Disclaimer: Alex Rider belongs to Anthony Horowitz, not me.

This is it. The last chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

'Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life'

(J.K. Rowling)

'God grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change;

courage to change the things I can;

and wisdom to know the difference.'

(The Serenity Prayer)

Two Weeks

There was a news programme on TV, Alex noted absently as he sat on the sofa next to Ben. Both were cradling a cup of hot tea, as the British were wont to do. It was three o'clock in the morning.

"Describe it to me," Ben requested softly, his voice shattering the silence of the room. Somewhere above them a floorboard creaked, and Alex shivered in the dim light. He stared blankly at the TV.

"The bombs kept falling," he replied at last, his voice so quiet Ben had to lean forward to hear better. "No matter what I said, they didn't stop. And it was always you that got hurt – and K Unit were there, and Jack, and Tom-" he cut off, fighting to maintain an impassive face.

Ben sighed, his face tired. It had become a routine, this. They spent several mornings a week sitting next to each other in the lounge, Alex recounting his latest nightmare to the quietly listening Ben. It had been Dr King's suggestion, a way of helping him to open up and deal with the events instead of burying them as he had before. In the wake of the bombing, Alex's nightmares had multiplied, and Ben had been at a loss. They were both desperate for this new dealing technique to work.

"Analyse it for me," Ben said, because Alex often needed to decide and think through them himself.

"It wasn't real," came the low voice. "They launched one missile only, and no one I knew was hurt. Jack-" he choked, "Jack was already dead."

Ben nodded, and Alex felt a moment's annoyance at his calm. It was tempered by the comfort of Ben's hand on his arm. Having somewhere there when he woke from a nightmare was a privilege he was not used to. It made the cold early mornings so much more bearable.

"Knowing it's not real doesn't stop me dreaming it," Alex pointed out, turning to glance at Ben, challenging him to deny it.

"No," Ben agreed. "But talking about the dreams might."

Alex looked away. He didn't know whether he believed that or not. Hoping had got him nowhere, in the past.

"What about your nightmares then?" Alex asked rebelliously. And it was true, he had noticed that sometimes Ben was already fully awake when Alex went to find him, and he had once caught Ben in the throes of a bad dream – twisting and muttering in his sleep.

"I talk about mine to my psychiatrist," Ben retorted calmly. "Dr King has said you're still reluctant to do so."

Alex bit his lip, understanding the truth in that statement. He'd prefer to speak to Ben than his psychiatrist any day, which is why they'd agreed Ben would sacrifice his sleep to keep Alex company when he awoke in the night. They had been desperate to halt the onslaught on the nightmares when Alex arrived home. He had not been able to get a full night's sleep at all, and even napping during the day hadn't helped. He'd been exhausted and frustrated with himself. Ben and Dr King came up with this solution, and he had so far managed to reduce the nightmares so that he could gain some proper sleep on occasion.

"I'll tell you about my nightmares if you like," Ben continued. "Last night I dreamt Menarc had killed you and sent you back in little pieces, each with a note claiming I had killed you."

"Ben-" Alex began, guilt stirring within him as Ben recounted his dream. None of it had been Ben's fault; he had tried his very best to keep Alex safe.

The man ignored him, his eyes faraway. "Before that I dreamt I was in a forest, looking for you. I could hear your screams, but could never find you."

"Ben," Alex interrupted again. "This- This situation" he spread his hands wide; "it was not your fault. Not at all."

"I know," Ben confirmed, though Alex wasn't so sure he truly did agree. "But that doesn't stop the nightmares, does it?"

Alex nodded, recognising his own words.

"The point I'm trying to make is that I understand, Alex," Ben told him gently, looking at him seriously. "You just have to hope things will get better."

"And if they don't?"

"I'll still be here," Ben said with an easy smile. "So will K Unit. No matter what, we won't leave you alone."

Alex nodded again. Ben seemed to understand, and stood up to put the kettle on once more.

