This will be a slash (Or: gay/homosexual love for those of you not familiar with fanfiction slang), as was previously stated in the summary. If you did not read the summary and assume that this is not a slash and if you do not like said slash, then I cannot be held accountable. If you both did not read the summary and consecutively do not read this warning, then I have to say that I will be bewildered if you later flame me (Or: post hate mail for those of you not familiar with fanfiction slang once more) for writing something so wrong and sinful. I will also probably laugh at your expense instead of correcting my wrongs. Like this: Hohohohohohohoho.

Story's mostly finished, I had originally planned on having this be purely a oneshot, but then there actually grew something of a plot, and it got longer than I'd previously thought it'd be, so I had to retrace my steps and make chapters where there are nice scene cuts.

I do enjoy a good critique or perhaps a notice that I misspelled something (I will try to correct the wrong accordingly) as I do not have a beta-reader and don't really care about having one. But hey, you could also just say hi. A nice 'good day' will suffice as well...

Disclaimer: Alex Rider is not mine, Snake is not mine, nor is the rest of K-Unit, the Alex Rider series, nor any other affiliated plot device used in this fic. They are owned by Anthony Horowitz, who is, I might add, also not owned by me. I suppose, however, I could take credit for coming up with the civilian names of Eagle, Snake and Wolf. But, then again, who am I to lay such claim? *more hohoho-ing*

Alex didn't know when he'd begun drinking coffee regularly. He knew he'd gotten the taste for it after years and years of taste-testing Jack's, swearing to never again, then later returning.

He couldn't remember when it was that he began neglecting the large assortment of teas in his cupboard or when it was that his teapot began to collect dust.

He just did.

It was an addiction that set him shivering and shaking if put off for later. Had him clutching a plain silver travel mug every moment of everyday, one he refilled anywhere he knew he could get a decent cuppa once it began to run high and dry.

When he looked at himself from someone else's point of view he would see a hopeless addict, sweating at the thought of a prolonged lapse of time to the next fix. He never thought that he could ever have such an affection for anything, or even anyone, as he did for coffee.

He was, perhaps not so surprisingly, incorrect in his assumption.

They met in a coffee shop Alex often frequented, a small little place that went by the name of 'Roosters Crow by Morning' where the coffee was both cheap and danced a merry tune on his taste buds.

The 20-year old spy was refilling his mug and buying his breakfast for the day, a ham and cheese croissant and a blueberry scone. He made to pay for his purchase with exact change, and was jostled by a passing teen, causing him to drop the coins he'd been carefully counting out as the idiot teenager continued on, unconcerned in that way that only teens could be.

Metallic clinks were barely heard over the din of the cafe as coins scattered and Alex cursed under his breath. Dropping to a crouch to hastily retrieve the lost money, he only registered the kindness of another when he stood after finding all that he could but not all that he'd lost.

Sighing and muttering an apology to the waiting cashier, Alex pulled out his wallet to fish out what would cover the rest of the cost.

A tap on the shoulder caught him off guard, but not so that he forgot to act the normal civilian, turning at the contact in a half flinch, a polite question in the arch of his eyebrows, he came face to face with a thin, kind-faced man, in his thirties perhaps.

"You dropped these." his outstretched hand held the last of the change Alex had dropped, and the spy took it gratefully, wondering for a second if maybe he'd met the man before. The Scottish accent set off twinges in his mind, he should know this man, he thought. But try as he might, Alex didn't.

Realizing he was staring at his helper in a manner that was only a little suspicious, Alex hastily ducked his head with a thanks and turned back to the cashier to finish paying, effectively putting the incident in that corner of the mind where memories were left to gather dust and could only hope in vain to be remembered.

It was later that day, as he finished some paperwork for a mission in Bangkok the week before, that Alex blinked.

And remembered.

His coffee mug fell with a thump to the floor, spilling precious caffeinated liquid, as he froze. An intern passing by his open door asked him if he was okay with genuine concern.

