AN-...forgive me. I simply could not help myself. *scratches head in embarrassment* Anyway, if you love cute, butt kicking, the thought of meeting a teenage K-Unit, tiny Alex and drama and tense situations, you've come to the right place! Lemme see, right, before we get started, Alex is younger (obviously) and, well, will be kicking butt, but not in the same way as usual, obviously, Anyway, anyway. You'll find out when it comes to it! Here we go, then!
Whispering voices in a graveyard, speaking softly over the monotonous voice of the vicar. A nudge into a fellow mourners name. "Look over there, that's Ian's nephew,"
A head twisted round to gaze in the direction of the nod. A low whistle left lips. "Seriously? Wow. He's tiny." a pause, hesitant, examining the child. "How old is he?"
"Just turned five, last I heard. Ian never really talked about him much, but he did happen to mention that." a humourless snort, back to watching the vicar now. (When would this service end?)
"Poor thing, he's all alone now." more sympathy than empathy in the voice. Detached mourners. They had only worked with Ian twice.
"Yeah, well, something will get figured out. Shh! I think he's finally finishing!" shiny shoes against damp grass.
Alex stared numbly at the coffin that he had been told held his uncle.
Death.
"I'm sorry, Alex, uncle Ian's not coming back anymore,"
Slowly, Alex put down his toy car and looked up, forcing the policeman to meet his eyes with all of that kindness that Alex sometimes struggled so much to comprehend."Where is he?" the red car was clutched a little too tightly in his hand.
The policeman hadn't smiled, but had placed one hand carefully against Alex's shoulder, as if he was expecting the child to turn into a balloon and float up into the ceiling. "There was an accident," he was speaking too slowly, pronouncing everything so gently. Alex wished he would stop. He wanted to be spoken to like a grown-up; spoken to the way Ian always spoke to him- cool sylabbles and hard facts. But he was speaking again and Alex forced himself to listen. "I'm so sorry, Alex, your uncle didn't survive. He's sleeping now,"
Alex blinked, rolling the car gently over the floor, feeling the vibrations of the plastic wheels moving up his arm. He wondered if the policeman felt the vibrations through the shoulder he still had a hand on. "Sleeping?" he had frowned, eyebrows crumpling. "Is he dead?"
The policeman had paused and then, softly, softly, like a falling snowflake, pressed a hand on the crown of his head. "Yes. I'm sorry, Alex," there was an expectant pause.
Alex stared at him, trying very hard to process what he'd been told. He was good at thinking quickly, Ian often said. It was one of his talents that he would be able to use in the future.
Dead.
It was something Ian had often tried to explain, the concept of death. A sleep that you couldn't be woken out of. The end. A full-stop. A red light. Death. But Alex (it wasn't because he was little, it was just because he didn't understand) was still struggling to grasp the concept. Was this some sort of test? Was Ian trying to teach him in his weird sort of way what death was?
Because he still didn't get it.
"Oh," he stared at the small red car in his hand.
He got that death meant that they wouldn't be coming home anymore. That you'd never get to see them anymore. Smell them. Touch them. Laugh with them (not that he did much with Ian). Grow with them.
Death.
"Oh," he repeated again, struggling to find something else to say.
The policeman was still crouched quietly.
Alex wished he'd say something. He certainly didn't know what to say. Absently, he curled his fingers around his car again, thoughts straining against an odd sort of feeling in his chest- almost like a plug against something heavy and hot and cold and light, breathless and drowning. He frowned again. He'd never been good with emotions and how to deal with them.
But he was good at other things. Like solutions and answers.
The worrying emotion he was feeling could be dealt with later. "What's going to happen to me?"
The hand on his head was smoothing down his hair, a foreign gesture that he had only experienced very few times in his life. "We're going to pack some of your clothes, and then we'll all go to a nice place to sleep. We'll figure everything out after that, OK?"
Alex nodded, allowing the man to take his hand.
Without any conscious thought, his eyes dropped onto the car still clutched in his cold hand. Words bubbled out of his mouth before he could help it. "Can I take my car with me?"
The policeman had looked down at the small toy, and Alex had watched as soft understanding filled his eyes. "Of course you can, son,"
The understanding had been baffling, especially since he was unsure as to what there should be understanding about. It wasn't as if he had meant to say the words- as if there'd been some sort of bigger meaning behind them, he just...wanted to take the car with him. It had been a present. From Ian.
Alex focussed back in as the vicar finished his speech. He'd used big words in his speech, a word like "patriotic".
He mouthed it under his breath now, clutching at his bundle of flowers.
He was sure he'd heard it before. The word. Hadn't Ian once explained-
"Do you want to put the flowers on the coffin, sweetie?"
Alex looked up quickly at the voice.
It was the woman who had taken him here.