"Coffee this time?" he called. He was presumably trying to give Alex space to think about their conversation.

"Decaf please," Alex answered, before focusing on the TV screen. It was a 24 hour news channel, and as such there was very little new information.

"The death toll from the Birmingham bombing has risen once more as a thirty-year old woman passed away from her injuries yesterday morning," the newsreader was saying, and Alex heaved a sigh. Every day there was another story of a death – someone's mother, father, daughter, partner . . . It never seemed to end.

"-the Prime Minister will again reassure the public that the Iraqi government is handling the situation perfectly tomorrow in a speech to the Commons-"

There were footsteps on the stairs and Alex cocked his head, listening. The house was fairly busy in the night time, full of insomniacs. K Unit had continued to take turns staying at the house whilst Mrs Jones and Blunt struggled to organise a deal with Menarc in return for his safety. They seemed to care very little for their men in prisons throughout the world, and MI6 was finding it hard to arrange a deal that was acceptable. Mrs Jones had sworn they would keep trying, and in the meantime the protection on the house had tripled. Alex was not allowed out without guards, and he wondered what would happen once he returned to school after the summer holidays in September.

"Hey," Eagle said quietly, entering the lounge and plonking himself down on an armchair. Alex knew he had been battling his own night terrors after returning from Iraq, and he was another frequent morning wanderer.

"Coffee?" Ben asked from the kitchen.

"Please," Eagle replied with a nod. Alex turned back to the TV.

"-the Iraqi police have been carrying out raids against suspected Al Qaeda members and have sworn that they will flush out the men responsible for the attack-"

"Makes me sick that they can't tell the truth," Eagle murmured, and Alex glanced at him.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Not that this sudden interest from the Iraqi police in terrorists is a bad thing," he carried on. "I mean, arresting Al Qaeda members is great, but . . . They weren't truly the ones to blame."

Alex nodded. "The government have no proof though," he said with a shrug. "They couldn't accuse a millionaire oil company owner of mass murder and terrorism on my word only."

"They should," Eagle said with a quick grin in his direction. "You're more trustworthy than most."

Alex felt a warm feeling in his chest, but didn't respond.

"-the decision not to move more troops into Iraq was criticised yesterday by the head of the large oil company Tolo, who declared that Britain have made themselves look weak in the face of rising terrorism. The man in question is currently awaiting trial in the USA for fraud and multiple counts of tax evasion-"

Alex smirked upon hearing that news again. When Mrs Jones had first informed him of it, he had bristled with the knowledge that the man would go down in history as just one of the many men desperate for money, and not as a mass murderer. He'd gotten used to it, by now, and found the situation comical. The man had not achieved his plan, and was now facing a lengthy prison sentence. As a US citizen, MI6 had been unable to engineer anything personally, but had involved the CIA – and particularly Joe Byrne – who had been more than happy to ensure the man was sent to a secure prison for a good long time. Alex was reassured by Byrne personally that the head of Tolo was not going to weasel out of it.

"-though many have also condemned the government's decision to leave the policing of these terrorists to the Iraqi government, the Prime Minister and his cabinet stand by their choice. The Chancellor of the Exchequer's speech in parliament last week declared that Britain could not financially or morally justify another war, words which have gained him much support from political activists-"

"Good," Eagle commented randomly, despite already knowing the news. Alex agreed silently.

Ben appeared juggling skilfully three mugs of coffee, and Alex jumped up to take one. The other was handed to Eagle, and Ben joined Alex on the sofa.

"It's just such a waste," Ben said quietly, staring at the TV. The screen was now showing photos of the days after the bombing. The area of impact was a wreck. People were buried under the rubble, firemen were working desperately to subdue the fires that had sprung up from damaged gas pipes and the heat of the bomb, police and ambulance crew were struggling to hold their composure together. Alex couldn't tear his eyes away from the now familiar images. The same photos were recycled every day on the countless programmes covering the disaster. International aid was given, official condolences and promised of support granted from the USA, France, Japan, Germany . . . Everyone was in a rush to offer help, but it did little to quell the fear springing up in British society. Many were whispering amongst themselves – we were attacked, and the government did nothing, some said. Others: how can we trust a government that does not protect their people?

