A/N: Well, here it is. The final installment… I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

Karmic Balance

Chapter Seven

It fizzled and sparked, taunting him as it danced up and down and snapped, hissing a sharp blue rage. From behind, a sudden force impacted, head lurching forwards and bruising. The world spun as Alex squinted up at Marcus, hand still firm and poised.

"Don't touch that," he warned, despite how Alex would never have approached the open wiring. The way it hummed quietly set something ominous inside of him, the fear of being burned keeping him still.

Marcus looked down at the little boy with disgust, and crouched down so that his breath was hot against Alex's face as he spoke with hard, harsh words. "He's left you for dead, Alex." He sneered. "Last day. Time's up." A frightening, twisted look overcame the man's scarred features, eyes bright, pupils dilated. He bared his teeth in Alex's frightened face. "Two hours left, darling Alex…" From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a dagger, sharp and gleaming in the electric light.

Alex tried to scramble back, but was jerked forward by a fist in his blond hair, head snapping forward with an uncomfortable wince. Marcus was no longer sneering. He was smiling; the look of the gruesome grin sent shivers down his spine.

The man gave a dark, rumbling laugh. "However will we pass the time...?"

Yassen was the first to hear it; the terrifying, blood chilling scream, echoing down the corridor. He felt himself tense as he recognised it as a child's voice – and wished Ian hadn't gone in the opposite direction. Quickly, with a silent rage possessing him, he flicked on the buzzer and sped down the corridor, hurling himself into a nondescript door. It wrenched open, revealing Alex pinned to the wall, Nichol holding him in place, dagger against his ribs. At the sound of the assassin's entrance, Marcus quickly pressed the dagger against Alex's throat, regarding Gregorovitch with a wild look.

A look of understanding passed over the man's face, a smug grin falling into place. "Yassen? I would have expected Ian – but you?" He laughed (Yassen didn't miss Alex's flinch), dagger slipping slightly, a thin line of red blossoming on the boy's fair skin. "My beef isn't with you. Leave, and I pretty promise I won't tell."

Yassen felt cold dread grip him with icy fingers. The man was insane. One wrong, or sudden move – and Alex would be dead.

"Oh, come on, don't look so glum – can't you see I'm smiling?" There was a flash of wicked grin, and the jagged scar stood out against his paling face. His eyes suddenly narrowed. "Where's Ian?"

"He's not here." Yassen replied, disliking the sudden depressed look that overcame Alex's whole body, which had previously perked up at the sound of his Uncle's name.

Marcus snorted. "You want me to believe you've come alone?"

The Russian gave him a tight, wry look. "We don't exactly get along."

Marcus fully turned to him then, judging what kind of threat the man posed – and, as his focus was captured, he let the knife drop back to Alex's ribs –

Like a shot, the boy sprung, jerking himself to the floor, and in the moment a surprised Marcus turned back to him, he pulled –

There was no scream – no last yell of crazed defiance. Only an uncontrollable, incessant shaking that wracked the man's whole body, twitching and jerking, piercing blue electricity dancing across his skin. Dagger stuck in an iron-fisted grip – jerking far too close to Alex's head for Yassen's comfort.

And Alex… Alex. Ashen faced, eyes wide, a bundle of wires gripped tightly between both his hands, shoved under the hem of Marcus' trousers.

Alex stared up at the man – jerking twitching mouth open in silent scream –

BANG.

- the force of the blow sent Nichol spinning into the floor, limbs still twitching, flaying about him; eyes rolling into the back of his head, his lungs gave out one last gasping breath of air, chest still jerking – and shit, the man had twisted into Yassen's bullet – the spray of hot, salty blood dripping all over Alex's face as the man fell dead, bullet in his head.

Quickly tucking the gun back into his trousers, Yassen raised his hands, open palm, and slowly approached the boy – blonde hair brown eyes painfully familiar –

"Alex?" he cautiously ventured. Glazed eyes snapped towards his approaching figure. He stilled, watching as the wires still sparked in the little boy's hands. "Alex…" He repeated, trying to coax him back into the present. "Put the wires down, Alex."

Instead of letting go, Alex's fingers clenched even tighter around his electrifying weapon. One finger slipped forward – dangerously close. With a pinched look, he looked from the wires, to the man smelling of burnt flesh. He shifted, wary eyes on the assassin. "Stuh – stay back – I'll do it – I'll… I'll do to you wha' I did tuh-to him!" He ended on a shout, voice hoarse and cracking, desperation ringing throughout the room.

Yassen felt his heart clench. To hear such terror from a mouth so like Johns…

It was then, as the room stilled and every breath was held, that he realised the buzzing he heard was not just from the wires.

A man – Ian – sped to a halt through the open door. He quickly assessed the situation, examining every inch of the room, and coming to a stop at his nephew. "Alex…" He breathed, relieved to finally see the boy after so much time; and yet, filled with dreadful worry as blood still dripped from the chubby face.

Alex's eyes went wide, mouth slack. "Eee… Ian..?"

The blond man nodded, crouching down in front of the boy. "It's me, Alex. I'm here. I'm here."

Alex's face crumpled, a deep sob wracking his body. He threw the wires far away, and collapsed into his Uncle's outstretched arms. "Ee- Uh – Eeiahn… Ah- I thought – I thought you wuh-weren't –"

"I'm here – I'll always be here for you…" Ian enveloped Alex in his arms as the boy buried his head into the man's torso, not caring that blood and tears soaked his clothes and smudged onto his neck – because it was Alex – Alex Alex Alex, his mind chanted; alive and breathing and safe.

A man behind the pair spoke, and it took Ian a few moments to process what was said over the sound of his nephew's sobs. His eyes narrowed as he quickly raised his head, turning to the door.

"What…?" He began, but stopped, as he met nothing but air.

Yassen was gone.

My debt to you is repaid.

But his message had stayed.

He stared out the door for a few seconds, before his watch beeped, causing him to glance down at it, cursing in Italian. The numbers 5:00 flashed before him.

"Come on, Alex…" He murmured, lifting the boy into his arms and sped down the corridor. "We've got five minutes until the cameras stop looping…" But by then, Alex had already passed out in the embrace; from exhaustion, mentally or physically… Ian was determined to make it better.

You won't ever be defenceless again, he silently promised.

Muddled sounds and sensations began to return to him – the soft feel of mattress beneath him, warm air and sunlight. Voices came into focus.

"- traces of toxins in his –"

" – be alright? –" (Was that the sound of his Uncle's voice?)

"- fine, the body's processed –"

"- uhmen –"

"-thunkahyohuh duhcthour–"

Darkness descended upon Alex once more.

The sound of metal tearing and wheels screeching was something the assassin would never forget; that one, heart stopping moment, heated metal between both hands, held still as bullets exploded forth.

And Ian – jerking in his seat - crimson spraying, painting the car a new red; that slack-jawed, wide eyed look of you killed me, you bastard.

The sound of the helicopter, blades roaring above him, was drowned out by his own amusement; Yassen realised, with a smirk, that for taking Alex's only living relative… Well, he owed him a sort of debt again, didn't he? (How old would that little blond boy with wide brown eyes be now? Fourteen? Fifteen?)

The Russian idly wondered when he'd next have to pay it off. Really, he thought with a wry grin; it's all about karmic balance.

El fin.