He didn't know who she was; in fact, Alex didn't know who any of these people were. The people who surrounded his sleeping uncle's final resting place were all faceless mourners, strangers all dressed in black. Alex tightened his grip around the flowers. He didn't like it. It was like...like...his brow furrowed as he tried to think of an example. Like being surrounded by strangers who were telling you that they all knew one of your secrets.
It made him feel vulnerable.
It made him feel weak.
It made him feel little.
Alex hated to feel little.
"OK," he murmured, and took a step forward.
Eyes suddenly snapped onto him.
Ignore them, ignore them. He knew he was probably crushing the flowers in his hands now (why did he have to give Ian flowers? Ian had never been keen on flowers when he was alive; why now, when he was dead?), tension making his grip harsher than it needed to be.
Footsteps careful and slow, Alex finally made his way to the sleek coffin and deposited his flowers onto it. No flicker of emotion. Just flowers down and back to where he stood, hands now behind his back, posture straight.
(Ian sometimes, in very rare bouts of sentimentality, liked to call him "my little soldier")
Finally, the service was done and Alex was left standing with that weepy woman (who insisted on holding his hand) next to him, through her sniffles telling him that everything was going to be OK, and he was going to be safe.
Wide brown eyes moved up to peer curiously at her, the lady crushing a tissue into her nose, her face splotchy and pink, eyes all glittering and wet.
He wondered whether she'd been hired.
Ian had told him once about that, people who hired people called "mourners". They'd come to a funeral and wail and sob loudly, lamenting and expressing their "grief" and "sorrow" over such a tragic death, and then they'd leave and get paid.
Maybe she was one.
A chocolate penny.
A fake mourner.
"You're such a good boy, Alex," she dragged out a tissue and started rubbing his nose with it, tugging him closer as he tried to pull away from the offending item, frowning and pushing at her. He didn't need his nose wiping! "Just like your uncle," she sniffed, pulling a watery smile.
Patriotic.
"Patriotic" the vicar had said.
Alex still didn't know what it meant.
"Stop it," he tried to order as the woman instructed him to blow into the tissue. He grasped her wrists. "Stop it!"
"Mrs Honey, I think he's had enough, don't you?"
The voice was sudden, but Alex was grateful at the speedy retreat of the fussy hand and tissue. Clapping both hands over his nose and glaring at the woman, he looked up at who had spoken.
Some sort of cold dread coiled in the pit of Alex's stomach.
He took a wary step back.
"Now, now," Mrs Honey fussed, gripping his hand and pulling him stumbling forward. "Don't be rude," she chided in her ringing falsetto (false. Fake mourner) voice. "This is your uncle's boss- Mr Blunt."
Grey lips quirked at him, grey eyes pinned him into his spot and the man stood still, his hands behind his back and something cold in the air around him- like when Alex had put his hand in the freezer. "Hello, Alex. I've heard a lot about you,"
Alex still felt weirdly cold. He didn't like it. Glancing to the side, he looked back up at the man, and found words leaving his mouth in a burst of fear led impulse."I haven't heard anything about you," he blurted out.
"Alex!" Mrs Honey said, shocked. "Don't be so naughty! Say sorry."
He looked away from the still smiling (except it wasn't a smile) man quickly, Mrs Honey slapping the back of his legs lightly as he scowled away from him, curling the fingers that weren't being held into a small fist. He didn't like this man. He wanted to go home.
"Alex," Mrs Honey warned.
He clenched his jaw mulishly. "No," he muttered. "I don't like him,"
Mrs Honey seemed to inflate next to him, her face turning another shade of pink before the man held out one hand, silencing her obvious oncoming of scolding and threats. (Alex didn't even know the lady. She couldn't tell him off!)
"That's quite alright, Mrs Honey." his voice was both smooth and toneless. Like the grey of dawn, a smudge of colourness against the tops of the trees, silent, watching and telling nothing as to the time of day or what weather was to come bounding along the horizon. "Thank you for bringing him here,"
"That's quite alright," she sounded flustered, tightening her grip on Alex's hand as he tried to tug away. "He's no trouble,"
Alex scowled. He hated it when grown-ups talked about him like he wasn't even there.
"Of course, of course," Mr Blunt said, and two other men appeared behind him.
Alex stared at them warily, the wailing feeling in the pit of his stomach growing. He didn't like this.
"Say goodbye to Mrs Honey, Alex," Mr Blunt was talking to him again; mouth barely moving but eyes seeing everything.
"Why?" he asked quickly. "Where's she going?"
"Oh, Alex," Mrs Honey cooed, bending down and pecking one of his cheeks with lipstick smeared lips, and then swiping away the rouge evidence with a rough swipe of her thumb. "Mr Blunt is going to help look after you from now on. Isn't that nice?"
Alex's mind spun.
No, no it wasn't nice.
