-Part One
When the door of the flat swung open, Alex had but one thought:
If Alan Blunt ever attended a help group, he would probably be forced to say, "Hello, my name is Alan Blunt, and I am a compulsive liar who likes to torture poor souls."
For, staring back at the spy with unabashed shock was a face too familiar for comfort.
"Hullo, Snake," Alex greeted in an eerily calm tone, much calmer than the situation warranted him to be.
Blond curls framed a rapidly paling face-like a deer caught in the headlights, Snake's widened eyes displayed more than a few degrees of trepidation.
"Cub. Hi." He cleared his throat, attempting to recover his composure. "Come in."
In silence, the boy followed the man inside. On the far side of the sitting room, light filtered in from the glass of the balcony door. Peering out, Alex was greeted by a blanket of concrete-colored clouds. Rain-so fine that the individual droplets could not be discerned and so dense that a diaphanous haze was created over the scenery-descended from the sky without reprieve. It had not stopped drizzling since the day before.
What a fitting parallel to his mood, thought Alex.
A polite cough drew the boy from his sentiments.
Swiveling to face his new, temporary guardian, Alex raised one eyebrow. "Yes?"
Mildly, Snake asked in a voice that hinted at his Scottish upbringing*, "You don' talk much do ye?"
"What an astute observation."
In response to the muttered comment, the man gave an amused snort. "Plan t'introduce yoursel' properly anytime soon?"
There was a pause, in which Alex's expression shifted from incredulous to skeptical to sarcastically bright. "Hi! My name is Alex Rider. I enjoy picnics, sunsets, and long walks on the beach."
As if he were reconciling the personality that he had expected Alex to have with the personality that Alex actually had, Snake cocked a critical eye at his young charge before reciprocating, "Sebastian Murraine, Scorpio."
Unsure of whether the fluency of Sebastian's response annoyed him or amused him, Alex pointed out, "Mr. Murraine, you do know that the definition of murrain is 'a plague or a pestilence'?"
"O' aye, but my last name is spelled wi' an e at the end." Sebastian appeared faintly impressed by Alex's knowledge. "An' please, call me Sebastian. I'm no' that much older than ye."
Reminded of Jack's similar attitude ("It makes me feel so old when you call me Ms. Starbright..."), Alex turned his face away. Images of the cheerful American woman-once so lively, but now confined to a hospital bed-flashed before his mind's eye; he fought to suppress the torrent of guilt that threatened to engulf him.
"Okay, Sebastian," Alex said finally, when he was sure that his voice would not break. "Are you going to give me a tour of the place?"
Almost surprised that the boy had volunteered something on his own, Sebastian acquiesced. Not feeling the need to point out the battered sofa, old end table, or TV set, he led Alex into the kitchen. He made certain to inform the boy that he kept next to nothing in the pantry, and quickly went over the buttons and knobs that controlled the stove.
Then, traipsing back into the sitting room, Sebastian suggested that Alex pick up the duffel and backpack that he had dropped unceremoniously onto the floor earlier. Assenting, the youth slung one across each shoulder and followed Sebastian into the short stretch of hallway.
"My bedroom's straight ahead. The bathroom's t'the right an' your bedroom's t'the left." Sebastian pushed open the door to Alex's room.
Within, a bed and a stand occupied the corner, directly opposite a moderately sized desk and a dresser. The navy curtains were shuttered, casting the room into shadows. A mahogany, up-right piano was the only other object of interest in the room. Alex felt his gaze inexplicably drawn toward it; it possessed an elegant aura that was incongruous with the rest of the flat.
Observing the direction in which Alex looked, Sebastian explained, "The piano belonged to my brother when he lived wi' me. He's at uni now."
"Your brother lived with you?"
A nod. "When he was fourteen an' I was nineteen, our ma passed away-"
Alex opened his mouth, but Sebastian held up a hand as if to stop him from voicing the expected condolences.
"Naw, don' be feeling sorry for us. She was a drug whore, an' we never even found out who our fathers were." Bitterly, the man shrugged-as if the physical action could help him shrug away his feelings. "I had a home study done, so I'd be eligible to take in my brother. T'go into the system at his age would've been hard as hell... Anyway, I think it's me getting guardianship of ye ‘coz I've done an' passed my home study. God knows how many times Gabriele an' Aiden would fail it."
"...Gabriele and Aiden?"
A faint blush tinged Sebastian's cheeks pink. "Uh, I meant t'say Wolf an' Eagle."
Instead of calling the man on his slip, Alex decided politely to change the topic. "Okay. So, what did MI6 tell you about me? That I'm a problem child you should look out for?"
"Something like that," smirked Sebastian. "The general gist of things was that I had to take in a walking target ‘coz his guardian was out o' commission."
The coarse phrasing caused Alex to wince.
...Walking target...
...Out of commission...
He swallowed, perhaps trying to swallow his painfully thudding heart.
Seeming to notice, the soldier said in what might have been an apologetic tone, "Well, I'll leave you to unpack now. Dinner's in an hour."
Alex, finally left alone, allowed himself to deflate. His breath was heavy, filling his lungs with the smell of lavenderwoodsomething. Throwing a haphazard glance at his bags, he decided to unpack later. Right now, he just needed time to think and regain his bearings. Almost in a trancelike state, he found himself floating to the piano, pulling out the bench, sitting down, and removing the cover. Transfixed by the ebony and ivory keys, he could just envision a pair of fluttering, elegant fingers, flourishing across the instrument like birds against the backdrop of sky. A familiar tune wound its way through his mind, entangled in a memory that made his throat clench.
On a rainy afternoon not unlike today, Jack had dragged him to a music store. Ignoring the disapproving looks of the owner, she had sat Alex down at the piano to teach him a simple duet.
"It's Heart and Soul," she'd informed him, her smile as brilliant as the crystal chandeliers above them. "I used to play it all the time with my friends."
In the process of learning it (and, in Jack's case, teaching it), the two had shared many a laughs. The bright, catchy melody had also effectively induced smiles from the other customers in the store.
Alex sighed. The tune was rather like Jack herself: happy, cheerful, light...
Squeezing his eyes shut, the boy firmly told himself that he was not tearing up. Perhaps it would be better for him to start unpacking now, he decided. Standing, he went to unzip his black duffel. Shirt, pants, and underwear were all flung into the dresser haphazardly. Then, remembering Jack complaining about how expensive his school uniform had been, he searched the closet to find a stack of clothes hangers in the back. Mechanically, he hung up his shirt and slacks, concentrating on the manual work so that his mind would not wander.
Anything to stop himself from thinking about what had happened.
When he had finished the task, he returned back to his bag. At the bottom, a sheathed knife-once concealed by his clothing-was now exposed. Hastily, he stowed it in the drawer of his bedside stand.
He hoped there would be no reason to use it.
At dinner, Sebastian laid down the rules:
"No drugs, sex, or alcohol. No crime unless there's a good reason for it."
With his fork raised halfway to his mouth, Alex paused. "Good reason is rather subjective, isn't it? Anything else you'd like to add? Stay in school, perhaps? Get good grades?"
"An' recycle. Respect yer elders..." The man winked, smiling good-naturedly. "Glad we're on the same page."
Alex just shrugged, then forked the last bit of pasta into his mouth. He stood and automatically started to clear the table, stacking the empty dishes together.
Surprised, Sebastian said, "You dinnae need to-"
Waving off the words, Alex replied, "You cooked; I'll clean." His eyes were downcast, set on the maroon place settings and the task at hand.
The man's mouth shut with an audible click. Shrugging, he headed out of the kitchen.
"No' gonna argue with that," Alex heard him mutter.
Snorting indelicately, the boy transferred the dishes into the sink. He had always done dishes by hand because Jack did dishes by hand.
Whenever the topic was brought up, she would admit, "Yeah, it's good for the environment. But the truth is, I was brought up washing dishes this way. I'm too set in my ways to change 'em now."
...God, he needed to stop thinking about her! The littlest nuances of daily life were powerful enough to bring back a storm of reminders, as sudden as the rains of summer. He was only pouring salt onto his wound, and-just like watching a clock did not make time pass faster-brooding over her condition would not heal her quicker.
A deft twist of the faucet was followed by the rushing sound of water. Allowing the mindless noise to wash over him, he realized that his bitter thoughts were not soothed in the least. Vaguely, he registered his own harsh breathing as his vicious anger spiraled up and up, like corpses out of a hearse or lightning from a cloud. Carefully controlled emotions shattered as he felt a devastating surge of savage wrath build and build and-
-overtake him-
Bloody. Fucking. MI6. Always breaking their promises. Lying to him. Blackmailing him. Forcing him to be their spy. And now Jack was in the hospital because of the enemies that he had made on the job.
"You're not in any danger, Alex. None of your enemies are coming after you."
That's right. They weren't after him because they were after his loved ones.
Fuck them. Fuck the world.
What would it be like to just walk into the "bank" and gun down everyone in sight? he wondered. How would it feel to hold chaos in his hands?
Unconsciously, his hands clenched around the last piece of dinnerware that he had to put away-a glass that fit easily into his grasp. So tight was his grip that his fingers turned lily-white-
-and then there was a sudden noise in his ears and a sudden pain in his hands.