Alex shook his head softly, breaking out of his impersonation of a living statue, and murmured that he was fine and to 'please close the door if you will'. He bent and retrieved the mug, staring ruefully at the last vestiges of his addiction that had not escaped glazed ceramic and ignored the splotch of coffee on the short-haired carpet, once it left him coffee was lost to him.

Knocking back the last bit of coffee, Alex couldn't help the small quirk to his lips and soft snort of uncharacteristic laughter. "I really have to start seeing a therapist." he noted dryly to himself, grabbing the pot of coffee off a small electric heater by his desk, it stayed there during the day and went home with him at night, to refill his mug.

He added neither sugar nor cream and sipped the bitter drink like it was the nectar of the gods. And perhaps it was to a man who'd come near to tasting such mythical stuff himself on the increasingly common occasion.

"I can't wait to be back on active duty, civilian life is a bitch." Donnach, Don, Innes said as he slid smoothly into an empty seat at the bar, subtly signaling the bartender for a drink as he smiled a greeting to the two men already nursing half empty tankards.

The man closest to him, a tall, gangly sort with an eye for sniping, cocked a finger at him and imitated firing a gun, "What's brought about this sudden epiphany? Ideas, Mr. Lupus?" he nudged the muscular, stocky Hispanic beside him and received a glare that promised hurt.

Don sighed, this could not end well without intervention. "How many beers have you had Eric?" he asked, doctor instincts taking over even as he took hold of his own drink. The gangly man laughed and leaned over, supporting himself on the bar top.

"This is my second, I'll have you know." he replied authoritatively. On his other side 'Mr. Canine', or Jaime Guadalupe as he was christened at birth, grumbled a bit then raised his voice so Don could hear.

"His second this half hour, he means." he clarified for the medic.

"How long have you two been here?" Don asked, looking at his watch, he wasn't horribly late. Jaime grunted into his drink, taking a long draught and wiping his mouth gruffly, then proceeded to engage a stuffed moose head in a staring contest.

"Just a couple of hours." Eric piped up, about to wave for a refill before Don leaned over and smacked his hand down, turning his attention to the bartender and smiling apologetically with his request.

"Don't let him have anymore." he instructed, the man nodded, and Don returned his attention to his unit buddies. "Is Ben coming?"

Jaime shook his head with a sour look while jabbing Eric in the side to keep the man from ogling to much at a woman who'd just walked in. "Maybe, he said he had to go over some paperwork with a coworker, something about budgets and results and might be late or not come at all. I dunno." he drank down the rest of his beer and signaled for another.

Eric shot him a mournful look as his request was filled, Don merely shrugged. "Had you paced yourself for once, maybe you wouldn't have to be micromanaged so often." he refused to feel guilty, Eric's doe-eyed look resembling more of a droopy eyed drunk helped.

Ignoring the sharp shooter, Don attempted to engage Jaime in conversation while he waited for Ben to arrive, if he was going to at all. Too often the SAS soldier turned MI6 spy cancelled plans due to complications in his day: extra paperwork, extended mission, long debriefing, and more paperwork. It irked Don, to say the least, that while he was constantly trying to keep their old training team together Ben's superiors seemed to have an agenda against such attempts.

"Bad day, Jaime?" he asked his noncommittal grouch of a friend. Jaime snorted incredulously.

"If that's what you call it." he grumbled, gulping down the rest of his tankard but not getting another too quickly. "I don't know what's wrong with teenaged children these days that make them think they can get away with anything. Stupid little fuckers." Jaime volunteered as a P.E. substitute at all the local, and occasionally further, schools, private and public alike. The schools liked his no nonsense attitude and army background, and the students were terrified enough of him after a good hour to at least be on better behavior than before.

"What's they do?" Don asked sympathetically, sipping from his tankard delicately. Jaime shook his head.

"Nothing a good 8 laps Monday won't fix. Even rich fuckers need to learn respect." he slammed his fist on the table, startling Eric beside him and giving Don cause to anchor his drink to the counter or risk a spill form the force of the slam's resulting tremor.