His heart was thumping wildly in his chest. He didn't want to go with this stone man!
But Mrs Honey was straightening up! She was going to leave him with the man and his two mean faced friends! Thinking fast, Alex hiccuped.
Eyes swung down onto him.
(Make it convincing...) It wasn't hard, not really. He was already wound up and (not) frightened and out of his depth. Faking tears came easily to him. Hiccuping again, Alex's wide and deep brown eyes filled with tears, his mouth shivering against his face, golden brow crumpling and chest heaving as he sucked in squeaking and trembling breaths. "No," he moaned, hands reaching out to Mrs Honey, huge tears welling in his eyes and finally tipping over his long and bronze lashes and down childish cheeks. "No! I don't wanna go!" a small cry left his mouth.
"Oh, Alex," as expected, Mrs Honey was completely enamoured by the act and knelt down, sweeping him up in a flower smelling embrace and hugging him a little too tightly to her ample chest. "You poor dear!" she cried, smothering his head in kisses.
Alex thought it was safe to chance a peek at Mr Blunt, just to see whether it had worked on him, too.
It hadn't.
If anything, he looked amused by the little display, watching Alex with something close to interest in his eyes.
Ducking his head, he buried his face back into Mrs Honey's shoulder and this time, the panicked little sob that left his mouth wasn't all that faked.
"Alright, Mrs Honey. If you could just hand Alex over to Johnson,"
Alex kept his head buried even as the voices continued talking, the sound of footsteps on wet grass reaching his ears.
"Oh, but he sounds so sad!" Mrs Honey was faffing again, but Alex found he didn't care, praying that she would be able to stop Mr Blunt.
He should have known better, really.
"He'll be fine. It's been a long day. The sooner I can get him back, the sooner he can have a nap and relieve all of his stress,"
Mrs Honey paused.
Come on, he thought, fingers digging into her soft shoulders. Don't give in!
"Well..." she sounded hesitant, bumping him up and down in her arms. "If you say so..."
Alex's eyes widened against her shoulder. Wait a minu-!
Hands were suddenly prising him off of her.
Never the one to give up, he battled against the hands, managing to twist his head and bite one hard enough to taste blood in his mouth. But Mrs Honey was helping them now, cooing at him and pulling him away from her warm embrace and it wasn't long before he was dangling from someone else's hands, kicking his feet in the air and giving one last attempt to try and get Mrs Honey to change her mind.
"Don't be silly now, Alex," Mr Blunt said, moving past him as he struggled in the arms of the (guard? Was that it) man who held him too tight. "Say 'goodbye, Mrs Honey',"
Grunting, Alex kicked out again, trying to free himself.
"Goodbye, Alex," Mrs Honey called as he was carried away. "Be a good boy, now!"
Alex redoubled his efforts once he saw he was being carried to a car.
Never in his whole life had he ever felt so helpless. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.
He kept the tears coming, hoping that the sight of them might soften Mrs Honey enough to send her running back to them and yank them off of him.
Instead, the car door opened and he was pushed inside.
He immediately dived back towards the door.
A hand pulled him back sharply, more doors clicked shut, and suddenly the engine had purred into life.
Blankly, Alex stared out of the moving car's window.
"No more tears?" Mr Blunt asked from beside him, already clipped in with his own seatbelt.
Alex glared at him, pretenses gone as the man who had pushed him into the car was now working on strapping him into an uncomfortable child seat. "I don't know who you are," he said boldly, wincing as the final strap was clicked in.
Mr Blunt's eyebrows raised. "I was your uncle's boss. I believe you've already been told that,"
Scowling, feeling vulnerable strapped into the blue seat, Alex struggled to straighten up and assert himself like Ian had told him he sometimes needed to do if he was ever in trouble. "You don't look like a bank manager," he said loudly, lips turned down.
Mr Blunt stared at him until Alex began feeling uncomfortable, his eyes wanting to drop down to stare at his knees. But he didn't let them. This man couldn't just take him from his uncle's funeral and expect him to sit quiet and still!
Finally, Mr Blunt's lips moved, a shadow of a smile. "And you don't act like a five year old,"
"I'll be six soon," he said instinctively, and then did look away this time.
"You turned five three days ago,"
Alex turned and looked at him sharply. "How did you know that?" he asked suspiciously, fingers digging into the car seat.
Mr Blunt looked to be ignoring him, but he did answer nonetheless. "Ian happened to mention it to me,"
Alex paused, and then lowered his head, chewing on the inside of his mouth. "Oh," he said quietly. There was a lengthier pause, full of the sound of the engine humming tunelessly through the car, and then Alex spoke again, softly. "What's going to happen to me now?" he forced his eyes to concentrate on a bit of loose thread on the chair, pulling at it and twisting it around his small fingers.
He could feel Mr Blunt's eyes on the back of his head, but still, he didn't turn around.
