Chapter 8: Long Way Down

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.

AN: I am so sorry I took so long to update. I've been so busy with working and university. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. Hopefully I'll continue updating more frequently. I updated and tweaked some earlier chapters, and you may want to re-read to refresh incase you forgot any plot points. Someone does make a minor appearance in this chapter that most people may have forgotten about. This chapter may feel like just a filler, but there is important information in here. Anyway, please, please review if you can. It may help me update faster and it can be a reminder for me that there are still people who want to find out more, or tell me what characters people care about more, etc. Enjoy! The lyrics I choose, are typically what I listen to while I write.

Coloring

Kevin Garrett

Don't want the world to know I'm by myself

…

It's all a lie, and I wouldn't mind if you'd run

...

So long, there's no coloring around us anymore

You either know or you don't

Don't want the world to know it makes me weak

Don't want the world to know that side of me

…

If you gon' run, slip for the knife

It's all a lie, and I wouldn't mind if you'd run

Anxiety was gnawing on Dr. Dawson as he drove further away from the Renton residence.

He knew the boy could take care of himself, but for the first time in several months memories were haunting him again in a way that he felt perhaps he might be repeating some kind of terrible mistake.

He wondered even if he did find his sister, if she would even be alive. And god, if Alex died...

Well, he didn't want to think about what he would do, even though the answer crossed his mind.

Abruptly, he leaned forward and spoke to the driver, "I've changed my mind. If you let me out around this corner, I'll be on my way."

"Yes, sir," the elderly man answered dryly.

Once the vehicle pulled over, the tall German man climbed out of the taxi and headed towards a nearby English pub. It was starting to gather customers as the night approached.

Entering the night establishment, he found an empty seat at the bar that was furthest from prying eyes only to let a seemingly old memory preoccupy him...

"Dawson?"

I was jolted from thoughts as I glanced towards the voice from my chair. My eyes landed on my friend and co-worker who was standing awkwardly, just feet away. I hadn't even heard him enter my apartment. I suddenly regretted ever giving him a key.

"Miles," I greeted blandly, while avoiding his gaze, but I readied for the conversation that was surely to happen. He cautiously stepped closer, but still standing.

"Arjuna told me what happened. She's worried about you."

"Is that so?" I scoffed.

"Well…yes. You know she likes you. Maybe you should call her..." I could tell his discomfort was growing despite his faux confidence.

"No. You can tell her I'm doing just fine."

"…Alright, but-"

"Well, that's good," I spoke spitefully. I leaned forward, but still kept my eyes averted as much as possible. I wasn't in any state to hide my emotions and I certainly wasn't in need of sharing at the moment.

My co-worker frowned at my response.

"You look sick," he observed.

I nodded, "I know."

"What happened exactly?" I knew he couldn't bring himself to mention my sister and I wondered why he even wanted me to open up to him when he already knew.

There was a significant pause. I almost couldn't bring myself to say anything in the weight of our stillness.

"I can't…" I began, as I felt the air in my lungs deplete already. I closed my eyes, but quickly reopened them as I feared I might relive those images. I couldn't say it. What I had to say, it didn't seem worth saying to this man.

"I think it might help to talk to someone-"

"Oh, please," I snapped, my eyes coldly looked up to his paled, worried face. "As if I've never counseled someone in my position..." I muttered spitefully.

My expression hardened even more as I noticed his eyes soften with sympathy. I stood up and shoved past him as I walked into the kitchen.

Recently, I haven't been able to talk properly with him, but now I had every reason to shut him out. I was too busy trying to figure out what I need to do next without killing anyone who got in my way. How could Miles even possibly begin to understand what I needed? I thought him a fool for even trying.

"You need to talk about it."

I grabbed a new filter, coffee grounds, and went on to start up the coffee maker. Out of the corner of my eye I could see my sister's cat, Gracie, crawling into the sink, her tail flicking behind her.

"More people here are at stake than-" he paused. We both paused. I was glad he never finished that sentence.

"I know you think I can't understand, but either way I'm worried you're thinking of taking action into your own hands. Lester already took you off the case." He continued to speak, but with frustration building.

I opened a cabinet above the microwave, and picked one of the few mugs I had. Listening to the coffee drip and the gurgling noises, I began to stare at the pot slowly filling while leaning forward on the counter; deliberately ignoring him.