"Oooh, that one private school you're subbing at for a week?" Eric asked, interjecting himself into the conversation before Don could respond to Jaime. The Hispanic nodded shortly. "What's it called again? Rivercountry? Creeknation?"

"I think you're looking for 'Brookland'." Don supplied helpfully, sipping more from his beer. Eric brightened.

"Yeah! That one!" he said exuberantly, words a bit slurred and eyes shining with inebriation as his drunken state caught up with him. "What was the actual coach's name? The one you're subbing for? He had a funny name! Like Tortus Harry-suuuuhn, or something."

Jaime looked at Don with a raised eyebrow, they shared a look: 'I'll get the shovel, you get the cement.'

"It's Tom Harris, Eric." Jaime said, rubbing his forehead in a rare act of weariness. Had the man hair on his shiny globe of a head, Don was sure every silver or gray hair would have a name or codename, and both would start with 'E'. Eric nodded and laughed.

"Yeah! That one! Isn't it a funny naaay-mmm?" he said in a hazy state of standing on the brink between pure happiness and crippling depression. Don could only pray that the sharp shooter started sobbing when he got him safely ensconced later in his own apartment.

"Er, no, not really..." Don said, trailing off uncertainly. Jaime opened his mouth to add salt to the wound but was cut off before he could speak.

"Hey guys! Sorry I'm late, I didn't think I'd be able to come at all but luckily my partner excels at paperwork on the fly," Ben bloody Daniels dropped into the seat beside don, signaling for his own beer, and smiling obliviously at the three faces that turned. "You should thank him."

"If you hadn't joined MI6 in the first place, maybe you wouldn't have to have your partner help you." Jaime grumbled moodily and stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. "I'm going home. Shooting seminar early tomorrow."

"Ah! Wait!" Ben grabbed the grumpy Hispanic's arm as he passed and Jaime glared at him.

"What?" he asked, irritable to say the least. Don winced, grabbing a sober Jaime on a good day wasn't the best idea, grabbing a tipsy Jaime on a really bad day was like offering yourself up to the powers that be and saying: 'Do you want to cut my balls off, or do you want me to? Since, you know, I seem to be leading myself to that anyways and I'd rather have it a clean deal'.

Ben looked at him pleadingly. "Won't you stay for a little longer?" he asked, accomplishing the doe-eyed look better than Eric had, probably all that spy training he went through. "I just got here, c'mon, just one hour won't hurt!"

Jaime ripped his arm out of Ben's grasp and wavered for a few seconds before grunting and collapsing in the seat beside his former unit mate. "You better have some good news and a comfy couch." he said, Don covered a snort with a quick gulp of beer.

Of course, now he remembered, Ben was one of the only men in the world that Jaime just couldn't stay angry at. One fluttered eyelash and the steely eyes glinted in defeat, sometimes they seemed to exist in their own little gay soap opera. Don hid his smile behind the rim of his tankard, wouldn't that be the day. Although, he couldn't really imagine Ben and Jaime together...were they even gay. Eric scooted into the seat Jaime had previously occupied.

"How completely boorish." he said, Don winced again, the first sign before the sniper went all weepy and mental on everyone. There went the good mood. The medic sighed and stood.

"Sorry Ben, Jaime, I have to take Eric home now, he's past the point of no return." he said, apologetically. Eric straightened and pouted.

"Whaaat?" he whined. "I have to go home now? Pfffft. Lame. I wanted to chat with Ben!" Don pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

"If you hadn't drunk so much before he got here, maybe you would." he said, trying to stay gentle but stern, fighting to not just snap and yell at the idiot of a SAS soldier. Ben gave him a sympathetic look, Jaime just ordered another beer.

"See you later? I might have the afternoon off tomorrow, if my partner is gone as he says he'll be." Ben said, Don shrugged.