Finally, his voice filled the quiet of the car. "As said before; you are under our guardianship, now. Everything has been sorted out."
"Guardianship", Alex couldn't help but notice, sounded awfully cold. He wasn't really, really sure on what it meant, but it definitely didn't sound very friendly. He also wanted to know who the "our" involved, but found he was too sleepy to be bothered to open his mouth- sure that if he did, even that would sap his energy.
Instead, he settled for a drowsy nod and focussed on staying awake to the best of his ability.
"You should have slept," Mr Blunt said as he was led through the cool halls of somewhere called the Royal and General Bank. Where his uncle worked, apparently.
"Not tired," he muttered, concentrating hard on picking his feet off of the ground.
"You need to work on your lying, Alex,"
Struggling to rid himself of the fogginess of sleep, he managed to squint up at him. That was a very Ian like thing to say.
If Mr Blunt noticed Alex's unrestrained staring, he didn't say anything, and soon, followed by the two silent guards, they were outside a door.
Mr Blunt simply pushed the door open and Alex, after hovering a little, decided to follow after him.
The room was simply that. A room. There was a desk in the centre, dark wood that shone in the bright glow of the room, chairs standing behind it like straight backed guards, and there were bookcases against the wall, a filing cabinet...and that was all.
It was a bland, emotionless and dull room.
"Nice room," Alex lied.
"Better," Mr Blunt responded, moving to the desk and sitting down at it. He waved his hand for some reason, but, at the sound of a shutting door, Alex guessed that he was signalling the guards away.
"This is Alex Rider?"
Turning quickly, Alex saw another new face of the day. As discreetly as he could, Alex examined the woman as she gazed almost blankly down at him from heavy eyes. She wasn't what Alex would call a pretty woman- she seemed to carry all thick lines about her- like a drawing done in a big black felt tip, round face, clothes that hung rather than fit, and her hair tied harshly back and away from her dark face. But there was something about her, Alex found, and set about trying to work out what it was. She smelt a little like talcum powder and cookies if he tried really hard. Like...a little like...he frowned.
"Are you a mummy?" he asked inquisitively.
The woman, who had been looking at him before, suddenly seemed to focus in on him a lot more now.
Unnerved at the wide stare, he shuffled his feet on the carpet, wondering if he had said the wrong thing.
Somewhere behind him, Mr Blunt let out a small sound, a breathy little laugh. "Yes, Mrs Jones. This is Alex Rider,"
Mrs Jones' eyes flickered from Alex to Mr Blunt and then back again. Something softened slightly in her eyes and her lips smiled briefly. "Nice to meet you, Alex," she stretched out a hand.
Feeling a little less frightened now that that cold and calculating look had left her eyes, he bravely reached out and took her hand. "You didn't answer my question," he said, a hint of a demand colouring his word in crayon red.
Mrs Jones' lips pulled up even more at that comment. "Stubborn, aren't you?"
"No I'm not," he huffed indignantly, his eyes going round and wide at the insult of her comment.
"Come now," Mr Blunt ordered from behind them.
Nodding, Mrs Jones ushered Alex towards the desk and helped him up onto the chair in front of it, propping him up with some pillows so he could see over the rich wood.
That done, the lady went and sat next to Mr Blunt.
"Why am I here?" Alex decided to ask first as the silence stretched.
Alex stiffened as Mr Blunt's hands clasped in front of him on the desk, his face a cool mask of indifference even as he watched Alex. "Ian Rider's death was a tragedy. Unexpected, completely. Now, Alex, when someone dies, they leave behind a will,"
Alex listened intently. They way Mr Blunt spoke was as if each word was costing him something precious, and he knew that there was no way the man would repeat it again. Listening, doing his best to try and make sense of the bigger words used, he wasn't aware of the almost eerie way he sat and listened- still, unblinking and eyes fixed only on Mr Blunt.
"In this will, he stated that the guardianship, or, who's going to look after you, would be us, Alex. Ian left you over to the Royal and General bank until you're old enough to look after yourself. Do you understand?"
Did he understand?
Alex finally broke his frozen stare and blinked down at his small hands.
"You mean I'm too little to be alone," he said slowly, quietly, unhappily. "I get it, but I don't want to-" he struggled to find the words. "I don't want to- to stay here." he finally managed to get out, unsure whether the words made sense.
Mr Blunt quirked one eyebrow at him, the fingers that wee clasped around his hands drumming now against each other. "You dislike the arrangement?"
Alex stared at him.
"He means you don't like what you've been told," Mrs Jones broke in softly as Alex's bewildered staring went on longer.
His face flushed, filing the word away to use himself later. "I knew that," he grumbled, kicking out his legs. "Yeah, I dislike the arranement."
"Arrangement," Mrs Jones corrected.
