A/N: Okay guys, here's the deal. I'm back...with a slightly new story. I read through my plot notes for this story and to be honest, it didn't make sense. So, I took a break and made up a plot that was a little different, and rewrote the chapters. I'm reposting them now. If you read the old version, you'll recognize a couple of scenes, but I changed a fair bit so you might want to read the stuff you don't recognize. If you're new, then welcome! This is an Alex-goes-to-Brecon-Beacons story, but hopefully there's some new material in here. That's the goal, anyway.

Reviews are gold. They make this story much, much better.

The boy biked furiously, legs churning as he zipped through the London side streets he knew like the back of his hand. He was about to be late, and while a tardy was hardly something to be worried about - not with the impressive list of other absences - the boy did not want to draw any extra attention onto himself.

The boy wasted a second thinking incredulously at himself that he could hardly garner any more attention, before he refocused on the task at hand.

He swerved violently into the school bike cages and locked up his bike with a few short motions. Within seconds of arriving, he began sprinting towards his first class - Chemistry - ignoring the smirks and laughter that inevitably accompanied a late student.

"Spent too long shooting last night?" One called out to the boy as he passed. The boy rolled his eyes and ignored the snide comment. Although most of the teasing had died down, there was still the odd kid who enjoyed making fun of him. The accusations were baseless, anyway. He had never approached drugs in his life, unless delivering a drug dealer's barge to the police's front door counted.

The boy opened the door just as the bell rang. The teacher, a kindly woman who had always had a soft spot for this mysterious boy, smiled at him. "Come in, Alex," she said. "I won't count the tardy - this time."

Alex Rider smiled charmingly at the woman and slid into his seat. "Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly. He took out his supplies and prepared to listen. It had been two days since he'd returned from his latest mission, and he was far, far behind. Luckily for him, he had picked up a few chemistry tricks - mostly related to the creation of explosives - so Chemistry was one of the classes he was not failing.

The other schoolchildren snickered to themselves and shot him curious looks. Alex ignored them all. His fist tightened under his desk as one girl made a comment to her friend that he looked like he'd got into a bar fight last night and lost. Yes, Alex thought sardonically, the kind of bar fight where I am fighting for my life.

He knew his appearance bothered them. Once upon a time, Alex had been considered attractive by his peers. Lately, his refusal to wear anything but long sleeves and jeans, and the ever-present scars and bruises on his hands and face, had labeled him as many things - druggie, alcoholic, gang member - but not attractive. It would have bothered him if Alex had been in any position to care. Currently, he was more interested in making sure he stayed alive another year.

Alex, who had barely gotten a second of sleep last night, spent a second closing his eyes and breathing deeply. He knew he looked a bit ridiculous, but he centered himself. When he opened his eyes, the sixteen year old's eyes were hard and his face impassive. He wouldn't let his peers get to him.

Chemistry passed without incident. Alex had gotten the one question his teacher has asked him right, and she'd smiled approvingly at him. Though he was beyond receiving pleasure at his teacher's approval, Alex couldn't help but concede that knowing at least one person at the school was on his side helped a bit.

The bell rang and he closed his notes, shouldering his bag. On the way to English, he bumped into practically the only person whom he still spoke to: Tom.

"You look like shit," Tom commented cheerfully. Of course, Tom had a sneaking suspicion where his friend had gotten the bruises from, but Alex had never told him in excruciating detail what happened at these missions. "I've heard you were in a bar fight after a bad trip." His easy grin let Alex know he was kidding.

"Long night," Alex muttered. Tom didn't know about his nightmares, and Alex intended to keep it that way. He would have preferred it if Jack didn't have to be awakened night after night to hear him stumble to the bathroom and throw up, body in a cold sweat, but there wasn't much he could do about that.

Tom winced sympathetically. "I suppose that means you aren't going to football practice today, then?"

Alex did a mental inventory of his body. As much as he wanted to slip into his cleats and get on the field, he knew that he needed at least a week of healing. "Maybe next week," he said, his face not betraying his disappointment. Tom waited for an explanation with a raised eyebrow, and Alex elaborated: "My knee hurts a bit."