The glass shattered, and all plans for revenge shattered with it. Taking in the results of his unchecked fury, Alex's angry thought train took an abrupt nosedive off the side of a cliff and into the turbulent waters beneath.
"Oh, shit!"
"Alex? What happened?" Hearing the commotion, Sebastian had re-entered the kitchen. In the dim lighting, shadows-along with worry-played across his features. "-Are ye bleedin'?"
"Of course not," Alex said flatly, grabbing a nearby cloth to staunch his wound. "I'm invincible. Didn't you get the memo?"
Rolling his eyes, Sebastian moved forward to help clean the mess. Shards of jagged glass glinted from the floor, like a handful of stars scattered across the night sky.
"O' yeah," he said, voice ripe with sarcasm. "You're MI6's legendary teenage spy who's never failed a mission."
Taken aback, Alex looked up. "Who told you that?"
"Ye hear stuff sometimes," Sebastian tossed out the answer as if it were of no consequence, before noticing that the boy was futilely trying to mask horror. He hastily backtracked, "No' often, I mean. Only when the higher-ups decide t'grab drinks together. They dinnae get together in just any old place, though. All o' the people there-customers, bartenders-have t'have some kind of security clearance."
"Are you sure? The head of SO doesn't seem like the type who would go to a bar." Frankly, Alex was unconvinced that Alan Blunt would grab a drink with anyone.
"I wouldnae know. I've never met the guy." A wry expression crossed the soldier's face. "But you have, haven't ye?" He shook his head a little sadly. "If ye asked me, I'd say it was wrong to use a kid like that."
Under his breath, Alex murmured, "You say it's wrong, but what will you do about it?"
Although the boy had not meant for Sebastian to hear the comment, their close proximity rendered the words audible nonetheless. Looking up, Alex caught sight of something unreadable-pity, shame?-in the man's eyes.
Alex sighed, gesturing at the last fragments of glass being swept away by Sebastian. "Look, I'm sorry about this mess."
"And I'm sorry for accusing you of something you have no control over," remained unspoken.
"'S all right." Although the man was also indicating at the debris, his tone implied that Alex was being forgiven for more than just breaking a glass.
Deciding to take his leave before he caused more awkwardness, Alex nodded and advanced to the exit. As he walked away, he felt Sebastian's eyes following him steadily.
"Y'know, Alex," he said softly, right before the boy could disappear into the next room. "I do think it's wrong t'use children. I know that saying I'm sorry for what's happened to you isn't much, but I am sorry an' I'll try t'help you in the ways I can."
Alex tried and failed to smile. Even he himself thought that the expression aimed at Sebastian felt strained, but it was the best he could manage. "Thanks. That's appreciated... You know, you're a lot nicer than you were at Brecon Beacons."
Widened eyes testified to the man's incredulity. "Kid, naebody's nice at Brecon Beacons, okay? So don' expect me to apologize for that. Now, get outta here and do yer homework or something."
A snort of laughter followed Alex out of the room.
In his dream, there were yellow raincoats everywhere. Not a single soul in the crowd wore something different. Not a single soul in the crowd paid attention to the boy in their midst who was not clad in such an outfit.
The sky was a watercolor, with charcoal gray bleeding into salty silver bleeding into mossy green. The ground was a mosaic, with cobblestone conglomerates buried beside pint-sized pebbles buried beside river rocks.
Alex Rider felt alone, the sensation penetrating his body like a slow acting poison.
Alex Rider felt dizzy, the sensation masking all of his senses like a vertiginous drug.
Alex Rider felt insane.
But it was a good kind of insane. The kind that gripped him tight and freed him from all thoughts of consequences. The kind that allowed him to pull out a blade from within the folds of his clothing and stab at those around him. Stab, stab, stab-
-and watch the victims keel to the ground and not feel a single drop of remorse.
No more yellow.
No more-for the hue had leeched into an exciting, merciless red.
Blood red.
Just a few shades darker, and it would be the exact color of Jack's hair.
"This isn't what you want, Alex."
Said boy whipped around. All about him, corpses strewn in the street, lying like broken, lifeless dolls. Picking his way through the carnage was an unpleasantly familiar man. Pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, bedecked in a crisp, white suit-the man looked almost angelic in a decidedly un-angelic way. Perhaps the spreading bloodstain on his jacket ruined the effect.
"This isn't what you want, Alex," repeated the man.
"Yassen?" To Alex, it sounded as if he were speaking underwater. "But – but you're dead."
Ignoring him, the assassin continued, "Don't let your emotions make decisions for you."
I already know that, thought Alex. "Why are you here? I saw you shot on Air Force One. I saw you die."
"Don't do things that you know you'll regret later. Always stay in control." And with that piece of non-sequitur advice, Yassen turned and walked away.
In the destruction and death-so familiar, yet so foreign-Alex stood alone, feeling the painful twist in his gut worm its way through his torso. Up his chest, around his lungs, over his heart...
"Yassen! Yassen!" he called, uncertain of what he wanted, just knowing that he didn't want to be left alone in the manifestation of his own diabolic desires.
Not realizing it, tears began to trickle down his cheeks, the droplets splattering onto the ground like rain (or, perhaps, blood). Just inches away, a blank, nameless face stared up at him, never to cry or laugh or love again.
"Aww, Aleeex," cooed another familiar voice, distinctly female this time.
And, finding himself cradled into a gentle embrace, Alex was no longer by himself.
"Don't cry, baby. I'll make everything all better."
Suddenly, the grip around Alex was too tight and warm. A cocoon of overwhelming heat crawled across his skin and stole away his breath. He knew-much in the same way as a child knew his mother or a bird knew the spring-that he needed to escape. Or he would suffocate right in the arms of the one who loved him most. He struggled and thrashed and kicked, but the arms around him remained firmly clamped.
"I won't let you go until I make things better, Alex." Soft fingers reached up to brush away the tears glimmering down Alex's cheek. "Just you wait."
The other hand now clenched a knife to the boy's stomach. Then, the smooth blade was slicing. Down, down, through his pale skin and into his livid bowels-making a clean cut and rendering so much pain. Chased by the fiery sensation into a hidden niche of his mind, Alex detachedly watched-equally horrified and fascinated-as the knife disappeared into his stomach again and again.
The red hair in his vision blurred.
"Jack," he pleaded. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making things all better, dear. Can't you see?"
With a gasp, Alex shot up abruptly in his bed.
Peering concernedly at him, Sebastian said, "You're finally awake. For a boy wi' so many enemies, ye sleep like the dead."
At the mention of dead, phantom twinges danced up the length of Alex's abdomen. "I...had a nightmare?"
"Certainly sounded like it." A curious expression possessed the man's face. "'S'probably no' my place to ask, but-when you were saying Yassen-were ye referrin' to Yassen Gregorovich?"
Suddenly, Alex was anxious that someone might have overheard the contents of his dream. "I wasn't aware that any other Yassen's existed."
Curiosity was quickly displaced by worry as Sebastian digested the confirmation. He opened his mouth, but Alex cut him off, voice as sharp as the crease of concern over his brows:
"What was I saying in my dream?"
"Well...it seemed like ye were talkin' to some folk. There was this guy, Jack-"
"Jack's a girl," Alex corrected automatically.
Nodding his acknowledgment, the solider continued, "-that ye were pleading with. And, before that, you kept exclaiming ‘Yassen'. Ye said..." He faltered momentarily, then took a deep breath. "Ye said that ye watched him get shot on Air Force One. Is that true?"
Sebastian tried to read the boy's reaction, but Alex had turned his face away, grumbling something like, "It's not your place to know, is it?"
A realization that he needed to tread carefully around this subject dawned upon Sebastian.
He cleared his throat. "If you've gone up against Gregorovich an' survived-hell, if ye were even in his presence when he died-I hate to think what else you've seen. Have ye...have ye talked to someone about it?"
Alex sent him a baleful look. "And just who do you think I can talk to? My friends?"
"I mean a psychotherapist."
"I don't have a psychotherapist."
Shock tripped its way through Sebastian's brain and into his hazel eyes. "Hasn't MI6 assigned ye one?"
"No." One word, so simple yet so revealing about the way MI6 regarded Alex.
"...We need t'discuss this later." The man glanced at his watch, a simple piece meant merely to keep time. "It's seven o'clock now. Ye should get dressed and eat breakfast so that I can take ye to school."
What a perfect way to start a Monday, Alex lamented, with a particularly vocal nightmare that did not fall on deaf ears.
He didn't know until nearly an hour later-when he and Sebastian were sitting in a car that failed to start-that his day was going to get considerably worse.
"I think I need t'call somebody," said Sebastian.
Way to state the obvious.
"Honestly, I'm not surprised that your car won't start." Alex was staring disdainfully at seats that might have once been gray. They were now so stained now that he could hardly tell. "How old is this thing? The same age as you?"
"Right funny," griped Sebastian, with his mobile pressed to his ear. "Ye should consider a career in comedy."
"Who should consider a career in comedy?"
Alex's eyes widened as he recognized the voice on the other end of the line. "Is that Wolf?!" he mouthed.