Alex doubted the Prime Minister would win the next election. It was a shame; he'd liked him.

"Yeah, it is," Alex agreed with Ben's statement.

"So much destruction, all because of one man wanting to make more money," Ben commented, his voice cracking. "I mean, Jesus, I'm not excusing the 7/7 bombings or anything, but they had a purpose at least, some sort of faith or aim or belief. He had – what? A love of money? A petty hatred of Britain?"

"He was mad," Alex said, running a hand over his face. "And Menarc gave him a chance to express his insanity."

"I don't think he was crazy," Eagle offered thoughtfully. "It was pretty calculated, wasn't it? Madness excuses it almost, suggests he wasn't thinking straight. He was. He was just evil."

Alex nodded, acknowledging the truth in Eagle's words. "At least he'll spend his life in prison now."

"On fraud charges?" Eagle said, his eyebrows raised.

Alex shrugged, and spoke with a smirk that belayed the seriousness of the conversation. "I've been assured he'll find prison a nice place to retire," he said, only half-joking. "The CIA has promised."

"It pays to have connections," Ben said with a quiet laugh, and the discussion turned to lighter matters. Alex reached for the remote and turned the TV off. There was no point torturing themselves with the images now. The events couldn't be changed.

Three Weeks

It was sunny but cold. Alex stood, shivering, in the park where he had played football with Tom before. MI6 agents were milling around inconspicuously, and he tried his hardest to ignore them. He crossed his arms, relishing in the fact that his arm was pain-free. The antibiotics had worked wonders, even if he did now have another hideous scar to add to his collection.

"Alex!" someone called behind him, and he turned with a huge smile.

"Tom," he greeted, stepping forward to embrace the boy - manfully, he might add. "How have you been?"

Tom wasn't smiling as much as he used to. There were shadows in his eyes when previously he had had none, and his face was drawn. He had lost his aunt and three cousins in Birmingham, and his uncle had been injured. The man, upon awakening to discover his family had been wiped out, had thrown himself under a bus. He'd lived, but barely. The attack had more widespread effects that simply the initial deaths.

"I'm alright," Tom answered, and the lines on his face eased. "You?"

Alex shrugged. "Getting there," he said honestly. "It's been a hard few weeks," he admitted.

Tom smiled wryly. "That it has."

"Football?" Alex asked with a forced grin.

Tom looked at him, and let out a long, slow, breath, before smirking. "Why not?" he answered, kicking the ball away from Alex and running towards a goal post.

Alex followed. "Cheat!" he called, as Tom scored a goal. His friend did a victory dance on the grass, laughing all the while. Alex stole the ball, sticking his tongue out at Tom.

Hearts don't heal that easily, but the aches can fade.

Four Weeks

"Are your nightmares clearing up?" Dr King asked in one of their sessions. Alex looked at the odd man, dressed today in a baggy t-shirt with 'Rolling Stones' emblazoned on it.

He shook his head.

"Any change at all?" his psychiatrist persisted.

Alex sighed. He hated this, hated talking to the bloody stranger about his feelings and thoughts and nightmares.

"Alex, you have to talk to me," Dr King said. "I cannot help if you won't communicate."

Alex breathed out heavily again. "Fine," he declared. "No, my nightmares have not cleared up. Yes, they have reduced, and yes, Ben is helping. Anything else?"

Dr King sat back in his chair and looked at him for a moment. "Tell me, Alex, why are you here?" he questioned abruptly, and Alex blinked.

He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. "To get better," he answered at last.

"Good," Dr King said with a nod. "And how are you going to achieve that?"

"Isn't that why you're here?" Alex said, a tad rudely.