Yes, his knee hurt, but his back was a mass of bruises and his chest injury had been hurting like a bitch lately. The two walked into their next class, taking seats next to each other. For Alex, English was usually a relaxing period, as he doubted he would have to to decipher Shakespeare in order to stay alive. He knew that his other classes were important - even history - but English, not so much. Alex had never been much of a writer, even though he used to read quite a bit.

He still read occasionally nowadays, but Alex ignored the fact that much of his reading material consisted of reports from MI6.

"Rider," his teacher barked. Tall, hostile, and entirely too unhappy with his own life, Mr. Verner had never been a fan of Alex. "Why isn't your book out? Page 96."

Alex resisted a snappy comment and smoothed out his face, flipping to the right page. He amended his previous thought: he usually could relax in Engish, unless Mr. Verner decided to be a right bastard and build up his self confidence by picking on a teenager. Unfortunately, this happened far too often. Today, they were reading The Great Gatsby, and Alex's knowledge of it was spotty, at best. He'd never read a page of the book. It figured that Mr. Verner would target Alex on the one day he wasn't ready to participate.

Mr. Verner undoubtedly knew Alex was behind, but he picked on Alex the entire lesson: "Rider, what does that quote mean?" "Rider, get your nose out of your notes and pay attention." "Rider, didn't you do your reading? Even children can interpret this better than you."

Alex breathed through his nose and answered in clipped sentences. Tom shifted uneasily next to Alex, recognizing that look that was creeping into his eyes. It was the look that Tom imagined Alex wore on missions. It was the look that meant Alex could kill Mr. Verner in five seconds flat and was well aware of that fact.

"Easy," Tom muttered, laying his hand on Alex's shoulder. The blond flinched his hand off, and Tom bit his lip. Alex's muscles were tensed, and he was practically radiating tension.

"Rider," Mr. Verner said again, glaring at his student. "Tell the class what your interpretation of the quote on the board is."

Alex looked at the board. "I hope she'll be a fool—that's the best thing a girl can be in this world," he read out, "a beautiful little fool."

Shit.

Alex didn't know who said the quote. He didn't even know who the quote was referring to. Hell, he didn't know the names of the main characters. Give him a week and he would have read the book and understood it, but at the moment, he didn't have a clue.

Luckily for Alex, the bell rung at that moment.

He was the first out the door.

At lunch, Alex sat alone. Tom had offered to keep him company, but Alex had waved him away. He had homework to do. He also had to get himself centered after the morning classes. Alex didn't give a shit about what Mr. Verner thought of him, but as he'd been sitting in class, he couldn't help but wonder why he was back at school. He longed to fit in, to be normal, but he knew that 'normal' would never be an adjective assigned to Alex Rider, never again. Why was he putting up with this?

So that MI6 doesn't win, he reminded himself. Going to school gave him a semblance of control.

Alex sighed and took a bite out of his sandwich. He hated maths. Yes, many of his classmates (the smarter ones, at least) might grow up to be in a profession where higher level maths was necessary. As a spy, a fair amount of math and science was necessary, but Alex firmly believed he wouldn't have to waste his time thinking about similar triangles and the equation of a circle.

Still, he soldiered on. Hopefully MI6 would give him a break, and Alex fully intended to stop being a spy when he turned of legal age to refuse. Maybe he would need the knowledge if he ever wanted a chance at a real job that didn't involve almost dying every other second. Maybe a nice desk job. Management. Investing. Accounting.

Alex pictured that future for a second and reflexively shuddered.

Maybe he would just stick with something like professional parasailing. Something dangerous enough to keep his life interesting, but nothing that involved bullet wounds or crazed psychopaths.

Ironically, he was sitting in maths when the attack occurred.

Alex had been dozing off, staring out of the window, when gunshots echoed through the hallways. Instantly alert, Alex assessed the situation while the rest of his class panicked. "Settle down, settle down!" Mrs. Naler, his teacher, shrieked loudly. "Remember our Code Red drills!"

Code Red? Alex tried to remember which drill that was. It came to him a second later, and he mentally cursed. It involved the class barricading the door with the desks in order to stop an armed intruder. He mentally warred with himself as the class tried to figure out what to do. He could step up and stop the intruders, thereby outing himself forever. Or, he could do the logical thing and alert MI6...

He pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to the emergency number he had long since memorized. He would not do anything stupid, dammit!

The boy next to him gave him a dirty look. "How can you text, Rider? We're all going to die!"

"Firstly, we're not all going to die," Alex snapped back, "And secondly, I was telling my guardian to tell the police." A little white lie, but that was fine. Now, all he had to do was keep quiet and hopefully MI6 or the local police would rescue them soon. He hadn't heard anymore gunshots, only yells and the sounds of feet running.

A thought struck Alex suddenly. If - and it was a pretty likely if - the intruders were after him, he should try to blend in more. Alex wrinkled his nose in distaste and picked up a hat off the floor. It belonged to Jeremy Staffon, a jock who wore the hat every single day. Alex didn't want to think about the last time it had been washed, but he pulled it firmly over his face in order to hide both his tell-tale blond hair and part of his face.

Jeremy noticed and was about to take it back, when the teacher regained control of her classroom. "Quiet, all of you!" She snapped authoritatively. "I don't want to hear a single word! We are going to be absolutely silent. Anybody that makes any type of noise - heaven, even a sneeze - will be given one of my pop quizzes sometime this week, understand? And it will count for ten percent of your grade!"

The din silenced instantly. Mrs. Naler's pop quizzes were legendary. According to the rumors, the highest score anybody had ever received was a 22%, and he had gone on scholarship to Cambridge.

Alex crossed his fingers that nothing was going to go wrong. MI6 had sent back a message - yes, approaching - and he could only hope the threat would be nullified without anything too bad happening.

This changed a second later when a voice called his name over the loudspeaker.

Fuck. Why do these things always happen to me?

"We need Alex Rider," the voice said menacingly. "Send him out and nobody gets hurt."

All eyes swung to Alex. He held up his hands. "What, you actually believe that guy? What is this, a bad spy film?"

"Mr. Rider!" Mrs. Naler said, looking at him with worry. "What on Earth - "

"Druggie's got himself into trouble," sneered Jeremy, shaking his head in disgust. "What did you do, Rider? Kill somebody for a fag or two?"

Mrs. Naler turned her glare on him, but it was too late. Voices broke out in the classroom, each one loudly speculating as to why Alex was needed. Alex was willing to bet that similar discussions were happening in every classroom. Shit, he needed a way to explain this. Alex was certain, however, that he did not intend to go outside. Yes, approaching meant that MI6 was seven minutes away, and it surely had passed that time. He was not going to do something stupid and get himself outed to everyone.

Sitting in the auditorium half an hour later, Alex mentally patted himself on the back. Although it had taken every one of his instincts not to rush out and take down the intruders, he had resisted - and MI6 had interfered without anybody getting hurt. That had to be a first.

The kids were looking at him with curiosity, and Alex rehearsed the story he had come up with while trapped with his maths class. They all thought he was a druggie anyway, so he would just say a friend of his pissed off the wrong people, and there you go. Any teenager who has seen a film would understand that. No need for elaborate lies.

The auditorium was humming with excited energy, and Alex was willing to bet all of their Facebook statuses would have to do with this tonight, unless MI6 got their way. He caught Tom's eye from across the hall - they were sitting by class - and smiled slightly at him to convey that everything was alright.

Tom grinned back. He evidently found this very amusing.

A hush fell over the auditorium as Mrs. Jones, looking the exact same as always in her suit, ascended the stage. Without preamble, she began to speak. "My name is Mrs. Phillips, and I work for MI5," she said matter-of-factly. Alex raised an eyebrow. He hadn't known she was such a good liar, but he supposed it came in the job description. He grinned slightly to himself, imagining a job interview. Mr. Blunt may say something like, "I would like you to describe seven ways to kill a man without a weapon, and make up an entirely different past without blinking. Oh, and you have to promise you have no qualms doing something illegal for the country's own good."

Alex had to restrain himself from giggling as Mrs. Jones went on. "Today, there was an attempt on your school by three armed men. While they were undoubtedly dangerous, they were not trained and were quickly overwhelmed. Nobody was hurt."