Sebastian shrugged apologetically, speaking into his phone, "Naebody. But my car broke down-"
"About time. But it's too bad that it didn't last another week, 'cos now I owe Aiden a tenner*."
"-Look, I don' care about yer stupid bet. I need a ride right now."
"Right now?"
"Is that an echo I hear?"
"I haven't even gotten out of bed!" Silence on the other end, before, "Fine, but you owe me. I'll be there in a few."
The call ended, and Sebastian glanced up to see a glower painted over Alex's handsome features.
"I could always take the tube," said the boy.
"MI6 willnae allow it."
Gazing at Alex's crossed arms and slouched form, Sebastian decided that-legendary MI6 spy or not-Alex was still very much a teenager. A teenager who was susceptible to fits of sulking, just like the rest of his peers. Unable to contain an amused smile, the man turned away. The rest of the wait was spent in silence.
The growl of Wolf's motorcycle engine was very effective in shattering the quiet. Gaping slightly, Alex stared at the sleek, black vehicle that prowled up beside Sebastian's beat-up sedan. A BMW logo was embedded into the motorcycle's side.
K-Unit's leader removed his helmet and bent down to rap on the driver's window. Subsequently, Sebastian opened his door.
A faintly accented voice-fifty percent English, fifty percent Italian, and one hundred percent groggy-drifted into the car. "Where do you need to go?"
"Actually, it's no' me who needs a ride." Sebastian indicated at the figure in the seat beside him. MI6's youngest agent was fighting the urge to sulk or shrink away. "Alex needs t'get t'school."
And the next words out of Wolf's mouth were both very creative and very colorful.
"Gabe!" admonished the Scot. "Don' swear in front o' kids!"
In response to Sebastian's words, both the SIS agent and the SAS agent snorted simultaneously, a fact that they found somewhat disturbing.
"This is the kid MI6 asked you to look after?" Gabriele raked a hand through his coarse, dark hair, examining Alex with dismayed disbelief.
To keep from complaining that he was not a kid, Alex had to bite his lips. His confidence in Sebastian's ability had plummeted to zero, faster than a stock market crisis.
He glared at his guardian. "You honestly think this is less dangerous than taking the tube?"
Indignant, Gabriele defended himself, "Are you suggesting that I'm a reckless driver?"
At the same time, Sebastian shrugged helplessly. "Orders are orders, Alex." Then he shot a dubious glance at the other man. "I don' think Alex was suggestin' that yer a reckless driver so much as suggestin' that the combination of you an' him is rather...explosive."
Perhaps just a little embarrassed, Gabriele said, "That was during training. We're not in training anymore."
"If you guys are done arguing," Alex fluidly cut in, "can we get going? I'd rather not be late to school." Under his breath, he muttered, "Again."
The two SAS soldiers shared a pointed look.
"Sure thing," said Gabriele, producing a helmet for the boy. "Alex, right?"
Pulling the helmet over his head with a neat motion, Alex nodded. "Mr...?"
"Bianchi," answered the man. "But you can call me Gabe."
"Aww, I'm so proud o' ye-already taking the first steps to get along." Sebastian sniffed mockingly, wiping at non-existent tears. "Well, Alex's school is Brookland. Do ye know where that is?"
A nod.
"Okay, kin ye also pick him up in the afternoon?"
Another absent nod, before Gabriele realized what he was agreeing to. "What?!" he squawked, dark eyes widening comically. "I didn't sign up for this! You're the guardian here!"
"Please?" An expert pout complemented Sebastian's pleading expression. "...I cannae get my car fixed by this afternoon. Fact is, I think I'll have to buy a new one."
"You're twenty-seven, so don't even think those puppy dog eyes are going to work on me," snapped Gabriele. "Fine, get on, kid."
Alex did so, hearing Wolf gripe under his breath:
"What happened to your parents? Did they not want you anymore?"
Anger surged within the boy. His muscles tensed as his mouth set into a hard line. He was saved from the trouble of replying, though, for the man had already started up the motorcycle and was rumbling out into the street. The engine sounds drowned out everything else, and Alex hoped that Gabriele had forgotten about the inquiry.
Fifteen minutes later, they were thundering up to the front gate of Brookland School. The congregated students looked up in unison, gawking with blatant awe.
As Alex made to get off, Gabriele protested, "Hey, you never answered my question."
So he hadn't forgotten, thought the boy. Just my luck.
Gabriele found a pair of hardened eyes staring into his. An involuntary shudder traveled up his spine, sending warning signals into his brain.
Sunlight through storm clouds dappled across Alex's frigid expression. "My relatives are dead," he said flatly. "My guardian is in the hospital."
With those cold, simple words, the boy turned and walked away.
Part Two
According to Tom, the spectacle Alex made in the morning was spawning a fresh wave of gossip about the fair-haired youth. Alex claimed that pulling up in a motorcycle could not be labeled as a spectacle. Tom disagreed.
James Hale* just wanted the both of them to shut up. Ordinarily, he was a very tolerant boy. But, all throughout the day, he had been forced to suffer through Alex and Tom's constant bickering whenever the two were around.
Now in maths, the last class of the day and coincidentally his favorite class, his patience was stretched to the breaking point and he would no longer stand for it.
Swiveling around in his seat, he snapped, "Let's all agree that people like to gossip about Alex, okay? Now, shut up. I can't hear what the teacher's saying."
It turned out that the teacher wasn't actually talking about maths. Instead, he was waving a slip of paper in front of the class.
"All of the year 10 teachers were told to remind their students about this. Make sure to get your permission slip signed and turned in by tomorrow if you want to go to the field trip on Friday. Class dismissed."
Chatter and shuffling could be heard throughout the classroom as the students stood and gathered their books. Together, the three boys walked out of the room and into the bustling hallway towards their lockers.
Tom admitted, "I almost forgot about the trip."
"Me too." Alex absently rubbed his neck, concentrating on his locker combination.
While he packed his bag, he wondered if Sebastian's signature could pass as a guardian's approval. Since the man was acting in loco parentis, his signature should be binding. Even if it weren't, Alex would not mind. After toiling with "The Royal and General", he could no longer look at a bank without distaste clouding his judgment. And, seeing as the field trip destination was a local bank, Alex did not have a very good feeling about it.
"How could you forget?" asked James. "It means we get to miss school." He aimed a speculative look at Alex. "Hey, you won't be pulling another disappearing act on us again, will you?"
Quite obviously, the boy was referring to Alex's actions during their field trip earlier in the year-during which Alex had slipped away to steal a flash drive for MI6. It had precipitated in Tom faking sick so that Alex could climb off the roof of their bus and back inside.
Oh, the drama.
"Depends on if I'm feeling badass or not," Alex joked lightly, the tone of his voice incongruous with his darker thoughts.
Tom winked. "If you asked any girl in our school, they'd say you're always badass." He then imitated a high-pitched squeal, running his hands intrusively up and down Alex's bicep. "Ohmygod, Alex! Your muscles are so hot!"
Near them, several girls in their grade were giggling at the antics and sending them flirtatious ganders. James was trying not to choke on his laughter. With a scowl and a practiced movement, Alex sent Tom flying into a locker.
"Ow." The victimized boy shot a glare at his friend.
Rolling his eyes, Alex extended a hand to help Tom straighten up. "That should teach you about the consequences of molesting me."
"That wasn't molestation. Right, James?"
Guffaws spilling from his lips, James was helpless to do anything except shake his head negatively. Tom's long-suffering sigh was colored by pretend hurt; he stuck his nose into the air pretentiously and stalked away. Alex and James merely grinned at each other and followed.
The moment that they had exited the front gate, Tom lost all traces of mock suffering. He stopped abruptly in his tracks, nearly causing James to collide into him.
"Holy shit, Alex!" Eyes round as twin moons, the dark-haired boy indicated at a familiar black motorcycle that was once again in front of their school. "He dropped you off at school, and now he's here to pick you up?! Who exactly is this guy?"
A blush spread over Alex's cheeks. "Like I said earlier-he's a friend of my guardian."
Apparently, a person behind them disagreed. "Hey, Rider! That your boyfriend?"
Alex turned. A smattering of freckles across a sneering face greeted him. Advancing with a cocky swagger, Jake Lewis-a member Alex's football team-was flanked by two other thugs. During matches, Jake purposefully set out to injure Alex. During school, he purposefully set out to make Alex's life miserable.
"I always knew you were a fag," Jake continued.
Glowering, Alex shot back, "Ask your mum, and she'll disagree with you."
Being as slow as he was, it took a moment for the other boy to digest the implications. When he did, however, his features twisted with an ugly anger.
"You bitch-!" Not caring that he was still on school property, Jake threw a fist.
A fist that Alex easily caught. For a moment, they looked at each other. Adrenaline fueled Jake's heaving breaths as annoyance fueled Alex's dispassionate response.
"Don't do anything stupid," the MI6 agent warned quietly. "I know that's a lot to ask from an idiot like you, but we both know who would win in a fight."
Thoroughly distracted by the man stalking up behind them, the latter lost all faculties of speech.