"I'm not a miracle worker," the man informed him, raising an eyebrow.

"If I wanted Jesus himself I'd have gone to a church," Alex retorted. Dr King smiled, a strange expression on his face.

"I can't change anything without your cooperation."

"I don't want to change," Alex answered, with a frown. "I just want to be able to live properly."

Dr King's expression turned almost sad. "Change is a part of life, Alex," he said gently. "I will make a guess and say that you are not the same person you were two years ago, am I right?"

Alex thought back. Two years. He would have been fourteen, just before Ian died. Innocent. Young. So bloody young. He would have Jack, and an absent uncle. He would not have met K Unit yet.

"No," he responded eventually.

"See?" Dr King said. "You've already changed. Everyone does. My job is to help you adjust to that change."

Alex stared at the man. "How?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"You need to start accepting yourself now," Dr King told him firmly. "I want you to go home and make a list of the ways your life has changed over the last two years, in detail. Then say whether the change was negative or positive, and what made it so. Okay?"

Alex cocked his head. Homework? He could live with that. A list was already running through his head.

MI6. Madmen and bombs and threats and fear. Ian's death. Jack's death. Yassen and his father and Scorpia and Invisible Sword. Negative. Negative. Negative.

Ben, came a small voice, in amongst the painful recollections. K Unit. Acceptance and comfort and maybe even love.

"I'll see you next week," Dr King said, but Alex was no longer listening.

Family, he thought, allowing himself to smile slightly. Positive.

Five Weeks

Alex found himself sitting in Blunt's office on a lovely sunny summer's day. The August sun had finally beaten through the clouds, and was shining feebly through the window. Alex smiled to himself. The sun could make anything look beautiful, even the drab oak furniture in the office. Ben had promised to go out for a run with him later, and Alex was looking forward to it. His leg still got stiff from the old injury, but running seemed to help stretch it out. Anytime spent in the sun was good, anyway.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr Rider," Blunt said, looking at him across the desk. Mrs Jones was sat next to him. Her face looked almost human in the soft sunlight.

"What's this about?" Alex asked, somewhat warily. He didn't think they would call him out on a mission, not when he was still recovering, but he wasn't sure. It had been over a month, after all.

"We have received confirmation from Menarc that they will leave you alone," Mrs Jones told him, her voice holding just a tiny bit of warmth. Alex felt a shock travel through him.

"Are you serious?" he queried. The organisation had been refusing all demands to negotiate on that front since the bombing. They wanted revenge, pure and simple.

Blunt raised an eyebrow. "When are we not?"

Alex wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. Could Blunt be making a small joke with him? Surely not. He was pretty certain the head of MI6 had no idea what humour even was.

Mrs Jones seemed to read his mind, and offered a small smile. "We are all human," she said, so quietly Alex wasn't sure he was supposed to hear at all.

"I suppose so," he said in an equally soft voice.

Blunt cleared his voice, his expression serious. "They have agreed not to seek revenge on you, but will not swear to refrain from attacking or harming you if you seek them out, understand?"

"Why would I go after them?" Alex asked incredulously. "I value my life."

"Good," Blunt said shortly. "You're a valuable asset."

Alex looked at him. That had been a compliment of some sort, he was almost completely certain. He was going mad; there was no question about it.

"Your guards have been informed of the change," Blunt informed him. "You are free to leave the house without supervision, now, although you will understand if we keep the house under surveillance."

Alex nodded. "And Ben?" he asked, without even knowing what his question was.

"You will stay with Agent Daniels," Mrs Jones reassured him. "If you are both satisfied with the situation, that is."

"We are," Alex replied, gratefulness seeping into him. He was no longer going to be hunted by Menarc. He could live without looking over his shoulder – until he pissed off the next lot of terrorists, that was. He smirked to himself.

"You will contact me when you next have the need?" Alex said.

A hint of surprise showed on Blunt's face. "We will," he responded.