"What about Rider?" A boy called out. Alex searched for the speaker, but found none.

Mrs. Jones' face was impassive. "I will let him explain. Mr. Rider?"

Clever, using my last name so that people don't think we're connected. Alex slowly got up to walk to the stage. Everybody's eyes were on him, which was nothing new but unsettling nonetheless. Once he was up there, he cleared his throat and began to recite the lie he had come up with earlier. "I'm sorry, but a friend of mine kind of got in the way of another bloke, if you get what I mean, and he didn't appreciate the interruption."

Mrs. Jones gave him a confused look, as did most of the teachers, but the teenagers were nodding amongst themselves. This made perfect sense. He gave Mrs. Jones a look, trying to convey that she should let it go, and she nodded imperceptibly.

Mrs. Jones took back the microphone. "We have taken steps to secure the school. Classes have been dismissed for the rest of the day. You may leave."

Somehow, Alex knew that she wasn't talking to him.

As the school filed away, still shooting him curious looks - he knew he'd get hell tomorrow, but a different type of hell than he'd gotten used to - Mrs. Jones nodded her head to to side. "There's a car waiting," she said. "Let's talk."

Alex had always hated Mr. Blunt's office, and today his opinion was no different. Usually, Alex entertained himself by mentally criticizing everything from the bland walls to the questionable stain on the carpet, but today Blunt and Mrs. Jones were looking more worried than he had ever seen.

"It was Scorpia, wasn't it?" Alex asked as soon as the door was closed.

"Astute as always, Alex," Blunt said. "A useful quality for a spy."

Alex didn't react. He only looked at Mrs. Jones, his glare saying quite firmly that he wasn't going to put up with any bullshit.

Mrs. Jones sighed. "We don't know," she admitted, even though Blunt glared at her for it. "They were too sloppy to be Scorpia directly, but one of the men matched a description of somebody associated with Scorpia, to some extent."

Alex frowned. "Yeah, but what if they were pretending to be sloppy so that you'd relax your security?"

"Or to leave something behind," Blunt interjects, his face serious. "My theory, Alex, is that the goal was not to kill you. Perhaps to make you reveal your occupation to your classmates, but not to kill you."

"That's reassuring," Alex said sarcastically. "What do you think they might have left behind?"

Blunt shrugged. "A listening device, a camera, we aren't sure. It's not a bomb, as we did a check for that. It has to be small enough to escape our notice."

Alex nodded slowly. Okay. He could deal with that. He was glad that MI6 was finally informing him of everything, instead of forcing him to deal with things as they hit him. "Anything else?"

Mrs. Jones tried to smile at him warmly, but the expression didn't suit her face and the effect was overall more scary than sweet. "We want you to keep an eye out for the object," she said, "nothing dangerous."

Alex didn't buy that, but he didn't question it for now. He had been planning to look out for the object anyway, so he could agree to that small mission. "Is that it?"

"Do not reveal yourself for any reason," Blunt said, voice harsh. "We will have agents within a one mile radius, so all you have to do is send a message to the number you accessed today. Understand?"

This all seemed deceptively straightforward to Alex, who nodded slowly. "What are you going to do about Scorpia?"

"Our sources are looking into it," Blunt said impassively. "I do believe Mrs. Starbright is expecting you for supper."

Thrown by the apparent non-sequitur, Alex stood up. "Er, okay," he said uneasily. Something about this didn't sit right with him, but he didn't want to spend any more time in Blunt's office. He would think it all through later.

And, he didn't want to be late for Jack's supper.

The next couple of days were pure hell.

Alex was both simultaneously shunned and the #1 subject of gossip, something that could only happen in a school. He had left his story intentionally vague on purpose, but these stupid children were having the times of their lives inventing reasons for the intrusion. Apparently, people were currently believing that Alex was a killer. True, yes, but not a truth that would ever be known to his peers.

Alex sat completely alone at a circular table tucked away into the side of the caf. This was so that he could survey the rest of the tables for danger signs and - oh, who was he kidding. It was because nobody wanted to sit near him. Tom had offered, but Alex had told him no. There was no point in both of them getting rejected.