"Is there a problem here?" the man asked, cradling his motorcycle helmet in one hand.
His appearance wasn't particularly frightening-a short stature clad in jeans and a black shirt. Nonetheless, he possessed a powerful, dangerous aura; and, like a person who wasn't afraid to break bones, he carried himself with a facile confidence. Even the most macho of men would easily admit that he was intimidating. Jake, not being the most macho of men, was reduced to cowering in his expensive (most likely stolen) trainers.
"No, there isn't a problem." Not even sparing a glance at Jake's livid expression, Alex said a quiet good-bye to his friends and left with Gabriele.
Outside, darkness had crept forth, settling into the crevices and cracks between buildings, streets, and souls. Within the kitchen of a certain flat, however, two SAS soldiers had lit the room brightly, dispelling all signs of the night. One was nursing a steaming cup of mint tea, and the other was staring into space as he voiced his concerns:
"I think he needs a psychotherapist."
"That's what I've been thinking!" agreed the second man, taking a sip of his drink. "He had a nightmare last night. D'you know what he was going on about?" He didn't wait for his companion to respond. "Yassen Gregorovich. Apparently, he was on Air Force One wi' the guy when he died."
The first man gaped, expletives falling fluently from his mouth. "Definitely needs a psychotherapist," he repeated tersely.
"Aye, so what made you think he needed one, Gabe?"
"Two reasons. Firstly, when I was picking him up this afternoon, he almost got into a fight with another boy."
"Almost?"
"The other kid threw a punch, but he had no trouble catching it. Anyway, it made me have the feeling that he was getting some shit at school."
"An' the second reason?"
Gabriele sighed. "I was a bit of an arse this morning-"
"No surprise there," muttered the blond.
Leveling his companion with a shriveling glare, he continued, "Asked him if his parents didn't want him anymore. Turns out, his relatives are dead and his guardian is in the hospital. Did you know that, Sebastian?"
Worriedly, Sebastian began to fidget with his cup. "MI6 didnae tell me the exact details, but I know some shit has happened t'him."
"Do you think..." The man paused to clear his throat. "Do you think that he'd like to visit his guardian in the hospital?"
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "Are ye offerin' t'drive him?"
Face flushing, the team leader tried to defend himself. "Well, if it were my parents, I'd be desperate to see them. I'd probably sneak out if I had to. And, besides, it doesn't have to be me giving the ride. We could always call up Aiden or Ben."
"Aiden? Yer sure that's a good idea? I mean, he's no' exactly-"
The other man's response was cut off by a banging sound that emitted from the hallway. Sharing a look with his fellow soldier, both rose simultaneously from their positions. Sebastian led the way to the bathroom, where the noise seemed to have come from.
"Alex? Yer no' committin' suicide in there, are ye?" He tried to keep his voice light.
Muffled swearing could be heard. "No, why would you assume that?"
"'Coz bathrooms are generally where suicides occur?"
Gabriele's expression eloquently expressed, "What the hell?"
"What?" Apparently, Alex agreed with the shorter man's sentiments.
The boy's strangled tones did not bode well for his guardian. "Alex, are ye decent?"
"...Yeah?"
"Right then, I'm coming in."
"What?! No-"
Alex's deterrent came too late. The door had swung open and the two men found themselves staring at the youth, who seemed to be searching for his shirt in vain. All of the words died on their lips as they caught sight of Alex's chest. Illuminated by the harsh lighting, a shiny, white scar stood out prominently on his skin.
Inadvertently, Gabriele let loose a hiss of sympathy.
"What the hell happened?" Sebastian was gesturing at Alex's scar.
A scowl could be seen just as Alex angled his head away. In such a mundane setting-framed by blue shower curtains, toothbrushes, a scratched mirror-he seemed even more remarkable than usual. "MI6 happened-that's what."
As myriad questions sped through their heads, confusion diffused over the SAS agents' faces. Was Alex saying what they thought he was saying? Was he implying that MI6 had tried to assassinate him? How had he survive?
Sebastian asked finally, "What...what do ye mean?"
Sighing, Alex finally found his shirt and pulled it over his form. The clothing might have hidden the scar, but it did not hide the knowledge of its existence. After all, even flaw-masking snows of winter had to melt sometime.
"If MI6 never got involved in my life, I would never have been the target of assassins," the boy elaborated.
"How did you survive?" questioned Gabriele. "The wound's right above your heart."
Under his breath, the other man parroted a line that Alex had used the night before, "He's invincible. Did ye no' get the memo?"
But, gazing at the boy's weary, jaded countenance, both knew the truth: Alex was far from invincible. He was a mere teenager-not even old enough to shave.
The tension in his body evidenced the stress he endured, and his eyes were windows to a suffering soul. Yet, so adept was he at hiding his struggles, that no one paid it any mind until it was thrust blatantly into their face.
After a long moment of silence, Sebastian said in a hushed tone, "How recent was it?"
"Does it really matter?" Alex didn't meet their eyes. He preferred for the past to reside in the past. "It was several months ago."
"Who did it?" This time, it was Gabriele voicing the inquiry.
At long last, the boy raised his cool, brown eyes, completely shuttered from emotions. "That's classified."
His guardian refused to let the matter rest; a memory surfaced from earlier that day-a memory of sweat-slicked fair hair plastered against a grimacing face, a memory of fluttering eyelashes and desperation and strangled pleads. "Was it Yassen Gregorovich?"
Alex blinked. "What? No. Yassen never tried to kill me..."
As the implications of his words sank in, two sets of eyes widened. For one, Alex had voiced the name without disgust. For another, Alex had called Yassen by his first name, suggesting some form of familiarity.
"Gregorovich is – was an assassin."
"Yassen never killed children," argued the spy, shaking his head. A gentle weariness had seized him, and he wanted nothing more for this conversation to be over.
"And you know that how?" An aggravated flush had crept onto Gabriele's face.
"We exchanged words."
Taking a deep breath, Sebastian attempted to remain calm. "Lemme get this straight: Ye exchanged words wi' Yassen Gregorovich, a man who never revealed 'imself except t'people he trusted. An' obviously, ye felt comfortable enough to call him by his first name. What exactly was your relationship with him?"
In a deep, hidden portion of Alex's mind, he blanched. He avoided thinking about Yassen as much as possible, but his team members were forcing him to acknowledge the odd relationship he had once shared with dead assassin.
A long moment later, he asserted, "I don't have to answer that."
I don't have an answer for that.
Sebastian placed a piece of paper before Alex, distracting the youth from shoveling eggs down his throat.
The boy swallowed his current mouthful. "Whassat?"
"The permission slip for yer field trip. I forgot t'give it t'you last night."
"Oh." Alex returned to eating.
Awkwardness prevailing in his actions, the man sank into a seat next to the boy. "Alex." He cleared his throat. "Remember when I mentioned that ye needed a psychotherapist?"
Silence, but for the metallic sound of a fork clattering onto a plate.
Slowly, Alex said, "Yes..."
Sebastian felt foolish as he took a deep breath; honestly, the boy wasn't that intimidating. "Well, I think that ye just need someone to talk to. Aiden-Eagle-was studying psychology before he decided to join the SAS, an' he's giving you a ride t'school today, so-"
Suddenly, Alex was on his feet. "What?" His voice came out raspy, yet outraged. "No! I don't need to talk to anyone, okay? I'm fine."
"Why, Cub," said a sneering voice. "What a classic denial line."
Distracted by the pounding of his own heartbeat, Alex had not noticed the entrance of the new man. Cursing himself for the slip, the youth turned around to see a tall brunet. The sharp angles of the man's face highlighted the disdain that monopolized his features. His clothing-a blue shirt and slacks-looked to be the kind that was labored over by sweatshop workers, then sold for much higher than it was worth at a store with more mannequins than live customers.
"Eagle," Alex said blandly.
"That's me. Or, rather, Aiden Reid." He gave the boy a scornful once-over. "You look a lot older than you used to."
"You as well."
Eagle-Aiden-chuckled; somehow, he managed to appear both condescending and impressed at the same time. "So the kid isn't completely devoid of intelligence," he commented to the other SAS soldier, ignoring Alex's presence expertly. But the next moment, his words were directed at the teen, "Ready to go, Cub?"
With a sigh, the boy pushed away his plate and went to get his book bag. Quietly, Sebastian followed.
When they were both alone in the sitting room, the man admitted, "Look, Aiden's a wee bit of a..."
"Bastard?" supplied the MI6 agent.
Sheepishly, Sebastian nodded. "But he means well, I promise. Just don' let 'im get to ye."
Alex's tone was dismissive. "After all that I've been through, I think I can handle a guy like him."
"Talking about me behind my back, are we?" Aiden had joined them. Rather than looking pained by their words, however, he looked pained by their presence-as if they were two particularly irritating lower life forms that he was forced to spend time with. Seeing that Alex had his bag, he said, "Okay, let's get the hell out of here. See you later, Seb."
Alex turned and used the opportunity to aim a well-practiced glare at his guardian. "Bye, Sebastian." Thanks for making my life more miserable.