"Arrangement," for some ridiculous reason, Alex felt the sting of tears as they sprang to his eyes. Biting the inside of his mouth hard to keep them down ("don't cry now. You're a big boy,") he looked firmly down at his hands. There was no reason to cry. Sure, he was tired, but Mrs Jones had only corrected him on something. The burning sensation continued, that weird emptiness and heaviness suddenly returning to his centre chest. "I don't like it," he muttered, his voice more thick than usual.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Alex," Mr Blunt said smoothly. He didn't sound sorry at all. "But it's better than sleeping on the streets or some orphanage somewhere. Or...would you perhaps prefer that?"
Alex looked up sharply, gazing at Mr Blunt to see if he was serious. "No!" he said quickly. Sleeping in the orphanage once had been enough. "No," he said quieter.
Mr Blunt nodded sagely, the hardness that had invaded his eyes gone like a shadowy conqueror. "Very well. Then, Alex, there will be rules you have to follow from now on,"
"Don't wanna," he mumbled ("speak up, Alex,").
Mr Blunt carried on speaking like he hadn't heard him. "Ian had you going to karate classes, yes? Well, you shall be carrying that tutorship on in the Royal and General as well as your swimming and scuba lessons as well as rock climbing. The older you get, we'll begin with other forms of physical and mental exercise. But for now, we want you to focus on those as well as your academic growth."
The words were all jumbling together. A mess of string that he was finding hard to pry apart and make sense of.
But before he could try, Mr Blunt was asking him again: "Do you understand?"
And because he didn't understand, he said: "Yeah," quietly, tired and trying to concentrate and the word "patriotic" kept going round and round in his head as well as "arrangement" and "academic" and "focus". He felt once again the stifling want to cry. But big boys didn't cry. Little soldiers didn't cry.
Not for no reason, anyway.
And he had no reason to cry.
(no reason to cry)
Mrs Jones looked at the boy beyond the desk, sat propped up on all of those old fashioned looking cushions, the shine of tears visible in his eyes. He looked completely worn, she realised with a sense of illness that she knew as the recently appointed deputy she shouldn't be feeling. But she was feeling it. Feeling it as he reached up to rub at his cheek with one lightly shaking fist, his mouth tightening as if he was physically holding back a sob. Sat there in his black shorts, white socks, shiny shoes and little suit and black tie pin, he looked more like a miniature and weary agent against the cold backdrop of the MI6 office. It wasn't fair. It was slightly sick to haul a little boy away from his only living relatives funeral and then tell him his new routine as if he hadn't just suffered a huge tragedy in his life.
And the fact that Alex was sat there dry faced was somehow even worse.
It brought to mind the thought of her little boys; older than Alex, but they had been that small once.
Small but protected by their mother.
Alex sat small and protected by no one other than a memory of an uncle who was never quite as caring as he should have been.
"We have found a guardian who has agreed to looking after you from now on."
Mrs Jones was brought back to the present, and glanced at Mr Blunt. That was the first she'd heard of that.
He was gazing at Alex who looked more and more like he wanted to curl up and make them all go away. "His name is Forest Elmer and from now on, he'll be your guardian,"
Alex just stared at Mr Blunt.
"He's very nice," Mrs Jones knew it needed to be added, but at the foggy gaze that was fixed on her, she was uncertain whether it came just a little too late. "He has a boy who's older than you but is very friendly too. I'm sure they're both looking forward to meeting you." Mrs Jones forced herself not to meet the cool gaze that Mr Blunt was giving her. He was displeased with something she'd done, she knew it. Not great, to say this was only her fourth month on the job of being deputy.
"Yes," Mr Blunt said dryly. "Now, we need you to go and stand outside," the door opened, revealing a thin looking woman who seemed to be struggling at restraining a coo at the sight of Alex. "With Miss Lacey here until we call you back in and you can meet your new guardian. Miss Lacey," he ordered.
"Yes, sir," the young woman said quickly and gravitated towards Alex who looked up at her warily. She looked close to bursting point as she reached down and lifted the child up who was obviously not happy with the action. "Aren't you just adorable?" she cooed finally, cheeks pink as she exited the room with Alex in her arms.
The door clicked shut.
Mrs Jones stiffened.
Mr Blunt was giving her a silently and expressionlessly angry look.
"From now on, Mrs Jones," his voice was tight. "Rider will not be babied. If I knew that you being a mother was having such an effect of your conduct due to this-"
"It's not, sir," she broke in quickly.
Hard eyes drilled into her, but she stood her ground. "Let's hope not," his voice was quiet but sharp. "We are taking up Agent Rider's training now, molding him into a perfect child agent. We cannot afford to soften him by needless coddling and prattling on our part. Is that clearly understood, Mrs Jones?"