He sighed internally and turned to his lunch, ignoring the looks he kept receiving. His doctor had put him on a high-protein diet, which Alex took as a bad sign. If he was going to stay in England, why would he need a new diet?

He was about to take a bite when the windows shattered.

Not. Again.

Alex ducked and crawled under his table, copying the rest of the students as a masked man, clad entirely in black, jumped through the broken window and looked around. Alex expected his name to be called, but the man didn't say anything. He looked around at all of the scared faces peeking out from under the tables, passing Alex's without any hint of recognition. Could it be that they were not here for him this time? This only made him uneasy.

The eyes stopped on a boy named Jacob Crafford, a striker on the football team. He had used to be good friends with Alex, back before everything happened. "Get out," the man ordered, his voice harsh.

Jacob didn't do a thing. "It's not me you want, it's him!" He pointed to Alex. "That's Rider, take him away instead!"

Alex, disgusted at his classmate's cowardly move, crawled slightly out of the table. If he got taken away, maybe he could find out more about the attacks...

But the man laughed derisively. "Rider? Why would we want some kid named Rider?" He cocked his gun and pointed it straight at Jacob. By this time, Alex was standing and tensing to take him down. Dammit, where was MI6? He had sent the distress signal when the windows first exploded, they should be here by now!

"Don't shoot me, please, I don't want to die!" Jacob begged pathetically, cringing in fear. Alex supposed he couldn't technically blame his classmate for being a Grade A wimp, but it was still annoying as hell. Where was MI6? The man took careful aim at Jacob and Alex swore.

"What do you want with him?" Alex called out, distracting him.

The man slowly turned. "You'll see soon enough."

Before Alex could figure out what that meant, a crash came through the door and an MI6 agent shot just once. Instead of hitting the man, he hit the gun, which flew out of the man's grasp.

Surprisingly, the man just smiled and held out his hands for arrest. Alex narrowed his eyes as he watched the MI6 agent take the man away. Why would somebody target Jacob, and then give up? Why hadn't he shot the boy when he had the chance? What did 'you'll see soon enough' even mean?

One month later, and Alex was again sitting in Blunt's office.

If he had thought their faces were worried before, Mrs. Jones and Blunt looked downright scared today. In the past weeks, there had been four total attacks, not counting the original one where they had called for him over the intercom system. Four children had almost died, and although nobody had made the connection yet, Alex knew they all had some sort of relation with him.

The last one had been Tom.

"This situation is growing dire," Blunt said, clasping his hands in front of his desk. "I trust you understand why you have been called in?"

Alex shrugged carefully, not wanting to commit to anything. "Something has to be done about the attacks," he said, playing it safe.

Mrs. Jones nodded. "That is for sure," she said, sliding a newspaper over to Alex. "Already, the papers are speculating what, exactly, is happening at your school."

Alex read the headline - Armed Attacks at Brookland! Parents Panic! - and shuddered. Just what he needed: reporters poking their noses into his school. He was sure that they would uncover records about his many absences and latch onto that.

"What do you want me to do?" Alex said absent-mindedly, reading the first few paragraphs of the article. "Send a few agents in, arm the school. Nobody will question it."

"We want you to disappear."

Alex would have choked if he hadn't been a professional spy. He raised his head slowly and stared incredulously at Blunt. "Disappear? Disappear? Do you have any idea how much worse that would make things - "

"We will escort you and an agent to a safe house, where you will remain until the threat is nullified," Blunt said, managing to completely overpower Alex's protests without seeming to even raise his voice.

Alex gaped. Was Blunt absolutely around the bend? Disappearing wouldn't solve jack shit. Scorpia wouldn't be deterred, the school would gossip like crazy, and he did not want to leave Jack to stay with some random agent! "That is the worst idea you have - "

"You will not be able to remain at school if you want to keep your cover," Mrs. Jones cut in, but Alex ignored her.

He couldn't leave school, not again. It would be the last straw for him. He wouldn't be able to pass any of his exams, and knowing his luck, a Scorpia operative would find the safe house and beat him almost to death anyway. It could take months before Alex was allowed to return to school. Pulling him out wouldn't stop Scorpia anyway, he thought mutinously. They had made it quite clear that they weren't trying to target him. They would hurt his friends whether or not he was there to protect them. "How are you going to find the object, without me?" Alex demanded. He had spent hours looking for the damned thing, but without any leads to go on, he hadn't found anything.