Though they were five floors up, Alex insisted on using the stairs "just in case something happened." Under his breath, the former psych student had muttered something snide like, "Paranoid, much?" (Which Alex readily ignored.) When they reached the street, the man indicated at a black sedan.
Unlocking its doors, he said, "Well, get in."
With a sigh, the boy assented. This was going to be a long car ride, he just knew.
In silence, Aiden started the ignition and pulled out onto the road. The sleek hum of tire against wet pavement could be heard, compensating for the silence. As they gained speed, Alex absorbed the changing scenery dully. Snapshots of daily life flashed by-a mother with her baby, a group of boys on their way to school, an old woman carrying bags upon bags of groceries. None of the passing pedestrians offered to help, Alex mused sadly, lamenting the absence of chivalry from society.
"Tell me about your dreams."
Abruptly, Alex was expelled from his thoughts.
"Huh?" was his eloquent response.
A roll of the eyes was accompanied by an excessively slow clarification, "Your. Dreams."
"Why should I?"
"Because I told you to."
"And if I don't?"
Aiden spared him a cold glance. "I'll tell Sebastian, and then he'll get all worried and over-bearing and work his magic guilt-trip on you."
Snorting, Alex looked back out the window. "I could always lie."
"You could, but that would just be a waste of your time and mine."
Silence elapsed. Trying to distract himself, Alex decided to go through a mental checklist of all the due dates for coursework and tests. More and more often, however, his mind returned to Aiden's request. Curiosity was overriding his reluctance. He supposed that a dream interpretation could prove to be entertaining.
"Tell me about your dreams."
What harm could result from that action? he wondered. Perhaps he could just censor the parts that he didn't want to share...
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Everyone's wearing yellow."
Shooting him a contemptuous what-the-hell-is-that-
"No, no. I'm talking about my dream." Catching sight of the man's reluctant understanding, Alex continued, "Everyone's wearing a yellow raincoat except me."
"Yellow," said Aiden slowly, "can be associated with a number of things. Happiness, but also guilt. Raincoats, on the other hand, are an object of protection from rain-which generally has the connotation of gloominess and depression. The fact that you're not dressed like everyone else may result from the subconscious belief that you're different-singled out from the crowd. While everyone else is happy and protected, you're not. And seeing the yellow is like seeing your guilt reflected back at you. Tell me, Cub, what have you done that deserves guilt?"
By this time, Alex was trying not to gape. "...I think you may be related to my English teacher. She over-examines everything too."
Aiden released a derisive snort of laughter as he glided to a stop in front of Brookland. "You're avoiding my question."
"You're stating the obvious." Before Aiden could say anything else, Alex pushed open the door and escaped the car.
Just to spite the man, he slammed the door with more force than necessary. But when he turned around, he immediately regretted his actions. The sound had attracted more attention to him-as if there wasn't enough attention directed at him already. Faces turned in his direction; hissing whispers sprang into the air. So familiar was Alex with the shocked stares of his peers that he would soon be able to conjure their expressions in his sleep.
Coming up beside him, Tom Harris grinned evilly. "A new ride again, Alex? People are gonna start thinking you're a man-whore."
Alex sighed.
In times like these, he felt like a little boy-lost in an impossible world. Alex in Wonderland, he thought with a snort.
At the front of the room, the teacher lectured about population fluctuations in Southeast Asia, droning on and on as he paced the short distance between the desks and the board. Alex found it difficult to keep his eyes from wandering toward the windows. Glass separated him from the world outside. Although the rain had halted temporarily, a howling wind tore fitful gusts through the naked branches of the trees. Suddenly, Alex wished the windows were opened just a bit-enough for the sounds of nature to reach his ears and the damp earth smells to waft against his nose. Enough for him to stifle the heavy feelings of captivity, caused by the institution he was trapped within.
Since when had he thought of Brookland as a prison?
Since Jack had been harmed, answered a whispering voice in his mind.
Lines separating his two lives had started to fade. School was something forced upon him, something he couldn't escape if he cared about the future. MI6 was something forced upon him as well, something he wished he could run from, but couldn't for the sake of the world's future.
Interest in life had started to fade, too. His existence comprised of nothing more than being a weapon for MI6 (a danger to his enemies), and a liability for his loved ones (a danger to his friends).
He wanted to know how to negotiate through his desolate emotions.
He wanted to know how to sever his ties to the past.
He wanted to know how Jack was doing.
In times like these, he felt like a little boy-lost in an impossible world.
Sterile.
Familiar white walls. Cold floors. Desolate hallways.
The clean scent of St. Dominic's Hospital assaulted Alex's nose. In the background, the three K-Unit members chatted quietly. But, in the space Alex occupied, there was nothing except silent thoughts of life and death-of beginnings, middles, and ends.
Steady lights illuminated his tense posture, revealing a shadow of flickering emotion behind the façade of his composed features. Brown eyes scanned the corridor. Near the ceiling, a round faced clock ticked unvaryingly, in time with his drumming heart. As he tread lightly across burnished linoleum-unconsciously yearning not to disrupt the ceaseless sterility of the building-his destination came into view.
A pair of guards defended the door to Jack Starbright's room. Walking past them, Alex felt an uncomfortable prickling at the nape of his neck. One of the guards-a well-built man with piercing eyes of blue-stared at him with an odd expression. Alex, feeling unnerved, sped past him and into the room. Understanding that the boy needed time alone, none of the SAS members deigned to follow.
The curtains were pulled shut, Alex noted with a frown. Quickly, he went to fling them open, exposing an expanse of sky that had once more yielded to rain. He sighed. Jack liked sunlight.
Arranged limply on the pillow, a halo of lank, red hair framed a face that was ashen as a white rose. Petal pink lips were parted just slightly; fragile skin and delicate limbs were weighed down by IVs and other medical contraptions. Beside the bed, gifts and cards piled up on the surface of a pale-wood stand. They were left unopened.
Alex dropped into a nearby chair, cradling his head in his hands. How he longed to dispel that blank mask over Jack's features. How he longed to be graced by her laughing face, bright and sincere as she biked down the open road without holding onto handlebars.
"I'm flying!" she'd sing.
But, as Alex knew all too well, those who could fly could also fall.
Softly, he cleared his throat, reaching forward to shake her shoulders gently.
"Jack."
A faint gasp. Sleepy eyes fluttered open to regard him with a tired look. Slowly but surely, a glow of delight diffused over her expression.
"...Alex! You came to visit me!" Weak and raspy from disuse, Jack's voice still managed to infuse the room with happiness.
"Indeed, I have." His raised eyebrows said Oh, really? I hadn't noticed, but his burgeoning smile said Of course, I came.
"How did you get here?"
"My temporary guardian." He didn't mention that the guardian had to coerce his friend into giving them a ride, that another friend of his guardian had tagged along, and that all three were waiting for him in the hallway. If he did, Jack would insist that they cut the meeting short-on the grounds of not wanting to impose on the good will of others.
"Did MI6 assign the guardian?" Jack was trying to sit up, but Alex's hands stayed her movements.
"Don't," he said, addressing her futile attempts. "You're still weak. And, yes, MI6 did assign the guardian."
"Oh, Alex." Her eyes shone with apology. "Is he an okay person?"
"Yes, he's pretty laid-back." Not about to inform Jack that Sebastian was also a member of his SAS unit, Alex changed the subject. "How are you?"
"I'm doing just fine, considering my current predicament. I can't wait to get out of here, though. Hospitals are so depressing."
Alex chuckled in agreement. "The doctor said that you should be released on Saturday. By that time, all of the effects of the poison should be gone from your system."
Making a face, Jack said, "I wish I had realized what had happened sooner. At first, I was just convinced that I had eaten some bad sushi."
"Jack." He fought to suppress the guilt. "It's not your fault. You shouldn't have to consider anything other than bad sushi." A sigh. "And it was mostly my fault, too."
"Don't start with that line of thinking, young man," admonished the American. "If it's not my fault, then it's not your fault either. Anyway, I'm planning to sue that restaurant."
Alex didn't know whether to laugh or to grimace. "Suing isn't the answer to everything, Jack."
"You're right. Suing is the question, and the answer is yes!" she defended fiercely.
This time, Alex actually did laugh. "You have to remember that the restaurant also wasn't at fault for poisoning you, either. SCORPIA was."
"Whatever, Alex." She had very expressive hands and, at the moment, they were flapping dismissively at him.
"What-ever," he imitated, copying her mannerisms exactly.
Giggling, she complained, "It's not fair that you can sound so American. I can't even mock you for butchering my accent."
It's not fair that honing my accent means the difference between life and death on missions. He averted his eyes, looking down at his lap and feeling guilty for almost saying those words. If he had, he knew he would have upset Jack very much.
"That's good. Adults are supposed to be mature."
"On the outside, I may be an adult. But, on the inside, I'm still very much a child." She winked at him. "So, how is school going?"
"Good."
"Keeping up in classes? Getting good grades?"
"If I weren't, do you think I'd tell you the truth?"
She laughed. "Good point." Then, abruptly, the sound changed from a laugh to a hacking cough. Like a sudden hurricane, it seized her by force and ravaged her body, leaving her weak and shaky. "Sorry," she finally managed, blinking watery eyes and running an unsteady hand through her hair.
