Chapter Text
The sharp, controlled breaths of the soldiers blended into the crisp air as they awaited the arrival of their "guests." A week. That's how long they'd been told they'd need to put up with the CIA. Not that there was anything wrong with them, they just work in a very different way to k-unit and it doesn’t work well.
Wolf stood at the front, arms crossed, jaw clenched tight. His eyes followed the black helicopters descending, rotors slicing through the morning fog. The whole affair screamed of an unnecessary show of force, something the SAS never bothered with. The Brits worked in silence, their achievements unspoken yet palpable. But the CIA seemed to thrive on spectacle, and as the first agent disembarked with his dark sunglasses and flashy gear, it became clear they weren’t here to blend in.
How they were going to camouflage looking like that was a mystery to everyone. Clearly not something they had considered. Makes the job of k-unit easy, when against each other, there would be no question of who fails to blend into the woods. Its is going to make K-unit look even better at their job. No reason to complain they suppose.
From his spot by the Land Rover, Alex Rider watched with a mixture of mild amusement and resignation. He’d grown up fast in this world. With the dangerous missions, he understood the subtleties of the game. The Americans, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice they were not blending in as well as they were expected to.
The chatter started immediately, breaking the silence of the SAS that Wolf held dear. Laughter, sharp voices, and the constant buzzing of radios filled the air as if they were on a movie set rather than a covert military base. Alex shot a glance at Wolf, who looked like he was chewing glass, his whole body stiff with the effort of not snapping. Alex knew it wasn’t anger that had Wolf on edge, but a deep discomfort with the noise, the chaos, the lack of order in the way the CIA men moved. Wolf’s eyes darted, tracking each motion, a flicker of irritation running through him every time someone didn’t follow the unspoken rhythm that kept the SAS moving like a well-oiled machine.
“They’re… lively,” Alex said, voice low, lips twitching at the understatement.
Wolf grunted beside him, his eyes narrowing at the group. “Lively. Yeah. One word for it.”
Across the clearing, Snake had already begun trying to steer the visiting agents towards the briefing room. It was like herding cats. The CIA team barely acknowledged him, continuing their loud conversations, one of them even pulling out a map and unfolding it in the middle of the open space, talking animatedly about terrain and infiltration routes as if the SAS hadn’t already been living and breathing this ground for years.
Alex shook his head, turning his attention back to the team. That’s when he saw him.
Joe Byrne.
The sharp-featured deputy director of the CIA was stepping out of the helicopter, his boots crunching against the wet gravel. Alex felt a jolt of recognition, memories of the Skeleton Key mission flashing in his mind. Byrne hadn't changed much since then—still the same unreadable expression, still carrying the weight of authority with an ease that suggested he'd been in this game far too long. For a moment, Alex considered slipping back into the crowd, avoiding a reunion he hadn’t particularly looked forward to. But Byrne’s eyes caught his, and that brief flicker of surprise told Alex there was no escaping it.
“Rider,” Byrne said, walking over, his voice low and familiar.
“Byrne,” Alex replied, keeping his tone neutral.
“Didn’t expect to see you out here. What is it MI6 has you doing now? Cross-training with the SAS?” Byrne’s eyes scanned him, sharp and assessing, as if he were trying to piece together why Alex was there. And Alex could tell Byrne knew more than he was letting on.
“I get around,” Alex said vaguely, shrugging.
Byrne gave a slight nod, the same tight, businesslike smile on his face. “You always do.”
Before the conversation could go any further, Wolf’s voice cut through the awkward tension. “Cub, inside. Now.”
Alex didn’t argue, slipping into step beside the SAS leader as they walked toward the briefing room. He didn’t miss the way Byrne’s gaze followed them both, lingering on Wolf for a second longer than necessary. It was clear the deputy director hadn’t forgotten how the SAS operated. Byrne had always been sharp, and Alex suspected the CIA’s top brass didn’t just send him over for some "tactical collaboration."
The briefing room was a far cry from the chaos outside. Inside, the SAS sat in calm, focused silence as Snake outlined the week’s plans. The CIA agents took their seats with far less grace, dragging their chairs across the concrete floor, tossing papers onto the table as though it were a casual team meeting. One of them, a tall man with a deep voice, was still talking about the ‘precision’ of some raid he’d led a few months back, apparently unaware that the room had already moved on.
Wolf’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the table. Alex didn’t need to look at him to know the ticking clock was starting to push Wolf toward his limit. He knew the signs—the way Wolf’s breathing changed, his focus sharpening like a blade, every stimulus stacking up like a weight that would soon tip the balance from silent frustration to something far sharper.
Snake, ever patient, pressed on. “We’ll be running joint exercises tomorrow, starting with recon and small-unit tactics. We’ll need everyone in sync.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the still-talking CIA agent, but the man didn’t catch it.
Alex watched the interaction closely, leaning back in his chair as Snake tried, with all the subtlety in the world, to steer the CIA team onto the same page. The agents either didn’t notice or didn’t care. A couple of them flipped through their notebooks, clearly more interested in discussing what they thought they could "teach" the SAS than actually listening.
A slight shuffle beside Alex drew his attention. Wolf was no longer sitting still. His foot tapped lightly against the floor, his fingers drummed once on the table. For Wolf, the constant talking of the CIA agents must have felt like an assault on his senses. Every motion out of sync, every raised voice, must have grated against the precision Wolf craved in everything he did.
At the back of the room, one of the CIA men took out a water bottle, dropping it on the floor with a loud thud. Another pulled out his phone and started swiping, the bright screen an intrusion in the dimly lit space.
Alex glanced at Wolf. He could see the older man’s shoulders tighten, his gaze locking onto the screen like it was a threat. Wolf’s voice, when it finally came, was as sharp as a knife-edge.
“You gonna put that away, or do you need an invitation?”
The room went still. The agent blinked, clearly not used to being called out. He pocketed his phone quickly, but not without muttering something under his breath.
Wolf’s eyes flicked to Snake, and the unspoken understanding passed between them. Wolf wasn’t one for diplomacy, but Alex knew Snake would handle it. The balance had to be maintained, if only for the sake of the mission.
The rest of the briefing continued in strained silence, the air thick with the tension between two teams who couldn’t be more different in how they approached the world. And for Alex, sitting between these two forces—one silent and coiled, the other loud and unwieldy—it was only a matter of time before something snapped.
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The next morning, the joint exercises began. The SAS moved like clockwork, quietly adjusting to every change in terrain. They communicated with brief hand signals, a raised eyebrow, or a nod.
The CIA agents, by contrast, were a blur of radio chatter and heavy footsteps. They talked constantly, their conversations cutting through the forest as if stealth were a secondary concern. Alex could see Wolf tensing with each misplaced word, his jaw clenched tighter as the day wore on. One CIA operative misjudged a drop and landed with a thud, scattering a few small rocks. Wolf shot him a look that could have silenced the world.
Alex, standing a few feet back, exchanged a glance with Snake. The sergeant’s expression remained neutral, but Alex could sense the same undercurrent of frustration simmering beneath.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the Beacons, Alex sat by the fire once again, his mind buzzing with thoughts of Byrne and what the CIA deputy director was really doing here. Wolf joined him, sitting heavily beside him, not saying a word and his silence was welcomed.
“They’ll be gone soon enough,” Alex muttered, half to himself.
Wolf stared into the flames, his eyes reflecting the flickering light. “Not soon enough,” he growled, and for once, Alex wholeheartedly agreed.