Blunt gave a meaningless smile. "Our agents can complete that task just as well as you, Alex."

Alex silently fumed. He couldn't leave Brookland now! With all of the attacks, people were gossiping about other things. They were talking about Jacob and Tom and Cheryl and Jordan, the others that had been targeted. Yes, they were talking about him, but to a much lesser degree. He was getting his grades up. Dammit, he was beginning to fit in again!

"No." Alex said harshly, making up his mind. If he was stuck in a safe house with an agent, who's to say that Blunt could just as easily send him on a mission to keep him out of the country for a bit? He was not a fan of that idea, at all.

Blunt steepled his fingers. "There is another solution," he said, the idea appearing to dawn on him. Alex raised an eyebrow. Blunt continued, "We can send your class away, remove them from the attacks. We believe that it is only those in your form that are being targeted."

Alex liked this idea far more, so he nodded slightly. He wouldn't be the center of gossip then, not if everybody was asked to leave. "Yes, separate us," he said, thinking ahead. "Put us in safe houses, each with a unit to guard us while you lot track down Scorpia."

This could work. They would have to protect the families, after all, so Jack could come with him too.

Mrs. Jones shook her head. "That would never work, Alex."

"We hardly have the manpower," continued Blunt. "Unless we sent all of you to a place where there are enough soldiers to fully keep track of every student. We could spare a few agents to watch their parents at home."

Alex narrowed his eyes. This did not sound promising. What did Blunt mean by 'soldiers'? MI6 referred to their people as 'agents.' They couldn't possibly mean -

"I'm sure your class would love a field trip to Wales," Mrs. Jones said brightly, and Alex let out a groan.

His class, sent to Brecon Beacons? This was impossible. His classmates were immature teenagers, concerned with trivial matters like clothes and music and each other. They screamed at spiders and cried at paper cuts. They wouldn't last one day at the SAS training. "Nevermind," he said desperately, back-pedaling. "I'll be happy to disappear, just let me get my bag - "

Blunt's voice was innocent, as innocent as the head of MI6 could ever appear. "Oh, no, Alex. I find that I am growing fond of this idea. It is the perfect solution, and it will give your classmates a chance to explore life in the army. Who knows, perhaps we will find somebody with enough talent to recruit when they are older?"

Alex spluttered slightly, realizing too late that going to Brecon Beacons had been Blunt's intent the entire time. Damn him, for setting up a trap, and damn Alex himself for not releasing it! He was a spy! He should be able to see these things coming!

"You cannot be serious."

Mrs. Jones took over. "Completely serious," she said. "Alex, your classmates are in danger. This is the only way to protect them."

Alex snorted derisively. "That, Mrs. Jones," he said coolly, "is a blatant lie."

Blunt's voice was sharp. "Do not ridicule your leaders," he chastised, as if Alex was a boy. Affronted, Alex was about to respond, but Blunt's next statement stopped him. "Scorpia has a new head."

Alex sat back in his chair. He had not been expecting that. "A new leader? What - who is it?"

Mrs. Jones clicked a small remote, turning on the overhead projector. A picture of a man popped up, a man that, quite honestly, looked utterly normal. He had short brown hair and brown eyes, average height, tanned skin, and casually dressed. He looked like the type of man you could run into anywhere, from grocery shopping to eating out to meeting at a club. He didn't look anything like the leader of a terrorist organization.

"His name, or at least what we think is his name, is Kyle Jerrins," Blunt said. "And until we know what he wants, you and your classmates are going to be sent to one of the safest places on Earth."

Alex mentally swore, paused, decided it wasn't enough to express his irritation, and swore again.

Today was the day his class left for Wales. It was 4:00 o'clock in the morning, which gave him enough time to complete his exercises before arriving at school. The bus drive would take hours and Alex was not looking forward to it. Who would?

His classmates had reacted with excitement. Excitement! As if going to a camp full of angry soldiers would be fun. Didn't they know any better? Hadn't they at least seen the films? Training camps were hell, and Brecon Beacons was no bloody exception.