"Don't be." He stood up. "I should leave you to rest."
With a sigh, she nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. I'll see you soon, though, right?"
"Of course," he assured.
They exchanged their goodbyes. He told her to get well soon. She said she would. On his way out, Alex heard her call out after him:
"Thanks for opening the curtains!"
A smile tugged at his lips, but the expression quickly dissipated when he stepped out of the room. Confused, he surveyed the scene. Sebastian and Gabriele were flushed, as though they had just engaged in a heated argument. A dangerous glint was flashing in the eyes of K-Unit's leader. Beside them, Aiden's face was masked by a cold, calculating stare. All three were gazing at the blue-eyed guard, who had made Alex feel discomfited earlier. The other guard was standing off to the side, attempting to ignore the proceedings.
"What's going on here?" he heard himself asking.
"Henderson here was just explaining some pretty interesting lies to us." Gabriele's arms were folded, a subconscious gesture of defiance.
At the same time, the blue-eyed man-Henderson-spoke, "Ah, speak of the devil." A feral smile accompanied bitter words.
Stay calm.
Don't jump to conclusions.
"And... What has he been saying?" asked Alex quietly, sounding much more relaxed than he felt.
"Oh, I've just been wondering why MI6 would waste so much manpower-" Henderson indicated at himself and his fellow guard. "-on a traitor like you."
Silence. Then, "...Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said," spat the man. "I was there the night that you shot the Deputy Head of MI6 for SCORPIA. In fact, I was the first person in the room after you pulled the trigger."
Realization-harsh and unpleasant-dawned upon Alex. Henderson must have been one of the nameless guards that had taken him down on that fateful night so many months ago. Swiftly, a bout of unexpected fatigue weakened Alex's will to argue. The only indication of his emotions was a small frown.
"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" Henderson derided, his voice venomous as a black widow's poison.
Shaking his head softly, Alex turned and started down the hall. "I don't owe you any sort of explanation," he said as he glanced over his shoulder to check if his SAS teammates were following.
When they comprehended that he meant to leave, they accelerated to catch up with him. Closing his eyes momentarily, Alex could hear the echoing sounds of their purposeful steps. Expectant stares from all three men drilled into his back.
He couldn't deal with their inquires. Not now, at least.
"Please...don't," he requested, sighing. "Don't ask me anything yet."
Part Three
Their self-imposed silence lasted until they seated themselves into Aiden's car.
Gabriele was the first to speak; or, perhaps, growl would be a more suitable word. "Explain. Now." His tone left no room for negotiation.
Staring out the window into the darkening sky, Alex shifted in his spot. What was he supposed to say? he wondered. He didn't want to ask any of the others-didn't want to look at any of the others.
Finally, he said, "My uncle, Ian, died last year. I had always thought he was a banker..."
Gabriele made an impatient noise.
Alex continued, "MI6 told me differently. They asked for my help and, when I declined, made various threats." Unbidden, memories from that time whelmed. He had been so naïve, like a bright-eyed child in a mysterious land. "I had no choice but to work for them. First, they sent me to SAS training. Then, they sent me on missions."
"Is that how ye got shot?" Sebastian couldn't resist asking.
A wry smile twisted Alex's lips. "Not exactly. I'm getting there, though." Registering what he had just stated, Alex paused to think about what he really wanted to say. Censorship was a must, he knew. "I can't explain how much I hated the missions."
He didn't need to explain. The three men could hear the loathing in his voice-harboring so much resentment and bitterness. The wheels of Sebastian's memory churned, and he thought back to his younger brother, William. With Alex as a comparison, Sebastian realized William wasn't nearly as hardened as he could be. For that, the man was thankful.
"Sometimes, I'd run into Yassen Gregorovich. He had killed my uncle, I knew, and I was very resentful because of that."
There was a snort of laughter. Gabriele and Sebastian turned to glare at Aiden, but the latter was merely shaking his head. Alex still did not look at any of them.
"I thought Yassen would kill me too, and I was surprised when he said he would not. I found out the reason behind his motive at the end of my fourth mission. As he was dying on Air Force One, he told me that he had worked for SCORPIA with my father-"
At this point, Sebastian could not hold back a sharp intake of breath. Angry spots of color had manifested upon Gabriele's cheeks.
"-He also told me to look for them. Find SCORPIA, and you will find your destiny." A harsh laugh welled from Alex's chest. "And so, like the stupid kid I was, I went to find SCORPIA."
"And how did that work out for you?" Aiden asked sarcastically.
"Not very well." Alex sighed and looked at his hands. Some might say that he held destruction within them; others would claim that it was not destruction, but salvation. "They told me the same thing as Yassen-that my father had been a contract killer for them. They turned me against MI6 and started to train me as an assassin." Even if he wanted to, Alex wouldn't have been able to raise his eyes. He had no desire to see the expressions on his team members faces. Thus, he barreled on, "The first assignment they gave me was to kill my former employer. Mrs. Jones. Deputy Head of the Special Ops Division at MI6. Of course, by that time, MI6 had already learned of my betrayal. They were prepared."
Out of the corner of their eyes, Sebastian uneasily watched as Gabriele's level of ire built; the volatility of his unit's leader rivaled that of a nuclear reactor. Aiden, on the other hand, was unreadable. He kept his eyes firmly on the road.
"Well, I didn't kill Mrs. Jones. It's true that I pulled the trigger of my gun, but I was angling above her head. And I hadn't known that there was a transparent barrier between us. It shattered when the bullet hit, and alerted the guards to my actions. I suppose that man, Henderson, was one of the guards..." Sadness flickered across his face, like darkness eclipsing a moon. "I re-joined MI6. Obviously, SCORPIA wasn't too happy about my betrayal. They sent a sniper after me, and that's how I got shot."
Sebastian opened his mouth, then closed it when he could conjure no words. Like swiftly falling stars, silence descended upon his lips-accompanying the swirl of pity and relief that shot through his chest. There was also an emotion akin to disgust. No child deserved to suffer through the situations Alex had suffered through, after all. The fact that Alex had refrained from describing his missions was not lost on him either; Sebastian suspected that he would never be able to imagine nor understand the hardships Alex bore. Helplessness was subsequent to that realization. As a member of the elite SAS, he was unfamiliar with not being able to assist those who desperately needed help. He was unfamiliar with not being able to exercise valor.
So was Gabriele, though his reaction differed vastly from Sebastian's. Gabriele's dark eyes flashed even darker in response to Alex's admission, and his lips were parted, ready to unleash a piece of his mind-
But Aiden spoke first. "Rejoining MI6? How pathetically predictable."
"You. Just shut up and drive," Gabriele growled at the other man.
Alex sighed. "Gabe, I know you might be angry with me-"
Laughter, sharp and abrupt, halted the boy's words; Gabriele's tone was a mixture of outrage, shock, and incredulity. "Angry at you?"
Finally, the boy looked up. "You...aren't angry?"
Another bark of laughter. "Oh, I'm angry all right."
"...Then, who are you angry at?" Genuine confusion played across Alex's furrowed eyebrows.
Gabriele and Sebastian shared a look.
Releasing a disbelieving snort, Aiden groused under his breath, "If MI6 has stooped to the level of recruiting idiotic teenagers like you, someone should just shoot me now."
The other three ignored him.
Unconsciously baring his teeth, Gabriele said, "Obviously, I'm angry at MI6!" For a brief moment, Alex thought the man looked just as dangerous as his namesake did. "When you showed up at SAS training, I thought you were some sort of joke. But now I find out that you've been blackmailed to work for MI6 the whole time?"
"You saw me at Point Blank," muttered the boy, allowing a lock of hair to shield his eyes.
Gabriele merely shook his head. "I thought that was only a one time deal."
"Well..." What could Alex say to calm the man down? "It wasn't. But it's over now, and I'd prefer not to discuss this any further."
"What do ye mean by it's over?" Sebastian asked quietly.
Shrugging, Alex pushed a hand through his partly disheveled hair. "It's over-at least, until I become a legal adult and MI6 starts recruiting me again. The Prime Minister doesn't want me going on any more missions."
As the members of his unit digested the words, all was quiet. Alex sighed, then turned his head to peer out into the night. Overhead, the moon shown bright and white-a perfect disk of porcelain. Around it, the stars-a smattering of jewels scattered across the sky-glittered like sprightly dancers in flawless counterpart. Wistfully, he remembered a simpler time. Once, during a vacation in the Italian countryside, Ian and he had stayed up all night. Under the dark blanket of sky, his uncle had quietly pointed out the stars and their respective names. And Alex had nodded each time, with a smile that wrested words away from his lips.
"Aren't you angry?"
If Alex had not been so adept at controlling reactions, he would have jolted. Nevertheless, the unexpected question had caused his heart to skip. He glanced at the man who had spoken.
"Angry at what, Gabe?"
"MI6. Your enemies. The world."
"...Sometimes, I am. Especially when someone close to me gets hurt," Alex said honestly. "But most times, I'm just..." Struggling slightly, he searched for the right word to describe his feelings. "I'm tired. I want the past to stay in the past."