She tightened her lips minutely. "Yes, sir," she murmured, trying to crush down the image of her little boys to the best of her ability.
"Good," he said quietly. Mr Blunt gazed at her a while longer before he finally broke eye contact and reached out to press the intercom on his desk with one finger. "Send ex Agent Elmer in, please,"
After only a brief pause in which Mrs Jones concentrated fully on trying to stay professional in the face of this new challenge (if she'd known that this was going to happen...), the door clicked open and a dark faced man walked in.
He was ruggedly handsome, even as he dragged a weary hand down his yet unshaven face, his rich eyes turning to Mr Blunt and lingering on Mrs Jones- obviously curious as he hadn't met her before. When he was in service, it would have been someone else in her place. But not having to help create a child agent, she thought bitterly.
"Please, take a seat, Mr Elmer," Mr Blunt said, pointing at the chair that was still laden with cushions.
Forest Elmer's eyes narrowed at the sight of it, pulling to a stop as he examined all of the cushions. Mrs Jones watched in interest as horrified understanding flickered into his eyes and he straightened sharply. "No, sir," he said roughly, his hands flying behind his back as he stood straight, eyes burning back at Mr Blunt who watched him with almost detached amusement. "No."
"He's a clever child. Quiet," Mr Blunt said, his voice low.
"I have one son already," Forest shot back.
Mr Blunt's eyebrows raised in question. "We don't want him to become your son. We merely want to place him in a stable environment with another agent,"
"I gave up active service years ago now," he said tightly. "When I realised my wife was pregnant."
"Yes," the MI6 leader agreed, toying with a pencil on his desk. Mrs Jones wondered whether he was envisioning it as one of his agents. "Which is why you're the perfect candidate for the job. We want someone with years of good service behind them, but not on active duty. They need to be able to look after the child, after all."
"I'm sure there are other more willing candidates," Forest said, immovable in his stance.
"There will, of course, be extra pay,"
Forest's eyes hardened; he looked insulted, his hands tightening behind his back. "This isn't about the money," he near growled. "This is about a little orphan boy who needs a real family, not a fake one,"
Mr Blunt gazed at him in boredom. "You do realise, of course," the pencil clacked against the desk. "That I didn't need to ask you."
Forest's jaw clicked shut sharply.
"You will look after Alex Rider and you will follow my command on this. Alex Rider is from now on in our custody, but you will retain guardianship of him until we say otherwise. You are not to allow him to call you 'father' or 'uncle' or any other familial term. You are not to allow him to refer to your son as 'brother' or any other familial term. You are his guardians who work at a bank, any other information will not be divulged. Follow this and we'll all get along. You can continue working at the bank with extra pay, and Alex will be under our jurisdiction." the pencil rolled across the desk and Blunt caught it with a snap of his fingers. "Understood?"
That seemed to be the word of the day. Understand.
Forest did not look happy. Far from it, he looked repulsed by the idea. He was visibly straining with his anger at the words Mr Blunt had told him. "You want me to keep him as a pet," he practically spat out.
Mr Blunt stared at him. "If you're going to be crude about it," he said lightly. "Now, do you understand?"
Forest's jaw was clenching and unclenching but finally, he snapped his head down and growled to the carpet. "Understood. But I'm not happy about it," he added savagely.
Mr Blunt almost smiled. "Which is exactly why you were chosen,"
Before any of them had a chance to ponder over the words, Mr Blunt was calling Miss Lacey back into the room.
Forest's first impression of the boy was that he was small. Little. Like a tiny agent dressed in his suit and black tie, blond hair mussed and eyes gazing almost coolly back at Forest.
The breath left his chest at the force of the gaze.
"Alex," the way Mr Blunt spoke to him was too adult-like, too cold. "This is Forest Elmer, the man who we said would look after you." he turned to Forest and nodded, a silent reminder of what could happen if he ever broke any of the rules he'd placed out for the man. "You are dismissed. We'll see you both soon." and just like that, they were told to go.
Forest knew he couldn't do anything in this silent and cold office and so gestured to outside the door. "Come on, Alex," he said gently, aware of Mr Blunt analysing everything he did. "Let's go,"
Alex, being closer to the door, was the first one out of the room and into the hall.
As soon as they were out of the office, and the door shut, Forest blew out a huge and melodramatic sigh smiling down at the little boy who watched him (warily. Too old for his eyes). "Glad to be out of there, eh?"
Alex looked away from him, pulling at his tie.
His funeral outfit, Forest realised, a surge of anger filling his insides. How cruel was that? To take this little boy away from his uncle's funeral.
Feeling a sudden rush of empathy for the child, he knelt down next to him and placed a large hand on top of his head. "Everything's going to be OK, yeah? I'm going to look after you now," he said softly, feeling a thrum of hope when Alex's eyes turned to look at him. He looked completely worn out. "Want me to carry you?" he asked, remembering when his boy was younger he'd demanded to be carried whenever he was even the slightest bit tired.