Alex groaned, swore again for good measure, and set off at a jog around the neighborhood. By the end of the street, the agent that patrolled around his house had caught up to him. The agent, whom Alex referred to only as "Andy" (though that doubtlessly wasn't his real name), nodded to him and said, "How far today?"

"Four miles," Alex replied. After his latest mission, he had felt extremely weak and set himself on a rigorous exercise regime to regain his former fitness. He averaged around five miles a day, and he didn't want to overexert himself today.

Andy nodded. "Think you can keep up?"

Alex smirked. It had become a competition between the two of them over the past month, to see who could run the fastest and complete the most pushups and so on. They were fairly evenly matched, as Andy sometimes purposefully lost the running challenge only to come back and beat Alex in all of his other exercises. "You're on," he shot back and increased his speed slightly.

If there was one thing Alex loved, it was running. There was something oddly soothing about it, the way his feet pounded rhythmically on the ground in time to his breathing. It was very easy not to think during a run. It was one of the only times where he could actually turn his brain partially off.

A spy never completely relaxed his senses, after all.

Andy accelerated slightly on the corner, gaining on Alex. Narrowing his eyes at Andy's back, he decided not to speed back up and overtake him. That was doubtlessly what Andy wanted. If he overtired himself at the beginning, he would have no strength to finish out the end.

Slightly more than thirty minutes later, Alex and Andy returned to the house after a cool-down walk. Alex was breathing hard, but he was also triumphant. He had managed to beat out Andy at the very end by three seconds, a time that was quite impressive. In running, half a second could make all the difference. Glowering slightly, Andy bent to touch his toes.

Alex copied him, groaning as his legs protested. He was usually fairly flexible, but he had been lax about his stretching lately, and his muscles definitely noticed. The pair cycled through their stretches in silence before beginning the next part of their routine. Pushups. Situps. Trunk lifts. The list went on, and it was nearing 5:30 by the time the two trooped inside the house to shower.

Jack was waiting for him on the sofa, still in her night robe and yawning. She clutched a cup of coffee as if it were her lifeline. "You're certifiably insane," she mumbled as he passed.

He grinned at her. Usually Jack slept in until around 6:30, so it was odd to see her up. "What are you doing awake before the sun?"

"Please, the sun rose half an hour ago," Jack grumbled, rubbing her eyes. "The bitch came through my window and blinded me."

Alex hid a grin. Jack always reprimanded him for swearing, but when she was sleepy she often swore herself. "Want me to make breakfast?"

Jack wrinkled her nose. "Nah, it's fine," she said, waving her hand at him. "I can do it."

Alex raised an eyebrow. Jack's hair was rumpled and half flattened weirdly, makeup smudged beneath her eyes, and she looked utterly exhausted. "Go back to sleep," he said. "I don't mind cooking - I actually like it."

"Who could like that devil's art?" Jack muttered, standing to return to her room. "Thanks, kid. We're leaving for the bus at 7, okay?"

"Sounds good!" Alex called back before taking the steps two at a time towards the bathroom. He was feeling much better now that he had awakened properly. He rather enjoyed the feeling he got after a workout. He was simultaneously alert and ready for the day, but at the same time he felt nicely relaxed. It was a good combination.

Unfortunately, by the time Jack and Alex were pulling up to the buses at Brookland, his good feeling had dissipated entirely. Alex slouched in the back seat (as Andy was in the front), looking out of the window with increasing dread. "Worst idea ever," he muttered, again.

Jack rolled her eyes expressively. "You know I agree, Alex, but seriously! There's nothing you can do."

"It's still stupid," he said rebelliously, before lapsing into silence. There were so many things left unsaid! Blunt had hardly given him any instruction before he had left. The two things he had told Alex were: the Sergeant has more information, and that Alex should use his discretion for any potential problems.

Yeah, like that was bloody useful.

Alex obviously had to keep his cover, but there didn't seem an easy way to do that. Obviously, he could act abysmally bad, but that would take a lot of concentration. Alex's reflexes were highly honed out of necessity, and it was difficult to fake being pants at everything. How was he supposed to live in a room with other people? He wouldn't be able to change, for fear of showing everybody his scars, and he would doubtlessly have nightmares every night. Alex shivered at the thought. Just last night, a terrifying dream had gripped him for much of the night, and he had awoken drenched in sweat and screaming in horror.