And, with a start, he realized it was the truth. Thinking back to the rage he had experienced in Sebastian's kitchen three nights ago, he decided he no longer wanted the world to burn.
Somewhere deep within his being, a black hole of hurt healed up. He felt calmer than he had in a very long time.
He was dreaming again.
A gun in his grasp; a target in his line of vision.
Damp hair framing her face, Mrs. Jones studied him with sad eyes. "This isn't what you want, Alex."
He glanced around the dim penthouse. It was clean, and almost completely impersonal. Mrs. Jones stood vulnerably in the center of the room, her silk bathrobe drawn about her susceptible form. Behind her, he could see a picture propped up on the mantle of her fireplace. The laughing faces of children stared back at him.
"You're right," he admitted quietly. "This isn't what I want."
Bang!
Alex's breath hitched as confusion coursed through his body. Surely, he had not pulled the trigger!
Lips parting in a silent expression of pain, her hands flew to clutch her stomach tightly. Suddenly, however, she was no longer sinking onto carpet but onto cold, gray pavement. Her hair wasn't dark and straight, but curly and a very familiar shade of red. Alex could see no bullet wound, but the woman was heaving breathlessly nonetheless.
"Jack!" He flew towards her-caught her as she collapsed onto the ground.
Frantically, he searched the vicinity: No cars, no pedestrians, not even a soul in the restaurant behind him. They were alone under the roiling storm clouds.
"A-Alex, everyth-thing w-will be...," she gasped and struggled, "ok-kay."
Then, all was silent except her pained whimpering, his quiet crying, and the heresy of the rain.
Much to Alex's relief, Aiden refrained from interrogating him on Thursday morning. Instead, the man pressed a small business card into his hands.
"An old acquaintance of mine runs a psychiatric practice not too far from here," said Aiden, not bothering to look at the boy. "You should visit him sometime."
"Um. Okay." Alex looked from the card to the man, slightly skeptical.
"He does a lot of work with soldiers who have just returned from the battle lines. He also understands the concept of confidentiality."
"Oh."
"So, will you see him?"
"Uh-"
Aiden fixed him with a piercing stare.
"-Yeah. Yeah, I'll see him," he agreed hastily.
Sharing his emotions with another person had never held appeal for him but, after much deliberation, he decided that recounting his experiences to a professional ear could prove to be helpful. Maybe he could try out a psychotherapist and see how things worked out. After all, he had never subscribed to the "woe is me", "let me wallow in my self-pity" line of thinking.
At school, the excitement of the year 10 students was tangible. It was hard to distinguish whether the boisterous buzz resided within the air or within the students. However, the cause was easily discerned. Exhilaration at the prospect of a field trip caused them all to laugh louder in conversations, pay less attention in lessons, and do less work in general.
Alex Rider, like always, was an exception to the rules.
Tom didn't understand.
"Why?" he asked; his eyes-like the eyes of the other students in the lunchroom-danced with an unconcealed delight. "Why aren't you excited like the rest of us?"
A shrug. "What's there to be excited about? We're going to a bank. Where they will talk to us about banking procedures and career options."
"But it still means we get to miss school," argued a boy at their same table-Peter, "Unlike you, the rest of us don't have the pleasure of skipping whenever we want to."
"I get sick a lot," Alex defended half-heartedly.
There was a collective snort of disbelief.
"That excuse is so old, Alex."
"You don't even believe it yourself. Do you honestly expect us to believe you?"
"Just tell us the truth, mate!"
"Yeah, we're your friends. We won't judge." James' smile was crooked. As an afterthought, he added, "Much."
"How incredibly reassuring." Assaulted by the torrent of cajolery, Alex tiredly rubbed his temples. "But, really, I do get sick." That wasn't a complete lie-everyone got sick once in a while.
Scoffs from all around.
Alex wasn't fighting a losing battle; he had already lost the battle.
A surprise awaited him when he arrived home. Detachedly, he wondered when he had started thinking of the flat as home. It would do him no good to become attached, after all. If Jack passed all of her medical exams, she would be released on Saturday-the day after tomorrow.
Returning to the house in Chelsea would be odd at first, he knew. The place would feel too large in comparison to Sebastian's flat.
And, presently, all of the members of K-Unit were squished within the aforesaid abode.
Including a dark-haired man that Alex had not seen since a desperate, suffocating time in Australia.
"Ben."
A beat of silence.
From behind Alex, Aiden appraised the scene with one eyebrow arched speculatively. In astonishment, Sebastian and Gabriele's jaws had unhinged. They looked back and forth between Alex's curious expression and Ben's sheepish smile.
"How did you know his name?" Gabriele blurted.
Alex cocked his head to the side, studying his fellow MI6 agent. With his robust blush and easygoing demeanor, Ben appeared much healthier than the last time they had met-i.e. not shot.
"You haven't told them yet?" the boy asked, directing his words over the heads of the other SAS members.
Sofa springs creaked as Ben shifted uneasily, the sound turning their situation from silent to almost-silent-which was just as, if not more, awkward. Beside him, Gabriele was still staring and, across from them in a chair, Sebastian's face was also possessed by a similar shock.
"Er." Ben shrugged. "No."
"Oh." Alex felt rather as if he were a specimen under a microscope and, for a person who disliked attention as much as he did, the experience was not pleasant in the least. "Fair enough. ‘S'not like MI6 would approve."
"Yeah."
"...Um. How's your shoulder?"
"Fine." Aware of his ex-teammates' careful scrutiny, Ben felt unable to do more than continue with the stilted line of conversation. "The surgeons removed the bullet without any complications. I've got nothing but a scar, now."
"That's...great. I never did get a chance to apologize about what happened with my godfather, you know."
"S'okay. You can't choose your family, after all."
"-Wait, what's this about yer godfather, Alex?" Finally, Sebastian had regained his speech faculties.
And, with that, most of the tension diffused out of the room.
"My godfather-" Gesturing vaguely, Alex grasped at how to continue. "He-uh-well, when I first met him, I thought he worked for the ASIS. Turned out that he actually worked for SCORPIA."
Gabriele-eyes wide, voice half-strangled-said, "You have one fucked up family, Alex."
This time, Sebastian didn't even bother to admonish Gabriele's language.
Alex released a low, humorless laugh, "I had a family. Don't have one anymore."
"What do ye call us, then?" asked Sebastian, who had suddenly shot to his feet. He was motioning about the room with a sure hand, firm in his convictions.
Alex blinked, then looked around the cramped sitting room. Surely, one of the K-Unit would protest Sebastian's outlandish statement? But, as the silence stretched on, none of them did. Not even Aiden.
"Teammates?" the boy said at last.
There was something unusually warm in Gabriele's gaze. "Your teammates are your family."
The words-said with so much confidence, so much finality-caused Alex's heart to lurch unexpectedly. As a young child playing in the park, he had looked upon large family gatherings with an indescribable envy and longing. Of course, Ian-observant, intelligent Ian-would always take notice and distract him, ruffling his hair warmly like a summer wind ruffling leaves. In later years, when Alex had learned to swallow the disappointment of not having a doting mother or a proud father, Ian was stolen away from him by death.
And, in a similar way, Alex's life had been stolen away as well.
Now, in this odd existence, perhaps he could accept the odd substitutes that claimed to be family? K-Unit certainly couldn't be any more dysfunctional than the family Alex had already met.
"Yeah," he said, a slow smile spreading over his face. "I guess you're right."
Lloyds TSB
Beside the carved words, there was a square sign secured to the beige, stone overhang. Driving around in London, Alex had become very familiar with this particular insignia. The bottom half was grass green, the top half was sky blue, and bisecting the two portions was a black horse in the midst of rearing its proud head.
Around him, twenty-four of his classmates swarmed eagerly into the bank, none of them taking the time to study their surroundings like him. The woman who greeted them was dressed in a tailored jacket, a smart skirt, and clacking heels. Her nametag proclaimed her to be "Andrea", and she looked both frazzled and exhausted. Alex sympathized with her. Approximately two hundred Year 10 students attended Brookland School and, today, they had been separated into eight groups in order to stagger their visiting times. Alex's group was the last of the day.
"All of them are present?" he heard Andrea ask their head chaperon, Mr. Bates.
Mr. Bates nodded.
"All right." Andrea raised her voice, allowing it to ring over the racket of the students, "Please come this way!"
The customer lines within the bank were not very long, and the group of teenagers skirted easily around them. Alex stayed in the back, walking alongside Tom.
Tom's excitement had long since subsided-largely due to the fact that they were only missing one hour of school for a trip to a bank that oozed nothing but the ordinary. The walls were an unobtrusive cream, and the marble floor was a warm hue of peach. Tellers worked at the front, as uniformed as the large, potted plants arranged at decisive intervals on the floor.
Andrea was saying something about client services, but neither boy was paying much attention. Tom was experimenting with ways to listen to music without being noticed; Alex was trying and failing to oppress the overwhelming urge to get out. Uneasily, he ascribed the anxious feelings as a result of his setting. He'd never liked banks, and he'd never liked what could take place in banks.