Alex, though, shook his head and stared at his shoes. "'m fine," he mumbled. And then, in a burst of blinding honesty that only small children could accomplish said: "I don't want to be here. I want to go home,"
Forest paused. There was no I want Ian. He hoped to hopes that this small child wasn't repressing his grief. "I know," he settled for, still crouched outside Mr Blunt's office. "But we'll work things out, yeah? We'll work things out,"
Alex didn't reply, still staring at his shoes.
Concerned, Forest finally lifted up from his crouch and reached out to take his hand. "Come on," he murmured. "Let's get out of here."
Forest glanced at Alex who was half asleep at the back, but valiantly doing his best to stay awake. It wasn't late, just around 5PM, but Alex had had one rollercoaster of a few days. Just the fact that he was awake and not bawling his eyes out was both worrying and awing. What had made the child so resilient?
"We're here," he said, turning the engine off and reaching out to get out of the car, smiling to himself as Alex suddenly attempted to look more awake, peering around the car with drowsy eyes. Letting himself out, he opened the back door and leaned over to unclip Alex, humming softly to himself and chuckling when he saw the deep tune was making Alex's eyes slip shut.
Noticing what was happening, the child shook his head and scowled at Forest, hopping out of the car when his last strap was unfastened.
"Come on then," Forest without asking this time bent down to pick him up. There was no way he was going to have Alex half asleep staggering around the place.
He complained a little at first and then settled when he saw they were reaching the door. "You have a son," he said quietly, chin dropped against Forest's shoulder.
"I do," he agreed, pushing his key into the door.
"What's his name?" Alex muttered, still half asleep.
"Glen," he smiled, pushing the door open. "He'll like you. He's always wanted-" he hesitated, remembering Mr Blunt's poisonous words. "A little friend." he amended, hating himself for not saying "little brother" like he should've done.
"I'm not little," was the only reply, and then: "How old is he?"
"Sixteen, older than you." when there was a silence, he patted Alex's head gently. "Hey, don't worry. He acts more like a three year old than a sixteen year old,"
"That's littler than me,"
Forest pushed open the door and stepped inside. "It is, isn't it?" kicking off his shoes, he placed Alex on the floor who swayed into his legs. Concerned, knowing that the child needed some sleep, he helped the boy take off his shoes even as he called for his son. "Glen! Get your backside down here!"
A crash of sound indicated that he wasn't upstairs like he'd thought Glen to be, but was instead inside the living room, probably playing on his games console.
"What?" came the friendly drawl, his voice getting closer. "Dad, you were at work for ages. Did you get pizz- whoa." Forest didn't turn around as he son stopped speaking, he was still trying to tug off Alex's final shoe. Someone had been a little overenthusiastic with the shoelace tying. "Who's the kid?" he sounded both wary and curious, taking another step forward.
Finally, he turned round, ushering Alex forward. "This, is Alex, say hello, Alex," he urged.
Alex didn't reply but merely seemed to be weighing up Glen who stood in his socks jeans and t-shirt gazing down in bemusement at Alex.
"Why's he dressed like that?" he gestured to the clothes.
Forest shot him a look to be discreet.
"I was at a wedding," Alex said.
Forest stared at him and then nudged him. "Don't lie,"
Alex looked up at him wide eyed in confusion. "Why?"
Forest's mouth dried. That was the wrong time for that question. It should be why is the sky blue? Or why can't I go to bed later? Not why can't I lie? "Later, Alex," he said instead.
"So? What's going on?" Glen was jigging about from foot to foot, looking impatient at being ignored.
"Alex's staying with us from now on. Do you think you could take him up to the spare room?"
Glen looked hurt and Forest tried to indicate that he'd tell him later, realising that the explanation was brusque and probably felt like a brush off to the teenager. Glen got the silent message and sighed quietly, moving to trudge towards the stairs. "Come on, kid," he called over his shoulder, obviously eager to get the job done so he could go and talk to his dad about what was going on.
Forest glanced down at Alex when he didn't move. "Go on, Alex," he tried, kneeling once again and placing a hand in the middle of his back. "Follow Glen," he tried for another gentle push when he didn't move.
Perhaps the push was the breaking point, he didn't know. But obviously, the strain of keeping a cool countenance in the face of everything that had happened had become too much. Alex arched away from the hand and burst into tears, scrubbing at his eyes with his fists and shrinking down until he was sat on the floor, howling into his knees.
"Alex?" alarmed, Forest reached out to the child, aware of Glen hovering awkwardly in the background. "Come on, Alex, what's wrong?"
The howls just increased in volume, the tips of his ears that Forest could see were pink.