I was becoming sensitive to the anger manifesting behind me.

"I've always been there for you, so why are you ignoring me now?"

I closed my eyes tight.

"What would you do if Nausikaa decided the best way to get rid of you was to take your daughter?" Apathy seized my voice with a confidence I surely couldn't feel.

"What?" he exclaimed. I could almost see his contorted face as I stayed turned away. "That's…all I know is-"

"You don't know. You don't fucking know."

He sighed before I heard him sit in one of the creaky chairs, tapping his fingers on the kitchen table.

"Jesus, Dawson, don't push me away." The tapping stopped.

"You think describing to you what you can't possibly fathom will help?" I asked dryly, as I finally turned to face him.

"It's hard for me to tell when you won't talk to me." His tongue became sharp, cutting me.

"I'm going to get her back! I have to try to get her back!" I spoke adamantly, tears threatening to make an appearance.

To my surprise he let out a cynical laugh.

"Am I amusing you?" I raised my voice, beyond irritated.

He stared down and shook his head, his hands folded between his legs.

"You're not a special agent. You're just a psychologist who helped with a case that was never intended to be solved. You got too close to the truth with an organization so intertwined with the government that if you even take a step now you'll have the cops at your door!" He waved his hands to emphasize his seriousness.

I nearly laughed, but I knew I couldn't tell him I spent time in Germany's special forces. Either way, I was too slow to retaliate before he continued his ranting.

"I mean, God! I wish, I wish that case didn't land on your desk, and I wish the cost wasn't your kid sister. I am terrified about Clara, I mean she's on the same soccer team as my daughter. I'm not in your position, but-" His voice lost its prior control. "I can't live with myself if I let you do anything that might kill you. If Clara comes back…and you're dead…"

I regretted the way I was treating him earlier after I saw him crumble the way he was. It wasn't like he was a complete stranger.

After an almost bruising stare, he stopped looking at me, taking more interest in the marks on the table. I was sure he was going to say something, but silence buried the room. The only thing I could hear was my heart pounding.

"I…I have a connection within MI6," I managed to say. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, but I felt this was an exception.

"And?" he spoke cautiously.

"I think they might be interested in bringing Nausikaa down…"

I could hear him sigh with slight relief. "Well, then maybe they'll help you save her?"

I frowned, "For a cost…I fought to stay here, but they need me to fly to London this weekend. They need a favor." My voice was heavy.

"Right," Miles spoke solemnly, "No doubt your expertise is needed."

There was a stretch of silence.

Then he suddenly laughed again, hysterically this time. I couldn't help but return a bemused expression.

"I thought…I thought…you were going to run off, thinking you're Liam Neeson or something," he managed to say. I let out a small laugh. Despite the humor, we both looked ready to cry.

"Go home, Miles," I responded, slightly irritated that he managed to make me laugh about something when I felt so desperately guilty. It was essentially my own fault that Clara was taken from me. I was her only family. I wished that Miles minded his own business. Whether or not I was delusional was not for him to decide.

Seconds dragged by before Miles stood up and finally looked at me with an unreadable expression, his eyes distant.

"Yeah, sure," he spoke absently, sniffing back a few tears. "You'll come visit me before you leave? Emily will want to make dinner for you. And my daughter…well, it would be nice if you said a few words to her before you leave."

I managed another small yet uncomfortable and empty smile. "I'll call you tomorrow."

He stared into my expression intensely as if looking for an answer that wasn't there. Then he gave a sad smile and a nod before turning to leave.

The moment I heard the front door shut with certainty, I fell to the floor feeling strangled, drowning in my own self-pity.

"Sir?"

Startled, Dawson quickly replied, "Whiskey sour."

"Sure thing, on the rocks?" The man behind the bar was fairly young and handsome, in other words a somewhat typical bartender. Even with the low ugly yellow lights, it still seemed to compliment his boyish features.

The German doctor nodded solemnly.

As the young man went to work, he eyed the customer carefully. "You know, as a bartender I part-time as a therapist," he joked.

Dawson took a moment to register what the dark-haired man had said and then let out a hearty laugh at the irony. "That's very kind of you, but I'm beyond your expertise, um…"

"Eric Benson," he introduced himself. "Ah, I was hoping for an interesting story," he smirked as he handed the man his drink.

"Maybe another night."

AN: Review pretty please, I'll be so grateful.