A/N: Sorry everyone, had to make a few changes to the second half of this chapter…I forgot to put in some key plot points (silly me!) If you can't be bothered to reread it, basically Alex is going to get a tutor. Thanks for all the reviews, I really appreciate it!

Prologue

Alex woke up panting and covered in sweat. Once again he'd seen the Jeep burst into flames, the fireball a myriad shades of red and orange. Even though he'd been living with the Pleasures in America for three months now, he still occasionally woke up in the middle of the night, the images of his past lingering in the back of his mind, as if his subconscious was unwilling to adapt to his new peaceful life as an average high school student. Alex hated this weakness but however hard he tried, he was unable to stop the recurring nightmares from plaguing him, especially when he was stressed.

The alarm clock on the bedside table showed him that it was only two in the morning, but knowing that he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep he got dressed and silently crept downstairs into the kitchen. Moonlight shone through the patio doors, softly illuminating the granite worktops. Alex suddenly felt stifled in the house, so he located his coat and a pair of trainers and opened the doors into the garden.

The spring air was still rather chilly at this godforsaken hour, and Alex shoved his hands into his pockets as he trudged down to the bottom of the garden, his breath making clouds in front of him. Sitting on the bench, he let his head fall into his hands as he relived once more the terrible events of his last mission. He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, revelling in the silence of the early hours of the morning when the rest of the neighbourhood was fast asleep, giving him time to reflect in peace. As much as he loved Sabina, her constant spirit and her need to fill all the silences was sometimes tiring.

He was just about to get up and return to the house, when a noise made him freeze. If it weren't for his finely tuned senses, he probably wouldn't have even heard it, but it was unmistakeably the sound of the front gate being unlatched. A split second of shock, and then Alex was sprinting up the garden, mentally cursing himself for being so careless and cursing the Pleasures for having such a large garden. He had not even managed to get halfway when the explosion went off, throwing Alex off his feet. From his position lying on the grass, winded and in pain, he saw the fireball, just like in his dream, but this time real and even more terrifying, shooting up into the night sky. His last thought before falling unconscious was a single word: Sabina.

XXXXXXX

It only took a second after Alex woke up to register that the sheets were a different texture and the light was coming into the room from the wrong direction. Then he was opening his eyes in a panic, already halfway out of bed, to find himself in a hospital room and face-to-face with the director of the CIA, Joe Byrne. It took another second for him to recall the events just preceding his loss of consciousness.

"What happened to the Pleasures? Are they…?" Alex trailed off, unwilling to say it even though deep inside he knew the answer.

"I'm sorry, Alex," said Byrne as sincerely as possible. "Nobody could have survived such an explosion. In fact, I'm wondering why you're not dead as well."

Immediately Alex's face changed, his previous emotion replaced with a blank mask. For Joe Byrne, this abrupt change was deeply unsettling. He of course recognised the mask—as the head of an intelligence organisation he saw it every day—but to see it on a child's face was shocking, to say the least. Alex's eyes had long lost their childhood innocence, but now they were flat and empty, as if shutters had been closed over them.

"I suppose you're here for my report on the incident," Alex said in a careful voice. "I had gone to the bottom of the garden, because I…I wanted some air. I sat there for a while. Then I heard someone unlatching the front gate, so I started to run back to the house…that's when the explosion went off."

"Thank you, Alex," replied Byrne. "Actually, I'm not here just to ask for your report. Mrs Jones wants to speak to you." With these words, he opened the laptop on the bedside table to reveal Mrs Jones' face, sucking on a peppermint. From the limited space around her head, Alex figured that she was sitting in her office at the Royal and General.

"Hello, Alex," said Mrs Jones in a kind voice. "It's nice to see you again. How are you feeling?"

"Let's not pretend you actually care about how I feel, Mrs Jones, and just get down to business, shall we?" replied Alex acidly. "What do you want?"

Mrs Jones looked taken aback by Alex's tone, Byrne even more so, unused as he was to hear Alex being anything less than civil. However, both of them chose to ignore the aspersions.

"Alex, after this attack I don't think you're safe there in America any more. It's not the fault of the intelligence services, I assure you, but I think it would be better if you came back to Britain where we can protect you more easily."

"What, are you going to put me into a safe house or something?" asked Alex sceptically.

"Not exactly," said Mrs Jones. "The SAS at Brecon Beacons have recently asked MI6 to provide them with a new training instructor. I can send you for the job, which would be mutually beneficial to both parties: the SAS would get their instructor and you'd be sufficiently protected by the soldiers and camp security. You can also use this opportunity to work on your strength and fitness. Alex, you must see that it's dangerous for you and for those around you if you refuse to cooperate."

Alex knew that what Mrs Jones was saying was true, but it still hurt to know that he was a danger to those around him. He also knew that he didn't have any alternatives. Everyone he loved was dead now, and he couldn't burden anyone else with looking after him, not when the price could be their life.

"Seeing as I don't have much choice, I'm not going to put up much of a fight. All I'm asking for is that I'm given the standard salary and benefits of an SAS instructor, but I also want to be able to continue with my education. Also, I'd like to know what exactly I'm meant to be teaching the recruits."

"Thank you, Alex, I'm sure your requirements can be met." said Mrs Jones, looking rather relieved that he accepted so quickly. "Your specific role is to be a weapons and shooting instructor, but you'll probably be asked to assist in other roles if necessary. Your…unofficial training…may come in handy."

Alex winced, knowing that she was referring to his time training in Malagosto with Scorpia, a period in his life which he preferred not to think about. From Byrne's confused expression, it seemed as if he was unaware of this particular episode.

"As for your education," continued Mrs Jones, "I'm sure we could find a tutor for you, but it might take some time to find someone suitable."

"That's fine. So, when do I start?" he asked.

"You will be discharged now and then driven to the local heliport, where there is a helicopter waiting. The flight will bring you straight to the SAS training grounds at Brecon Beacons at approximately 0700 hours tomorrow morning, local time. You will report to the Sergeant and start work immediately."

"Alright," sighed Alex, resigned to the fact that his foreseeable future would be spent in the wet Welsh countryside, a place he hoped he would never see again.

"Goodbye, Alex," said Mrs Jones, "and…good luck."