Long-suffering, Alex's gaze had wandered toward the large windows along the exterior wall of the building. The world outside was framed in gray clouds, gray buildings, and gray pavement. The streets were mostly empty except...
Alex frowned, swiveling subtly to get a better angle on what he was seeing:
A clump of five men, all dressed casually. Tension prevailed in their movements, partially obscured by the large, dark jackets that each of them wore.
When he noticed that each jacket was identical-bulky, generic, and easy to hide things in-Alex's frown became more pronounced.
"Hey, Alex," Tom said, noticing his expression. "Something wrong?"
The other teen's eyes snapped toward his friend. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, no doubt clutching his iPod, Tom peered at him with one eyebrow arched.
"Um-" Alex wasn't sure what to say. He didn't want to worry his friend but, at the same time, he didn't want to lie. His instincts always proved to be too accurate for comfort and, right now, they were screaming about the suspicion that the group of men posed. "Do you see those people out there?"
Cocking his head to the side, Tom asked, "What people?"
"The ones over-" Turning back to the scene outside, Alex paused. The men were no longer in view, and alarm bells had started ululating in his mind.
"Boys! Please stick with the group!" Andrea had noticed them lagging; her folded arms testified to impatience.
Reluctantly tearing his eyes away from the windows, Alex opened his mouth to apologize politely, "Sorry, we were jus-"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A rapid succession of gunshots.
A series of panicked shouts and shrieks.
A rough command, issued by a masked man, "Everybody, down on the floor!"
And Alex cursed the accuracy of his instincts.
Hesitation chased away by fear, Tom had dropped to the cool, marble floor, dragging Alex with him. The screams faded, like echoes after a brutal battlefield fight, and Alex quickly took inventory of the situation.
While most of the actual customers had fallen toward the center of the room, the teenagers had scattered toward the edges. Some of the wiser ones had ducked behind potted floral displays. Fear evident in their eyes, the hostages peered up helplessly at the men.
In addition to their coordinated jackets, the five were also wearing black masks now. Each one of them wielded guns, but only two of them toted voluminous sacks. The man who had spoken was most likely their leader, and he brandished two weapons instead of one.
With quick motions, they had fanned out around the room. A squat brunet was tasked with shutting the curtains and locking the entrance, while a second man forced the tellers out from behind their work areas. At the same time, a taller blond shot the two bank security guards in the arms, effectively incapacitating them.
Said action caused a cacophonous cocktail of winces, outraged cries, and pained yelps. Grimly, Alex determined that these men were not afraid to use violence.
If the situation were any less dire, he would have laughed at how Hollywood-esque the state of affairs was becoming. Most real-life robberies took the form of "note jobs", Alex knew. The criminal would walk in, pass a note to the teller informing him that a robbery was taking place, and then walk out with the money minutes later. If all went well, none of the other patrons would even know that a robbery was taking place.
So, these men were either complete amateurs or unrivaled professionals.
"In case you haven't figured out by now, this is a hostage situation." From the leader's voice-rough as his coarse, sandy hair-Alex deduced that he probably smoked more than was advisable. "All of you, stay on the ground. Joey, here-" He gestured toward a redhead who was most likely not named Joey. "-will come around for your electronic devices. If you value your life, you'll do as you're told."
The leader sounded educated. That was good for the robbers, but bad for the hostages. When he finished speaking, Joey began to comb through the people, holding out a sack for phones. All eyes had turned onto him.
Out of the corner of his vision, Alex noticed a more subtle movement. Taking advantage of everyone's distracted state, a teller in her late twenties had inched an arm behind her counter. Alex couldn't see what she was doing, but he hoped dearly that the woman was activating some sort of silent alarm.
Not that it mattered. He, too, planned to alert the authorities.
But he'd do so later, he coached himself calmly. It was all about timing.
At the front of the room, the lead robber was requesting for the bank manager to announce himself. Reluctantly, a suited, balding man stood up.
"I'm the bank manager," he croaked, nervously dusting at his jacket.
And then a pair of jean-clad legs blocked Alex's view of the scene. The boy looked up to see a pair of sneering, green eyes stare back at him.
Nonverbally demanding their compliance, Joey shook the sack at Tom and Alex.
With a soft sigh, Tom reached into his pockets to retrieve his mobile and iPod. Carefully, Alex matched the movement a moment later-when Joey's attention had diverted to Tom. Three deft presses of the number "9" was followed by a quick "send". Then, imitating Tom's apprehensive demeanor, Alex tossed his phone into the sack with the screen facing downwards.
Having gained a small victory, Alex allowed himself an equally small, cold smile.
The redhead suspected nothing-he would never surmise that the boy's phone had a direct link with MI6.
As soon as he finished his undertaking, the robbers transitioned facilely into the next stage of their plans. By now, it was obvious that their heist had been carefully premeditated.
The leader, the other man who carried a sack, and Joey headed to the elevator, presumably leading to the floor where the bank's vaults were located. They were hauling the protesting bank manager and a whimpering teller behind them.
Just before disappearing through the door, Joey joked to the remaining two men, "Don't be scared to shoot 'em if they give you trouble," and Alex decided that he immensely disliked the man.
Now, only the squat brunet and the taller blond stood guard. They began to pace around the room, training both their eyes and their guns at the people on the floor. Some of the hostages stared back defiantly, but most had averted their eyes. The room descended into a tense silence, except for the quiet crying of one of Alex's female classmates.
It was time to do something, the boy thought somberly. Even if the police arrived, they would have no way to breech the entrance without some sort of a standoff. In addition to that, the injured security guards were bleeding heavily. Claret stains had blossomed over their shirts, and their hazy, fluttering eyes revealed acute pain. They needed medical help, and they needed it now.
Apparently, Mr. Bates thought so as well.
Clearing his throat to gain the attention of the two robbers, the school-hired chaperon affected a firm tone. "Excuse me, but those two men are losing a lot of blood. I'm a doctor, and I implore you to let me help them."
Squat Brunet exchanged a suspicious look with Tall Blond.
There was a pause. The room seemed to hold its breath in wait for their decision.
Finally, Tall Blond said, "Not a chance."
"Yeah, if they lose blood, then they lose blood," Squat Brunet added dispassionately.
As one, the occupants in the room seemed to deflate. Several outraged people looked as if they were about to protest, but Alex beat them to it-
"Hey, you!"
Squat Brunet and Tall Blond spun around to eye him with disdain. They weren't the only ones who had turned their gazes to Alex, though. Shaking their heads, several of the adults tried frantically to convey a message of "Stop! Are you suicidal?" at him. Many of his classmates were regarding him with wide-eyed disbelief, appearing anxious and somewhat annoyed.
"What?" Irritated, Squat Brunet picked his way through the hostages until he was standing in front of Alex.
And that's when Alex decided to act.
Springing up, he directed an elbow into the man's stomach, and then a fist into his chin. Surprised, Squat Brunet went reeling backwards. Invariably, the grip on his gun loosened, and Alex swiftly tore the weapon away. He made a quick job of hooking the man's knee with his leg, sending him tumbling to the hard, unforgiving floor. A foot to the temple resulted in instant unconsciousness, and Alex turned his attention to Tall Blond.
Suddenly, Alex was no longer a hostage in a bank robbery.
He was a SCORPIA trainee in a lesson, expertly aiming his gun at the provided target-
Bang!
Bang!
And the target keeled over, an anguished expletive falling from his lips. Too preoccupied by his wounds, he allowed the gun to slip from his fingers. Just like his victims, he had also been shot in the arms.
Tom, who was still crouching on the floor, decided that his friend deserved a medal for irony.
Of course, the reactions of the other hostages differed vastly from Tom's. There was awe. There was fear. There was slack-jawed stupefaction. And then, there was a realization of newfound freedom. Under the kaleidoscopic chandelier lights, the hostages began to stir. Some eyed the elevator doors concernedly, almost as if they expected the other three robbers to appear. Others continued to stare at Alex.
With a practiced nonchalance, Alex pretended not to notice.
Instead, he moved through the rousing masses and concentrated on kicking the discarded gun out of Tall Blond's reach. Swearing fluently, Tall Blond tilted his head up to see a lithe figure looming over him. The figure held a gun.
"What's your name?" Though Alex's voice was soft, it carried through the room nonetheless.
People craned their necks to catch a glimpse of what was happening. Tall Blond, having been effectively silenced by the gun held to his head, looked from the boy's face to the boy's weapon.
After a moment, he choked out, "Jason."
"All right, Jason." Alex adopted a perfectly reasonable tone, as if they were merely having a chat about the weather. The effect was unnerving. "How much time will we have before your partners return?"
Jason's lips parted, seeming ready to answer. But then, his eyes flickered. A determined expression passed over his features, and he shut his mouth again.
Realizing that the man did not plan to cooperation, Alex felt a tired disappointment wash over him. He tilted the gun at a spot near Jason's foot.
Bang! Bang!
Screams.
Then silence.
"I asked: How much time will we have before your partners return?"
A cough. A pained assent. "At least five more minutes." Jason's gaze remained fixed on the spot where the bullets had landed, just inches away from his vulnerable flesh.
Alex nodded, before turning to the gaping tellers. "Someone should go unlock the doors for the authorities."