I can't do this, Alex thought despondently as he got out of the car.

Almost as if she knew what he was thinking (he wouldn't put it past her, she knew him quite well), Jack nudged his shoulder gently. "You've faced worse," she whispered somberly. "I think you can handle a few teenagers, yeah?"

Alex smiled unwillingly in return. Yes, he had faced worse - he didn't even want to think about it. Still, the thought of getting on that bus filled him with apprehension. "I suppose."

"You'll be perfectly fine," Jack replied. "And if those idiots from last time bother you, give them a swift kick from me, alright?"

K-Unit! Shit, what if K-Unit was there? Alex bit his lip. He had thought about this all last night, unable to properly sleep with his nightmares, yet he hadn't found a solution. He would just have to pray that K-Unit wouldn't be there, and if they were, they'd be smart enough to ignore him.

He hoped.

The bus was small, cramped, and smelly. Alex wrinkled his nose as he entered, taking a seat at the front of the bus. He sat alone, though Tom had motioned towards an empty seat nearby. He didn't intend to be very sociable, after all. No, Alex put on headphones, turned up the volume, and shut his eyes.

He knew he would need all the sleep he could get.

Unfortunately for him, he was woken rudely by a large boy poking him. The moment the boy's finger had touched Alex, the smaller boy had opened his eyes. It had taken all of his self control to stop himself from attacking. How was he supposed to hide those sort of impulses?

"Jumpy, much, Rider?" The boy chuckled.

"Sod off, Cameron," Alex muttered, not waiting to get baited.

Cameron ignored him. "You know we're going to train with soldiers," he said, his voice excited. "What're you going to do, sit in the tent?" At Alex's look of confusion, he elaborated. "I mean, you're so skinny and weak they wouldn't let you train."

The bus laughed as a whole. Cameron's friend, Fred, snorted. "Don't you know that Rider's part of a gang, Cam?" Fred smirked. "He's not going to be sitting in the tent, he's going to be sitting behind bars the whole time."

Alex put his headphones in, but Cameron leaned over and plucked them out, crumpling them in his meaty palm. "I'm not done talking to you, shrimp," he said.

It was ironic, Alex mused. He was no shrimp, but his schoolmates seemed to turn a blind eye to the inches and muscle he'd put on in the past couple of years. He had once been captain of the football team, and now he was taunted as a weakling. Alex could incapacitate the entire bus if he wanted to, but instead he had to sit tight, play the pussy, and take the abuse.

"Shut up, Cameron," Tom said from somewhere behind Alex. "We all know you're going to be the first to hurt yourself."

Cameron sneered at Tom. "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to Rider. Hey, Rider, I heard you were out for months because you got the flu. Who the fuck misses school for more than a couple of days because of the flu? Hell, a cough is gonna kill you one of these days."

Instead of answering, Alex reminded himself that if Cameron was ever confronted with one of the horrors Alex had lived through, he wouldn't make it out alive. An image of Cameron, pants wet, running screaming from a shadowy figure made him smirk.

"What are you smiling about, Rider?" Cameron said. "What, you suicidal or something? Does thinking about death make you laugh?"

The rest of the bus shifted uncomfortably. The idea of suicide was not amusing to any of them. "Shut up," said a girl named Brooke. "Don't talk like that, Cameron."

Even Cameron realized he'd crossed a line. He snorted and landed a light punch on Alex's shoulder. He hit a particularly nasty bruise and Alex couldn't stop the wince. Cameron snorted at that and muttered something about pussies before sitting back in his seat.

Alex sat back in his seat as well. Don't let yourself be baited, he told himself. Your anger is your weak point. Surprisingly enough, he couldn't bring himself to be angry. Cameron's taunts meant nothing to him.

He closed his eyes again and shut out the world.

A/N2: if any of the scenes don't have breaks in them where they should, or it's confusing, please tell me. I used an asterix in my word document to separate scenes, and FF formatted them out.

Review!