"Sure, I've got the entire month off. Drop by whenever, as the curse of bachelordom allows." he smiled at the spy and the spy smiled back. "Grab your jacket, Eric, I'm bringing you home." Eric managed to finally pull himself from his seat, not without much pouting and winging, and before they left Don turned back to Ben for one final word. "Oh, and next time? Bring the savior guy, we ought to meet any new friends you manage to keep in that wolves pit you call a world-saving agency." Ben managed a strained smile.

"Right. Yeah." he said and took a gulp of his drink. "I'll keep that in mind." Don met the statement with a skeptical look but didn't comment, choosing instead to bid farewell to Jaime, who at least said 'good bye' back.

The entire drive back to his house, he'd decided halfway to Eric's that the man wouldn't survive the night without drunk dialing a superior and getting binned for whatever horny nonsense he came up with, Don tried not to ram his car into a tree just to shut up the now self-depricating sniper. Don could only comfort himself with the knowledge that someday Eric would have a girlfriend, maybe even a wife, to drive him home from late night binges and kids to prompt him into maturity.

He couldn't say the same for himself. Don hunched over the steering wheel of his car and stared resolutely at the dark street that stretched before him, ignoring the reeling Eric beside him.

Being gay sucks.

"Alex, hey, wake up Alex." soft shaking interrupted his dream and Alex was brought to consciousness by a hand on his shoulder and an urgent voice, accompanied by a hot, humid gust of air against the shell of his ear.

Had he been on a mission, arms would be broken, but Alex had been lulled into a sort of forced tranquility by a week off of field work and as such didn't react as he would usually to whoever was attempting to wake him fully.

"Dun' wanna." he mumbled sleepily, shrugging his shoulders in a weak attempt to shake off the persistent hand.

"Alex," the spy's brain foggily registered the voice as his partners, "Alex, really, you have to wake up." the blond grumbled petulantly but raised his head all the same, blinking owlishly at the man that entered his vision.

"What?" he asked, irritable now that he was awake enough to feel anything other than lethargy, "What is it that so urgently demands my presence when I want, no, deserve, to sleep?" he blinked some more to clear his vision and shook off the hand more effectively this time as he stretched languidly. He felt joints pop and his back ache from sleeping in an unnatural position. He never got such luxury as stretching on a mission, it was always flick the switch and turn from wavering unconcious to alert awareness in a snap.

"Well, Blunt wants you for a...mission, of sorts." his partner told him, speaking still in a hushed, gentle voice. The kind a zookeeper might use in relation to a hungry beast, regardless of how tamed it claimed to be. Alex was immediately wide awake and fumbling for his coffee mug, which his partner helpfully supplied after a moment of searching his desk in a half panic.

Alex drank the cold, rather thick, liquid without a thought for how old it was, at most a night if he was right in his estimation that it was early morning, and sighed in relief when he put the mug down with a soft tap on his desk. "That's better." he turned to his partner. "Now then, what does Blunt want, Ben?"

Ben offered an small, apologetic smile before he spoke. "He well, he wants you to do something of a favor, not for him but for the principal of your old high school." he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly as he delivered the news. Alex 'hmph'd, unimpressed, and gulped down the rest of the coffee.

"That's nice."

"The principal has recieved a threat from the vestiges of Scorpia, some of the henchmen who never knew what else to do after the fall of their masters but seek revenge against you." Ben continued, keeping his eyes resolutely away from Alex's, "Blunt wants you to act as the principal's bodyguard of sorts for the next month or so until we can get the situation under control." Alex was paying attention now, perking up at the news that someone could be in danger because of him, the old hero-complex in play.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, fully awake and functioning at maximum off-duty capacity finally, "I owe Mr. Bray a lot. He's a pretty nice guy." he nodded to affirm his own statement and poured the vestiges of the night old coffee into his cup and downed it in one gulp. "When do I start?"

A/N: So, yes, as previously stated this will be slash. Snake/Alex to be precise. Mmmm, scotts. I'll do my best to keep everyone in character, so do inform when I slack on that, yeah?

Thanks for reading!

Fridgeworks