loo, for a degree of privacy.

"Hallo?"

"Alex?" Sabina was on the other end of the line, and she sounded distraught. "is that you?"

"Yeah?" he frowned. "Sab, are you OK?"

"N-no…" her voice was definitely trembling, and Alex bit his lip.

"What's happened?"

"There was a gas leak in the house my parents and I were renting…" she blurted out, her voice cracking over a sob, "And Dad's in hospital, and I can't understand what the police are saying…"

Alex dithered for a couple of moments, unsure as to what he could say in response to that. Finally, he settled on a rather awkward, "Oh my god. Are – are you OK? I mean, physically?"

She sniffed, loudly, her breathing coming in unsteady gasps. "Y-yeah, I wasn't – wasn't even in the h-h-house… But D-dad looks awful, and the doctors speak so fast, and Mum's too – too b-busy to ex-explain…"

Alex frowned, the practical, MI6-trained side of him coming in to play. "But – why… this gas leak, have there been any problems like this before, in that house?"

Sabina's voice sounded unsure, when she next answered. "Um… not that I know of, but… maybe? Why?"

Alex shrugged, knowing that she could see it, but hoping that the general attitude of it would come through in his voice. "No reason – just curious." He paused, thinking how best to go on. He hated the suspicious side of him which couldn't seem to help but raised questions in his mind about the whole affair, but it was suddenly difficult to believe that someone so close to him could have been involved in a simple gas explosion. MI6 had a lot to answer for his damaged psyche. "Did your dad lose a lot of work in the explosion?"

Another breathy little sob came over the line when he said 'explosion', and Alex winced a little. "I don't know, and really I don't care, Alex!" Sabina snapped back, tearfully. "He's in hospital!"

"Sorry." Alex said, quickly. "I didn't mean to… Sorry. I just – I read once that talking about normal things helps when someone's had a shock; you know…" he allowed himself an awkward little laugh. "Just to take their mind off… whatever it is. Sorry." He added, again, after a pause. "I guess I didn't start very well."

"N-no." she agreed, but her voice was less sharp now. "Sorry. I – I don't think that he lost much." She added, tentatively, after a brief pause of her own. "He said he'd sent it to the photographer he was working with, I think? Some guy in Paris." Sabina's father was a successful freelance journalist, which allowed him to travel with his family as much as he wanted, within reason.

"Oh? What was his article on?" Alex asked, feigning casual interest.

"That, er… that pop singer, David…um… Damian – Cray." She replied, her voice starting to sound less shaky. "You know, I think this is working, this talking about other things." She added, a little reluctantly.

"Always happy to help." Alex tried to inject a little humour into the conversation, but knew that it fell dismally flat. "How about – the photographer's name? Can you remember that?"

Sabina paused. "Matthew? Matthew, um…"

"Brilliant." He made a mental note of it, turning all of the information over in his mind. "What was this article on Cray about? He's a philanthropist, right? What was your dad saying?"

"I think he was trying to be controversial again." She laughed a little, but it didn't quite work, sounding tinny and forced. "But – god, Alex, what if he's really badly hurt?" her voice hitched up a few notches, and Alex hastened to reassure her,

"I'm sure he's going to be fine, Sab. Seriously, I sure of it. Explosions always look worse, because they're so noisy, right? And he wouldn't have been right at the centre of it…"

"According to the police – or what Mum translated for me," Sabina replied, tearfully, "He would have been at the centre; the explosion was in his study. It's just, he was in the kitchen when it went off, so… I guess, maybe, that helped?"

Curiouser and curiouser.Alex thought, grimly, to himself, but just said, "Well, there you are. He's going to be fine."

"You really think?"

"Definitely." He nodded, firmly.

"I should let you go…" she said, after another awkward pause. "My mum will probably need me soon, and you've got things you need to be doing…"

"Don't worry about it." Alex said, a little perfunctorily, thinking wryly, Oh, you have no idea.

Sitting back down opposite James, he said, distractedly, "Sorry about that – Sabina rang. Her, um… her dad was just caught in a gas explosion, at the house they were renting."

James stared at him, shocked. "Shit – seriously? Fuck, that's – Jesus, that's awful."

"Yeah." Alex agreed, morosely, staring blankly down at the sauce-spattered menu without taking in any of it. "Yeah it is." He paused for a few minutes, before putting the menu back on the table, shaking his head, and saying, rather distractedly, "Look, James, I really… I don't think…" he broke off, before saying, slowly, "I'm really sorry, I don't think I can just sit here…"

"Sure." He nodded, sympathetically. "D'you want to go back to the hotel?"

Alex nodded, slowly. "If you don't mind, yeah."

"No, of course, I understand." James agreed, eyes warm with sympathy. "God, I'm so sorry about this, Alex; do they know if her dad's going to be alright? Is there anything that we can do for her?"

Alex nodded. "No, he's going to be fine. He wasn't in the same room as the actual explosion, so I think he'll probably be OK, you know?"

"Yeah, of course." James stood, putting his chair neatly back under the table, and giving the irritated manager an apologetic smile. "C'mon, let's go back. Maybe it'd be a good idea for you to sleep, or something? Get over the shock?"

Alex nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Yeah, that sounds good."

Back at the hotel, Alex made another distracted apology to James, before heading into his own room, and pulling out the telephone directory from the desk in his room, leafing through it until he found the name of the Parisian photography Sabina had given him, noting down the address on a scrap of paper.

With that task done, he grabbed his phone and his wallet, and waited a further few minutes, until he was sure that James would have settled into his own room – then he headed out of their suite, and made for a lift. He had to find out what was going on here.

Hope you enjoyed!

ami x