"Come on, come on," Forest moved closer and rubbed at his back, pulling him in to embrace and rocking him lightly back and forth, growing increasingly worried when instead of melting into the grip like most children did, he seemed to recoil away from it. "It's alright,"
"Wanna go home!" he choked out, still with his face pressed into his hands. "Sorry, sorry, 'm a big boy. Big boy's don't cry," his voice was getting louder, Forest hoped he wasn't slipping into hysterics, he didn't know whether he'd be able to deal with that.
"Big boy's cry plenty of times, Alex," he soothed, noticing Glen disappearing up the stairs. Running and hiding? That didn't much seem his son's style. "Lot's and lot's,"
"'m a big boy," it sounded like he was struggling to breathe properly now, breaths thick and wet even as Forest tried to get Alex to uncurl.
"You're a little boy, Alex. Little. Be little for a while," he was growing desperate. Alex wasn't uncurling or listening to anything he was saying. Forest had the unnerving idea that Alex simply wasn't used to having outbursts and so had no idea how to control them or let them be controlled. "Be little,"
Just when it seemed Alex was going to cry himself to unconsciousness, Glen was knelt in front of Alex, a toy eagle in his hand that he squashed irritatingly into Alex bowed head.
The child rocked away from it.
Glen squashed it into his head again.
Alex twisted his face around.
Glen mashed it into his cheek.
With a cry, Alex swiped at it, but Glen made it fly away.
Thinking it was gone, Alex, wet faced and snotty made to bury his head again but the soft eagle was crushed into his cheek again.
"Stop it!" Alex yelled, reaching out to strangle the eagle.
"Argh!" Glen made a squawking choking noise, making the eagle struggle in Alex's grip. "Gah!"
Alex stared at the eagle, his tears stopping momentarily as he squeezed it.
"Please?" the eagle wheezed, or, rather, Glen wheezed.
Slowly, Alex let go, still staring at the eagle, his head tipped slightly, looking like a curious and wet faced spaniel.
"Got you!" the eagle 'cried' in triumph as he was let go, swooping down to pepper Alex's flushed and tear soaked face with it's feather stuffed beak.
Forest watched in surprise as Alex laughed once, softly, trying vainly to defend himself against the onslaught of attacks and before long, he was properly laughing, swiping at the bird like a kitten (or some sort of lion cub, Forest amended, watching the viciousness of the defense with a wince) and finally, he managed to snag the toy and was now staring at it as if wondering why it had stopped speaking.
Looking up at Glen, Glen gave his a serious look. "I think you killed it,"
For a moment, Alex looked like he was going to cry again before Glen had the eagle 'speaking' again.
"You won this time," he said in that silly and ridiculous voice. "But next time, I'll get you!"
A small smile stretched across Alex's face and after glancing once at Forest, he shuffled closer to Glen.
Forest sat still as Alex moved closer to his son, the soft bird toy clamped in his hands as he moved closer. Finally, close enough, Alex squashed the bird into Glen's cheek, and then wrapped his arms around him hard.
Glen hugged him back, glancing up at Forest, fluttering his eyes, pretending to blush and mouthing "aw!"
Rolling his eyes, Forest gestured with his chin to the stairs and watched in satisfaction, feeling a warm beat of pride as his son hauled Alex up and chattered to him as he made his way to the stairs.
When they had disappeared up them, Forest dropped a hand against his forehead and let out a sigh.
This wasn't going to be easy by a long shot. Not at all. They were playing a dangerous game, dancing around a child's heart and life like that. He was small. Easy to break. What were MI6 thinking, giving him a child to look after and then go and train him? He needed to try and find a way out of this. It wasn't right, this playing with lives and emotions.
They were playing with Alex like he was a toy.
A toy soldier.
Snorting in derision, Forest made his way to the kitchen to make himself a cup of much needed tea.
(there are shadows on the horizon)
"Ian Rider's dead," a voice whispered, fingers against the wine glass curling, eyes gazing into the blood red liquid.
"And the child?" another voice murmured.
A pause, sip of wine. "It seems a shame...to just kill the child," the words pooled like melted chocolate.
"What are you proposing?"
"Let's watch, for a little while," lips curving against the glass of wine. "And then, when everyone least expects it, we can take him. The younger the mind, the easier it is to mold."
"A small assassin?"
A chuckle, a silver pendant flashing in the darkness. "The notion is amusing. I once dreamed of having John Rider's children, after all. Perhaps that dream isn't so far off."
"We watch?"
"We watch-" the glass was placed onto the table with a small clink. "-and then, we strike," fingers stroking the necklace. "Just like a scorpion."
AN- There you are! Liked?
Ps. The Price of a Collar and Eyes Tell (Mostly) All are my priorities, but this will be used for waiting periods. Or..or if I need a bit of cute in my life. What? Everyone needs a bit of cute! Unless you're a brick wall!