Alex hated it at times – loathed the destruction the job wreaked on his life – but he didn't think he could give it up. Seeing what had happened to Birmingham made him decide for certain. He wouldn't allow it to happen again, if he could help it. And he had Ben now. When he came home from missions, Ben would be there, and Ben would help. He wasn't alone anymore.

Nine Weeks

"Spaghetti or penne pasta?" Alex asked the men grouped in the lounge. He'd decided it was his turn to cook tonight, allowing Ben a night off.

Various requests were made, and Alex sighed in consternation. "I'm going with spaghetti," he decided.

"Pity," Eagle pouted. The man had perked up recently, and Alex figured his nightmares had reduced. All of K Unit had moved out once Blunt had given the all clear, although Eagle was still staying with his sister whilst trying to find a flat in London. They met up regularly, with the soldiers popping round for company or food. They had been placed on leave again, whilst all tried to recover fully mentally. They shouldn't have gone on the mission to Iraq – or Cornwall – and the SAS seemed to realise that. Never let it be said that the army don't take care of their own. They'd granted the unit extra leave to make up for the actions of MI6.

"I'm cooking, so I decide," Alex retorted, sweeping back into the kitchen and filling a pan with water. There was a faint sound of the TV in the lounge, and casual voices chatting.

"Need any help?" Ben asked, appearing in the kitchen with an easy smile.

"I've got it under control," Alex replied, pulling down the spaghetti and digging out some chopped tomatoes from the cupboard. "Go and relax, Ben," he instructed the older man.

"Nah," Ben said, taking a seat at the table. "It's too noisy for me."

"Old man," Alex said with a grin. He put on a timer and sat down next to Ben.

"Child," Ben retorted, sticking his tongue out.

"Hypocrite," Alex commented, kicking him under the table.

"Children, children," came a voice, and both Alex and Ben turned to look at Snake, who was lurking in the doorway. The man had softened as time went on, and Alex reckoned the man had been just as damaged by the death of their teammate Leopard as Eagle had, he just had a different way of dealing with it.

"Now, he's the old one," Ben told Alex in a fake whisper, jerking his thumb at Snake who also took a seat at the table. "He got bloody married!"

Snake's lips twitched upwards, but he didn't reply.

Alex chuckled at Ben's antics, and got up to check on the pasta. His seat was quickly taken by Eagle, who had come in to investigate what was going on.

"It was getting lonely in there," he declared. "Wolf's not a great talker."

"I don't know what you mean," Wolf defended himself gruffly, walking into the kitchen.

"You're all grumpy old gits," Alex said with a laugh, grabbing an onion out of the fridge.

"Hey!" Eagle cried in mock offence. Alex turned to look at them all, raising an eyebrow.

Wolf was leaning against the kitchen side, observing the proceedings with cool dark eyes, and a relaxed look. Eagle was grinning, practically vibrating in his chair. The dark smudges were hidden by his lively eyes. Snake was watching Eagle, a slight smile on his lined face. And Ben? Ben was looking at him with kind eyes and a gentle smile, his head cocked to the side in his listening pose. Alex felt a moment's rush of affection for them all, warts and all.

That didn't stop him throwing onion peelings at Eagle when he tried to pinch some tomatoes.

A/N: Changes is now officially complete, and I feel like crying. I blame that on the fact that it is nearly 3 am where I am.

I've been working on this for over three years (although much of that was procrastination), and I am at a loss of what to do now. Watch this space - I'm not leaving this fandom forever! Changes itself will be given a makeover - little plotholes filled in, the first few chapters rewritten, but nothing drastic. For now, I'm taking a break. But I hopefully won't be long!

If there are still any questions, let me know :)

Thank you to everyone who has supported me throughout this story - I won't name you all, because I haven't the time (sleep is calling), but know that every word of encouragement or praise you have written has been gratefully and lovingly received. Thank you all.

Please do review and tell me your opinion!

For the last time then,

Dreams